Hans (Alliance, #4)

by S.J. Tilly

“I thought you were home, Hans.” Her soft voice slides through my speakers, and I snap my eyes back up to the screen.

The only other time I’ve heard her say my name was the day we met.

The house at the end is abandoned. And since some corporation bought the property for tax reasons, it’ll probably sit abandoned for the next twenty years. And if Cassandra hadn’t swooped in on 1304 Holly Court, I would’ve—I mean, that same corporation would have—bought that house too.

Maybe she’s been microdosing me with some sort of secret government toxin. Maybe that’s why I can’t get her off my mind.

“You gotta give up one of these days,” I reprimand myself before tipping my face down and scrubbing the bubbles into my skin. Every couple of weeks, ever since I moved in, I deliver cookies or breads or desserts to the incredibly hot man across the street. Hans.

Because I catch glimpses of him. Hans pulling his truck straight into his garage, Hans pulling out of his garage, Hans walking back from his mailbox with strides too long and fast for me to ever accidentally meet him while heading out to check on my own mail—trust me, I’ve tried. So I know he’s still alive. And that he still lives there. But he never answers the door.

When the final light in her house turns off, I wait another forty-seven minutes. She’s always asleep within forty-five minutes, but I like to be certain.

On one side of the room, the gray couch faces a subpar TV mounted above a fireplace she never turns on because someone—me—keeps disabling the gas line because someone—her—has left it on unattended one too many times.

“Did you seriously fall a-fucking-sleep in Cassandra’s house?” I’m so mad at myself. I can’t believe I fucked up this badly.

I watch through the window over my kitchen sink as Cassandra’s front door opens and she prances out. “Seriously?” I question the universe as she skips down her driveway, wearing practically nothing.

Then a loud pounding on the front door startles me so badly I jump and accidentally rip the bag in two. Popcorn showers around me. Dropping my grip with one hand, I slap my palm over my heart. “What the hell?”

He lowers his gaze from mine, and I know the moment he looks past the hand he’s holding captive and to my chest. His nostrils flare, and I swear his jaw clenches.

“Jesus,” I pant. He shakes his head. “You use my name while I’m touching you.”

I’m here for blood. I’m here to make these motherfuckers pay. For what they’re in the middle of doing. For what they’ve done before. And for what they prevented me from doing with Cassandra.

Nothing expensive looking, but the pieces look sturdy and well kept. I don’t require wealth from the hot man who kisses me like he wants to own me.

But feeding people is my love language. And thief or not, Hans looks like he could use some love.

“Okay, that’s enough talking.” She takes the soup from my hands, then scoops up the whiskey, lemon, and honey until her arms are full. “I’ll get the soup started. You rest.” I should really stop her. For her sake. For my tastebuds’ sake. But instead, I crack open the can of ginger ale and prepare myself for what should be an interesting Saturday night.

I bite my cheek to stop myself from squealing. I’m in Hans’s kitchen.

Nothing has changed. I still shouldn’t have her here with me. Shouldn’t let her anywhere near me. But I can’t find it in me to make her leave. Because deep down, I want her to stay.

I can’t keep her. She’s not mine. Anger claws at the base of my skull, wishing things were different. Wishing I was different. Only tonight, I try to convince myself as I press my nose against her hair. Only for tonight.

Slowly, she starts to climb out of bed, like she’s trying to be sneaky or not wake me, but she accidentally pulls the blanket off my shoulders. Then she bumps the bed frame, shaking it.

She must step on every squeaky floorboard in the house on her way to the front door, only to make more noise gathering her picnic basket.

“No, I’ll wait.” I settle back in my seat. “Go eat with your parents, Cassandra.”

“Oh my god. It’ll be fine.” Before I can think better of it, I dart my hand up and grip her ponytail.

Before she can step away from me, I hook a finger in the front of her dress, holding her still. The warmth of her cleavage surges through my body. “I swear, if you wear this dress out of the house and flash your sweet ass to anyone else like that…” Cassandra shakes her head. “No. Never.”

“Alright, alright. You can grill the boy while we eat.” Mom gestures to the table. “Everyone, sit.” I snicker at my mom referring to Hans, the larger-than-life man, as a boy.

“That’s really nice.” Her wet lashes glitter. “I’m not fragile though.” I swipe my thumb across her cheek, catching a tear. “You’re like spun glass.” The side of her mouth pulls up. She thinks I’m teasing her, but I’m not. She’s the most precious thing to me.

“Watch the attitude, Grizzly Bear.” I can hardly hold in my laugh at the look on Hans’s face. “So you can dish it out but you can’t take it?” He shakes his head while he turns onto our street. “Grizzly Bear?” “You started the whole animal thing.” I shrug. “And if you’re gonna prowl around all gruff and angry…”

I turn to my door and reach for the handle. Then I shriek as large hands grip me under my armpits and haul me backward across the long bench seat. “Hans!” He stops when my butt is right on the edge of the seat and my legs are stretched out straight in front of me. “That’s two,” he says against my ear.

“When are you gonna learn that there are consequences for being a brat?” His voice on my neck causes my skin to prickle. “Hopefully right now.”

And something clicks inside me. She is mine.

When my alarm went off at four, the only thing that kept me from snoozing through it was the fact that I’d be starting my day with Hans.

“What made you start your blog, Butterfly?” he asks me again. “I’ve always loved food. I mean, you met my parents. They’re great at making stuff. So I figured baking was something I wouldn’t get sick of.” I lift my shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about doing the blog for a few years. I just never pulled the trigger.” “What changed?”

Why’d you start your blog right after moving in across the street from me? “You,” Cassandra says casually, but the answer slams into my chest.

“You do?” My voice is breathy. Hans eats my food.

I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. Probably watched too many movies growing up. But righting wrongs, being the good guy, eventually being my own boss… What more could a man want?

“Yes. I need to report—” Dad’s voice hitches, and Mom presses her hands over her mouth. “I need to report a missing person.” A missing person. “… Eklund… My daughter…” My sister. “She was last seen…” Freya is missing.

“Comet, yes, the club.” Mom’s shoulders are shaking, and Dad’s knuckles whiten around the phone. “We didn’t know she was going…” I did. I knew.

I don’t hear the rest of what my dad says because Mom rushes toward me and throws her arms around me, hugging me tighter than she’s ever hugged me before.

“You think you’re tough?” I shake my head. “No. But I need to find my sister.” The snickers stop. “If your sister is gone, accept it and get gone yourself.”

He drops his knife, his hands grabbing at the hilt over my own. But I keep walking forward, keep walking him back, until he hits the bar. “My name is Hans. And I’m coming for Freya.”

But I do give her a silent promise. I swear to her that I won’t stop until every one of the men responsible is dead.

Memorizing the face of the man helping my girl. I won’t kill him just for that, but that’s his strike one. And if he reaches three, his punishment will be much different from Cassandra’s.

But there’s no gunshot. I open my eyes. Then widen them. The gun drops from the man’s hand as he reaches up to his face. His fingers grab at the slender hilt of a knife protruding from his eye socket.

Then I see him. Dressed all in black, with his back to me, across the four-lane road, is a man heading into a narrow alley. With my heart thundering behind my ribs and my blood pulsing between my legs, I watch him reach up and pull the ski mask from his head. And I watch familiar long hair tumble free.

And even if the guys who attacked us wanted to travel all the way to Minnesota to steal me, or whatever the plan was, they’re all dead,” I try to reason. “Except the man in the mask,” Mom argues back. I glance through the big picture window in my living room to Hans’s house. “He helped us, Mom.”

There’s only one question I need answered. Was this man coming for Cassandra, or was he coming for me? Either way, if he’s not already dead, I’m going to kill him.

“Is there a reason we’re taking the corpse on a joy ride? Do cops like delivery service on murder victims?” “We’re not involving the cops.” His words shouldn’t bring me such relief, but I don’t want to spend my life in prison for accidentally killing someone.

“What’s wrong?” “Who is she?” My arms stay crossed. “Karmine. She’s a… colleague.” I turn in my seat so I can glare at him harder. “In health inspecting.” This time, when his eyes dart over to me, he reaches out and grips my forearm. “Stop that.” He pulls, dislodging my crossed arms. “Don’t be mad at me.” He slides his hand down until he’s holding my hand in his.

“That’s fucking one,” Hans growls. He presses the button to unbuckle my seat belt. I try to slap his hand away, not sure what he’s doing, but he catches my fingers and shoots a glare of his own my way. “That’s two.”