HANS: Alliance Series Book Four(73)

My left hand is already in motion, and I jab at that perfect spot on the inside of his right arm, a few inches up from his elbow. The one holding the gun.

My hit connects with his biceps brachii trigger point, and his grip on the gun releases.

He tries to get away from me, stumbling to the side. But I step with him.

First Man’s back hits the wall parallel to my bed, and I pin him there with my left hand.

I can feel the moment the muscle under his lungs starts to relax, and he tries to take a breath.

Before his airway can open, I twist my body and slam my elbow forward against the front of his throat, feeling his windpipe give way under the impact.

His eyes bulge, but the Post-its clenched in my teeth remind me of what he’s done. What he took from me.

I slam my elbow forward again.

This motherfucker ruined the first thing I ever received from Cassandra.

He’s destroyed one of the few things that are precious to me.

Still trying to get away from me, his head bangs against my wall. Against the flat side of the katana mounted there.

I dart my right hand out to the side of his head and grip the sword’s handle.

My swords are not decorations.

They were made to be used.

I move my left hand from his chest to grab a fistful of his hair.

I pull him away from the wall, just a few inches, while my right hand twists the handle of the katana. Only stopping when the sharp side is facing out.

Then, with my grip on his hair, I press his head back, holding him still as I drag the sword toward me.

The razor edge slices through flesh, slips between his vertebrae.

He touched something Cassandra touched.

Life fades from his eyes.

I keep him pinned in place, continuing the motion, slicing through muscles and tendons and arteries.

He touched what’s mine.

With a final pull of my right hand, the weight below the man’s neck falls away, and I’m left with a head in one hand and a sword in the other.





CHAPTER 88





Cassie





I’m standing, leaning over the counter, face practically against the screen, watching every movement Hans makes. And I’m panting.

Panting.

I press closer.

Hans just beheaded a man.

He drops the head on the carpet, the thud audible through the speakers.

I should be disgusted.

Hans turns around, sword in hand, and I finally get to see all of him.

A wildness glows in his eyes.

His shoulders are bulked with exertion.

And he’s covered in blood. The red droplets dripping off the edges of the Post-it notes clamped in his teeth.

“Holy fuck,” I whisper into the room while fanning my face.

It’s like Hans can hear me because his eyes move to the hidden camera as he reaches up to take his treasured Post-its out of his mouth.

My breath fogs the screen, and I’m seriously considering licking it when the speakers crack from a door being slammed elsewhere in the house.

I force my eyes away from Hans and see Second Man walking through the kitchen, the door to the garage closed behind him.

His brows are furrowed as he approaches the open basement door.

He still has Hans’s other sword in his hand, but the point is down and he’s using it like a walking stick.

Second Man stops at the top of the stairs and calls down, “I told you, there’s nothing down there.”

“Wrong.” Hans’s voice sounds a second before he steps into the living room.

Second Man whirls to face him.

Hans doesn’t slow as he crosses the room.

With his left hand, he stuffs the stack of Post-its into his pocket, and with his right hand, he holds the blood-soaked sword, point aimed up and out.

He twists his wrist, and the blade twirls in a macabre dance.

There’s still blood on his face, and a few strands of hair have come free from where the rest are tied back.

He looks intimidating as hell.

Second Man’s eyes widen, which is the correct response.

But then he lifts his stolen sword in front of him, even though it’s clear he doesn’t know how to use the weapon.

This guy doesn’t stand a chance.

Sorry, sir, the correct reaction would have been to run. Away. As fast as you can.

My fingers touch the screen as Hans spins the blade once more. But this time, when it twirls upward, he reaches across his body to grip the handle with both hands.

In one smooth motion, Hans takes the final step and clashes his sword against the one in Second Man’s hands.

Second Man’s sword jerks upward, the impact of Hans’s too much for it to withstand.

As Second Man’s hands lift with the new trajectory of his weapon, Hans lifts his own arms as a follow-through.

Second Man takes a step back to catch himself, and Hans keeps his momentum, swinging the sword all the way up and then back down at his side.

It’s so fast. So pretty.

And then Hans twists his wrists again, changing his grip so the blade is pointed directly at Second Man.

Without a single hesitation, Hans thrusts his sword forward, straight through Second Man’s chest.

I’m practically on top of the workbench now. Breathing heavy.

I just watched a sword fight!