Page 89 of Hannah and the Hitman

Dax and Jack shared a look. Dax remained silent until Jack nodded.

“We’re paying him a visit for an overdue loan. But he cheated on his wife and bragged about it. With multiple women. Refuses to pay child support.”

“A cheater?” I turned to Jack, slid my hand around to his chest and looked up at him. “I don’t like that. Maybe I could, um… throw him around a little for you?”

Jack’s dark brow winged up and his mouth twitched.

“I didn’t say murder,” I reminded. “Maybe a little karma though.”

“You do Judo or something, sweetheart?”

I didn’t answer Dax, just kept focused on Jack. His eyes went from stormy to amused in a matter of seconds. “All right, gorgeous,” Jack said. “You can throw him around alittle. But you’ll do what I say and if there’s any danger, you’ll… disappear.”

I nodded, knowing that Jack’s protective nature wouldn’t allow for anything less than me transporting out of there.

“This is gonna be fun,” Dax said, heading for the elevators.

59

JACK

An hour later, we were in The Sip and Swallow, a shady dive bar in the seedier section of town. A back office was a consistent place where we did “business” since it never had witnesses, there was usually only one door in and out, and because every bar in town had one.

Dax had given Smitty a chance to fork over the cash he owed, but he only offered up half, which was still a big fucking chunk of change. Instead of pulling out the garden shears, Dax had introduced him to Hannah, who’d been standing quietly beside me.

The guy was dumber than Joey Brains because not only did he ogle my girl’s rack in that fucking too-tight t-shirt that should only be worn at home with me, but he’d also insulted her intelligence, her gender, and even her mother, although the last probably hadn’t bothered her.

She wrung her hands and unconsciously tuckedherself against my side. This–not only collecting a debt, but also this bar–was not her turf. Not her lifestyle. Not her job. But she wanted to be here. Hell, she needed this. I could teach the guy a lesson for being a misogynistic lowlife, but that wouldn’t help Hannah. After the number her ex did on her, she needed to kick some ass. To put a stupid fucker in his place. It wasn’t Kevin the Cheater, but Smitty would be a good replacement. She had to do this herself.

Leaning down, I’d whispered a reminder. “Cheater.”

That has worked in the same way as shaking the bag of kibble did for Pancake. She perked right up, got an evil–and slightly scary–gleam in her eye right before she grabbed the fucker by the front of his stained AC/DC shirt and hoisted him in the air.

“Hey! What the fuck?” he called while flailing.

He wasn’t a big guy, probably weighing in at a buck fifty, but he was scrappy. He’d have beaten Hannah in a fight–both figuratively and literally–but she had the element of surprise. And a superpower. In her tee and yoga pants, she looked like she just picked up an acai berry fruit smoothie after yoga class. She might look like the girl next door, but my girl was so much more.

My dick got hard watching her.

“You sure she’s not a hitman?” Dax leaned close and tipped his voice low. The look he had on his face was as skeptical as his words.

“Yup, not a hitman,” I said.

Hannah looked more like Atlas lifting the earth than a mild-mannered librarian.

Smitty’s hands were pulling on Hannah’s grip, butnothing was working. His feet flailed as they dangled six inches above the ground.

“Thenwhat the fuck?” Dax breathed.

The room was small with a desk against one wall, an old metal filing cabinet against another, and a ratty couch along the third without the door. We stood close, ready to reach out and help like parents with a kid learning how to swim, but she sure didn’t need us. She jumped right into the deep end.

“She might be a fixer though,” I added, watching in awe. I had my gun in the back of my pants if he had to be put down.

“I heard you’ve got an ex-wife,” Hannah told him. Her chin was tipped back to look him in the eye since she held him so high in the air. One armed. Without breaking a sweat or losing her breath.

“What the–” Dax breathed.

Fuck, that was my girl.