Chapter 85: HANS: Chapter 86

This is… insane.

Hans goes into the room first, and he strides around the space like he’s checking to make sure nothing is out of place.

I step into the room on shaky legs because I am becoming embarrassingly flustered.

This shouldn’t be sexy.

Making so many enemies you have to build an actual escape tunnel that goes from your hidden Batman room to an old moldy gazebo shouldn’t be a turn-on.

And yet, here we are.

Hans flips on the wall of monitors, reminding me of how much time he’s spent stalking me, and my core throbs.

Unaware of the fact that I want him to fuck me on this floor, Hans pulls out the chair at the work bench. “I need to grab some things. If you want to sit here, you can keep an eye on the screens.”

Knowing we need to focus, I do as Hans says and drop into the chair.

I look at all the feeds, eyes stopping on one house in particular. “So that abandoned house?”

“I own it.” Hans’s answer is simple. “Or technically, a company does, but it’s my company.”

“So when you told me about all the houses you own…” I glance over at Hans as he pulls bags out of the middle closet.

He pauses to look up at me. “I didn’t mean to not tell you. I just don’t really count that one since it’s as shitty on the inside as it is on the outside. It’ll need to be leveled when someone wants to live there.”

“Hmm.” I turn back to the screens. “Did you buy it just so you could do the tunnel thing?”

“That was a selling feature. But my plan was to actually buy all three houses on the street and live in undisturbed peace. But then the old lady across the street kicked the bucket while I was out of the country killing some people, and when I came home, a pretty little distraction had bought the house before I even knew what happened.”

“And aren’t you glad I did?” I say tartly, mad at myself for being so annoyed that his plans didn’t include me. Even though that would’ve been impossible because we hadn’t met yet.

A hand grips my ponytail and tips my head back.

I expect him to laugh at me or count. But he stares down at me with a serious expression. “You buying that house was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Everything inside me softens.

Hans doesn’t just throw words around. I know he means it.

I blink up at him. “Best decision I ever made.”

He pulls my head back a little farther, eyes locked on my lips. “Good.”

My head is nearly level with his hips.

I open my mouth, wide.

His grip tightens on my hair. “That’s two, Butterfly.”

Heat shoots down my spine. And I slide my tongue out. Inviting him to do something about it.

Hans reaches up with his free hand and traces the tip of my tongue with his finger. “We don’t have time for three.”

He rubs that same fingertip against his lips, then lets go of my hair and backs away.

For the first time ever, I kind of hate him.

Shifting in my seat, I can accept that sucking his dick, right here and right now, might not be the best idea. But goddamn, tell that to my lady bits.

I’m wondering what my punishment would be if I slid my hand down my shorts and took care of myself real quick when movement catches my attention.

I lean closer to the screen. “Uh, Hans.”

“Just two more minutes.”

“No.” I point at one of the screens. “We’ve got company.”

A van pulls to a stop between our houses, parking just before my driveway. The design on the side looks like a logo for an internet company, but it’s not the one we use out here.

Hans stops behind me, one hand on the back of the chair, the other on the counter as he leans in.

The driver is visible through the windshield, and as we watch, four men exit the vehicle.

The van is the only attempt they seem to be making at a cover, because all four men have guns in their hands.

I expect the group to walk up to Hans’s house, but they break off into pairs, two heading this way and two toward my house. And in both cases, one man walks to the front door and the other circles around to the back of the house.

Hans doesn’t have a view of my backyard, but we watch the man circle Hans’s house. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he just looks around before ending up back at the front door, where his partner is already trying to break in.

I can feel my pulse picking up while excitement and stress swirl in my stomach.

Hans does that thing that has the keyboard appearing, then he taps a few buttons.

A speaker buzzes to life, and unfamiliar male voices float into the room.

“… told you the scout is dead.”

“All he needed to do was to get eyes on the fucker. How do you mess that up?”

My hand balls into a fist. How dare he call Hans a fucker.

“Because clearly”—the first man shakes his head—“Hans saw him first.”

The second man shrugs. “Okay, so Hans killed him. He’s gotta be long gone by now.”

The first man grunts and shoves his shoulder into the door. “The fuck is this thing made of?” he grumbles, then goes back to the lock.

“I’m just saying, Hans, the fucking ghost-man killer dude, isn’t going to be sitting inside waiting for an ambush.” Second Man shakes his head.

I glance up at Hans and silently admit the man is right. Hans is standing.

There’s a loud clunk through the speaker. “Finally,” First Man grunts and pushes the door open. “And don’t be a dumbass, he’s obviously split town. We’re just here looking for clues.”

Second Man gestures across the street where—to my horror—the other two men have already busted down my front door.

An indignant sound leaves my lips, and Hans moves his hand from the back of the chair to my shoulder.

The audacity.

Fuming, I move my gaze back to the first monitor just in time to see these two assholes enter Hans’s house.

Hans taps a few more keys, and some of the outdoor cameras are replaced with views inside the house.

“What are we gonna do?” I whisper.

Hans taps more keys, and the audio switches to inside the house as well.

Guess we’re going to stay and watch.

My pulse jumps up a beat. “Do you have any cameras in my house?” I ask, hoping he does so I can see what the men are doing over there.

The hand on my shoulder squeezes. “No, sorry.”

I sigh, fully aware that should be a good thing. Then another thought occurs to me. “Do you have cameras in your garage?”

“No, sorry.” Another squeeze as Hans repeats the same apology. Both of us bummed we don’t have a recording of the first time we had sex.

Focus, Cassie.

We watch on the monitors as the men inside Hans’s house do a quick walk-through, checking every room.

When I see Second Man, the one who circled the house, head to the basement, I tense.

But Hans doesn’t change his stance. He doesn’t reach for a gun or turn out the lights.

Of course Hans was correct to not panic. The man peeks into the corners of the empty basement before turning and jogging back up the stairs.

“Not so much as a box down there,” Second Man shouts across the house as he stands in the living room. “This can’t be his full-time house.”

That comment makes me feel a little sad because this is Hans’s full-time house. Or has been for a while, at least.

From what Hans told me, up until very recently, he had both the good guys and the bad guys after him. Everyone either fearing him or hating him. So it’s no wonder he hasn’t felt comfortable enough to settle down and make a house a home.

I lean toward his warmth.

And now, as we watch them pull out drawers and dig through every inch of his place, it’s clear this won’t be his house anymore. Even if he kills the main bad dude, this location has been revealed. Hans said it himself; he has lots of enemies. He’ll never just be able to live in a cozy neighborhood like this and not always be looking over his shoulder.

Second Man snickers as he reaches for the sword mounted on the wall above Hans’s couch. “Don’t mind if I do.”

It takes him a second to get it down, but as soon as he does, he starts swinging it around like an idiot.

On another screen, First Man is digging through Hans’s bedroom. When he moves toward the nightstand, Hans straightens beside me.

The man pulls open the drawer and bends over it, digging around the contents.

Second Man’s voice sounds from a different part of the house. “I’m gonna check the garage.”

“Okay,” First Man calls back. Then he mutters, “What the fuck is this?”

He straightens, and a stack of yellow Post-it notes is in his hand.

The hand Hans has on the worktop balls into a fist. “That’s it,” he growls.

“What’s—”

Before I can finish asking, Hans strides across the room. Opens the door. And storms out into the basement.

I open my mouth to shout after him. To ask him what the hell he’s doing. To tell him to grab a gun or a knife or something. But I don’t want to yell and be heard by the intruders.

The door swings shut, locking between us.

“Charred sweet corn cookies,” a male voice says, confused. “Is this supposed to be a code?”

Slowly, I turn back to the monitors.

Those are my Post-it notes. The ones I handwrote for each baked good. The ones I gave to Hans.

And First Man is touching them.

My eyes dart around to find Hans on the screen.

He’s already climbing the stairs.

Second Man is still in the garage, looking around. But he could step back into the house at any moment, and then it will be two on one, and Hans is unarmed.

“Please be careful.”

But Hans doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t move cautiously.

He takes the steps three at a time and flings the door open at the top. Leaving it open, he strides across the living room. Hands opening and closing into fists at his sides.

The man in the garage doesn’t come out. He doesn’t see Hans or sound the alarm.

Meaning First Man has no idea what’s coming for him.