HANS: Alliance Series Book Four(10)
After several long seconds, she finally takes a breath, and I level her with a bored look. “You done?”
She brushes a tear away from her eye. “Christ, Hans. You can’t just Goldilocks this girl and expect a happily ever after.”
“Goldi—” I shake my head. “I might be fucked in the head, but I’m not delusional. I know that’s not where my story goes.”
“What? Happiness?” The sad look she gives me makes my stomach hurt.
She knows my past just like I know hers. She knows what weighs on my shoulders. She knows I was too late.
Karmine’s expression softens. “You’ve more than leveled the scales of justice. Shit, you’ve ended enough bad guys to single-handedly populate one of the circles of hell.”
“And that means I win a white picket fence?”
She sighs, having no patience for my self-pity. “It means you can think about, I dunno, maybe not being such a fucking loser. Retire. Get a life. Try talking to the girl you’re stalking. Ask her out.”
“I’m not stalk—” I cut myself off because, by the definition of stalking, I think I probably am. So I change the topic. “Did you just tell me to retire?”
“I mean, not entirely. I still need you around on occasion. But why not go call up The Alliance bros? Throw hands with those fancy fucks. Change up the scenery a bit. You didn’t have us help you save that mafia asshole for nothing. I know you always have a plan.”
I lift a shoulder.
There wasn’t really a grand plan other than wanting to help out those who have helped me. True, The Alliance hadn’t realized they were helping me, considering they were hunting me, but they still helped to dispel human trafficking deals in their territory. And that was helpful to me.
Getting a life debt from Dominic Gonzalez was just a perk.
“You gonna retire?” I ask, deflecting the attention.
Karmine scoffs. “Fuck no. But I’m not as old as you. And, unlike you, I’m still getting some.”
“Bravo,” I say sarcastically.
“Don’t be a dick because you’re jealous. Human interaction is good for mental well-being. I don’t care about your fucked-up backstory; any girl would be lucky to end up with you.” She loosely flaps her hand in my direction. “Assuming they like the ruggedly handsome bad boy type.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Anytime, sport,” she snarks back, then pauses. “I’ve heard some chatter. People looking for you.”
“People are always looking for me.”
“Yeah, but not like this. This sounds close.” Karmine’s voice is serious.
“Noted.”
She’s right, of course. This newest ring of assholes has been more active than ever. And that means they have someone with lots of money funding them.
And it’s all the more reason to leave Cassandra alone. If someone’s after me, I can’t have anyone else around me to catch the shrapnel.
“Alright.” Karmine straightens from the side of the truck, hand on the duffel bag. “You want a cut?” she asks, like she always does.
“I’m good,” I answer the way I always do.
I don’t need it. I already have more money than I could ever spend.
CHAPTER 8
Cassie
A moan yanks me out of my sleep, and it takes me a second to realize it was my own.
I stare at the ceiling, and the frustration is instant because I can already tell I won’t be able to fall back asleep. But I want to so badly because I want to finish that dream.
And let Hans finish me.
Groaning, I drag the bedspread over my face and press the soft fabric against my eyes. As though I might visually smother myself back into unconsciousness.
Maybe I need to hire someone to come sage my house. Or maybe I just need to go out into public more. Or join a dating site. Because this crush I have on my hot neighbor is getting out of control.
I know it’s my brain playing tricks on me, but it was like I could feel his presence all afternoon. And I blamed the empty zucchini cookie container. But when I came up to bed, I swear his scent was blanketed across my room. As though I was conjuring him with wishes and hopes.
I squeeze my thighs together and groan again.
I can’t even bring myself to scream into my pillow because that smells like him too.
Which is crazy. Because I know it doesn’t. It can’t.
Giving up, I toss my bedspread off and climb out of bed.
I slowly walk through the dark to my window and pull the curtains back, seeing that the sun has barely started to rise.
I look across the street, wondering if Hans is in there now, but I can’t tell. I can never tell when he’s home.
The drapes or blinds or whatever he has over his living room windows aren’t blackout ones. Often, I can see a glow inside, but after the first few months of living here and trying to figure out his schedule, I came to the conclusion that the lights in his house are on random timers. Or at least some of them. And I only know about the random timer lights because my dad always tells me to get them. He worries about me as a female living alone. I appreciate that worry, I do, but I spend a lot of my time at home, and having lights randomly popping on and off would drive me crazy.