Page 67 of Hannah and the Hitman

“That’s your problem, not mine. You didn’t tell me you took self-defense classes. What are you, a black belt in Judo?”

She shook her head.

“Karate?”

“No.” The one syllable was drawn out on an exhale that would make a teenager proud.

“Explain what happened in the parking garage. Eyebrows had to weigh two-fifty.”

She pursed her lips. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“I think we’re past that, gorgeous.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “We’re at the I-picked-up-some-things-at-the-adult-store phase of this relationship.”

She blinked, then licked her lips. “You did? What did you get?”

I nodded. It didn’t escape my notice that her mind veered.

For a second. “I’m not having sex with you, you liar,” she snapped.

“I’m not the only liar, here, gorgeous. Joey Brains wasn’t at the library. Tell the truth.”

Her eyes lit with an anger that could probably singe. “The truth? Fine.Fine!You asked for it.” She took a deep breath, let it out in an obvious attempt to calm down. Which didn’t seem to be working. I had to admit, she was fucking gorgeous, all flushed and riled. So un-Hannah-like. Or, the only time I saw her this way was whenIwas the one to get her there. By my touch. My mouth. My dick. My words.

I watched as she went around the couch, squatted down and picked it up. Hefted the thing like it wasn’t eight feet wide, made of leather and built back in the nineties for Big Mike, who was built like a tank. “Somehow in the past week, I’ve gotten stronger.”

She set the couch back down.

I shrugged. “You want me to tell you I’m impressed? I was there when you threw Eyebrows across the parking garage, remember.”

She stared, then huffed and went into the kitchen and to the fridge. I thought she was going to grab a soda that should be stored inside. “When I mean strong, I mean” –her arms went wide to either side of the appliance as if she was hugging it and picked it up so it was a foot off the floor– “really strong. It seems to happen best when I’m mad.”

“What the fuck?” I said, stunned. That fridge had been built in the eighties. Made to last. Built of steel. I’d tried to move it once to clean behind it. It hadn’t budged.

“My friend Brittany thinks I have a superpower,” she commented, setting the fridge back in place.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, right.”

Maybe it was my tone or my attitude in general, but shecame over and poked me in the chest. Static electricity sparked between us. “You still don’t believe me.”

“That you have a superpower?” I chuckled. “Of course not.”

“You’re going to keep me here, not believing anything I say. Not about the guy from the plane trying to kill me, that I’m not a hitman or that I have newfound strength.”

I shrugged. “Pretty much.” I loved that she was worked up, because now she knew how it felt.

“So you did kidnap me.”

I nodded. “Pretty much,” I repeated.

She nodded right back, practically vibrating with anger. “You’re a lying, egotistical, blind, self-involved, murdering piece of shit. Remember, asshole, that I’d been right there with you in this, even with the sex toys. That, unlike you, I was telling you the truth.”

I reached for her and the air arced, literally a spark shot between us. Then she was gone. Disappeared.

I wiggled my fingers, my fingertips tingling.

“What the fuck?”

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