Page 60 of Wake Me Most Wickedly
“I’ve told him as much,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, a hard lump in her throat.
“Not good at listening, eh,” Ned stated more than asked, with a sniff. He pounded one gloved fist into his palm. “Perhaps he should be taught a lesson,” he added, a menacing edge to his tone.
This time she approached him with her knife. “Stay away from him, Ned,” she warned. For the first time in the conversation her voice shook, even if that was the worst thing it could do. But she couldn’t stop herself. “He’s a good person and doesn’t deserve—”
Before she could finish, Ned slammed a fist into her wrist, causing her hand to open and the knife to clatter to the ground. She dropped to her knees to pick it up, but he swiped it away with a quick kick before grabbing her by the hair and twisting it.
“The way I hear, he already has folks hunting for him,” he whispered as she ground her teeth against the pain. “You should take your own advice, Hannah.” He released her with a sharp shove. “I’m going to enjoy watching you come back to me and beg.”
Hannah shivered as his footfalls faded into the distance, straining to identify the sounds of the night in between. Swiping the back of her hand against her face, she fought again and again to hold back the emotions brewing below the surface. A task that she’d once been so skilled at, but now, all her training seemed to be failing her.
She half-heartedly patted around for her knife, but it was nowhere to be found. More fool she was for losing it.
“Shmuck,” she muttered, not quite sure if she was talking about herself or Ned. She brushed the snow off her soaked skirts, her knees cold and bruised, her hair clinging to her scalp.
Oy. She was a complete mess. And much too old for any of this. As if to confirm the notion, she cracked her aching back after she struggled to her feet. She would have to be careful, very careful, in verifying Sol’s location. And even more careful in delivering the news to his brother.
Something was afoot, something not good, and even if she was not for Sol, and he could never actually be happy with her, she’d still do everything in her power to make sure he wasn’t harmed.
Especially not due to her actions.
And once she was properly paid—hopefully Frederick would be good to his word regarding her sister. Tamar would have a place in the community, where she most certainly belonged, and Hannah… would be all right.
This was her world. The world she’d made a place for herself in, the world that had permitted her to survive when all other doors had closed. She swiped her eyes. Fakakta snowflakes, sticking in her lashes, making her vision blur.
Hannah forced herself to move forward.
She had a job to do, one she would do well or the rest wouldn’t matter. And she’d not let Sol down.
After all, above all else, she was a hunter.
