HANS: Alliance Series Book Four(60)

Cassie





I absently trace my thumbs back and forth on Hans’s hand.

I can accept that I have no idea what’s going on, but clearly, I’ve found myself in the middle of something.

Everything I’ve overheard rolls around in my mind as we quickly drive toward the faint lights of downtown Minneapolis off in the distance.

I couldn’t find my way back to where we just were if I tried. But considering Hans called it a kill house, and that Karmine woman basically told Hans to get away from it quickly, that’s probably for the best.

I also think about Karmine’s comment about Hans being back home.

I decide to just ask. “That was you in Mexico, right?”

I look up and watch Hans work his jaw for a moment before he sighs. “That was me.”

“And you just so happened to be there? In the same city as me. Right behind our bus. Even though you made no mention of going on such a trip when you dropped me off at the airport?”

His fingers flex around mine. “Yeah, well, I told you to be careful.”

“Me?!” Indignation fills my chest. “How much more careful could I have been? I was sitting on a bus.”

“Sitting on a bus in one of the most dangerous cities in the world.”

I toss my hands up. “That was for⁠—”

“Don’t,” Hans snaps.

I think he’s yelling at me for arguing with him, but his hand darts up to grab mine. Then he forcefully presses my palm into his thigh. Making me touch him.

His don’t was because I let go of his hand.

God, he really is crazy.

I squeeze his thigh.

Maybe I’m a little bit crazy too.

“That was for work,” I try again, saying it calmly.

“You shouldn’t have gone.” He still sounds so upset.

“I didn’t have a choice. It was a mandatory meeting.”

“There’s always a choice, Cassandra.”

“Oh?” I try to cross my arms, but Hans still has my hand closest to him trapped against his thigh. “And what was your choice? You killed those guys on that bus pretty easily.”

“You’re already at two. Don’t push me.”

Heat blooms in my core as I remember him dragging me across the seat earlier.

His punishments are not punishments. So I keep pushing.

“You have your own body bags. That’s not normal, Hans.”

“I never pretended to be normal.”

I slide a look up at him. “You told my parents you were a health inspector.”

Hans glances at me. “Health inspectors aren’t normal.”

I press my lips together to keep from smiling. “Did you just make a joke?”

“I’m deadly serious.”

The click of the blinker fills the car as Hans merges onto another highway. We’re back around actual traffic now, with Minneapolis looming in front of us.

Hans squeezes my hand, then lets it go. “Will you grab the backpacks from the back seat?”

I have to release my seat belt to turn and reach them. And as soon as it clicks open, Hans hooks his arm around my waist. Like if we got into an accident now, he’d keep me in place just through sheer will.

The backpacks look nearly identical. The only difference is that one has a small orange tag attached to the top handle.

I set them both on the seat next to me, and he points to the one without the tag.

Instead of handing it to him, I unzip it. “What do you need?”

“My shirt.”

I look back at him and the black T-shirt he’s wearing, noticing the shoulder holster with two guns I’d somehow forgotten about.

“Is your shirt dirty?” I ask, thinking maybe he got some dead guy stuff on it.

My mouth pulls into a frown. That’d be gross.

“No, just need a costume change.”

“Costume?”

Instead of replying, Hans lifts one knee until it’s pressed on the underside of the steering wheel, holding it in place, then uses both hands to remove his shoulder holster.

“Oh my god, what are you doing? Let me help.”

Hans sets the holster, guns included, on my lap. Followed by the sheathed knife from his hip.

Then, still driving the truck with his knee as we cruise down a highway that is not empty, he reaches behind himself, grips the collar of his T-shirt, and drags it up over his head.

“Hans!” I reach for the wheel, but it’s unnecessary. We don’t so much as swerve within the lines.

And then he’s shirtless.

And I’m speechless.

He’s so perfect. By not being perfect at all.

Scars. Muscles. Chest hair I want to nuzzle my face against.

Warm fabric hits me in the face, and I catch his shirt as it falls into my lap.

“Rude.” I ball up the material.

“It’s rude to stare.”

I look past Hans to the SUV riding in the lane next to us. And the woman who’s staring across at my topless man and not at the road.

Leaning across Hans, I press my middle finger to the glass.

“Cassandra.”

I lean back into my seat, chastised, but the woman speeds up, so I consider it a win.

Then I look up and see the crooked smile on Hans’s mouth.