HANS: Alliance Series Book Four

My knife slows to a stop against the sharpening block as I watch Cassandra climb out of her car, even though she just climbed into it a moment ago.

What’s wrong, Butterfly?

She puts her hands on her hips, indecision evident in her body language. She looks at my house, back at her car, then back to my house.

Her teeth press into that plump lower lip, and I feel it in my balls.

It’s worse now. Now that I know what it’s like to touch her. To feel her against me. Because now, when I see her on the screen like this, it feels even more distant. Even further from reality.

But then she takes one step down her driveway. Then another, and another, until she’s crossing the street.

I let my knife drop to the workbench and stand.

I’ve always ignored her knocking at my door. Always.

Until last night.

And since she hasn’t left the house today, she probably knows I haven’t either.

And since I carried her to my bed last night rather than wake her up to send her home, I can’t really ignore her. That would be rude.

Excuses.

With long strides, I exit my safe room, leaving my surveillance and voice of reason behind as I secure the door.

I’m through the false wall and up the stairs before Cassandra knocks the first time.

And I’m pulling the door open when she knocks the second time.

In a bright yellow sun dress, she looks like some kind of summer fairy. And even more beautiful in person.

“Can I borrow your car?” Cassandra leans forward a little as she asks, like the question tumbled out of her unexpectedly.

I blink at her.

Borrow my truck?

I think of my truck. The fake registry in the glove box. The hidden compartment under the rear bench seat. The dozens of weapons and explosives hidden in the bed.

“No.” My voice is stronger than it was yesterday, the injury already healing.

“Um.” She blinks back at me. “Please?”

“What’s wrong with yours?” I counter.

“Won’t start.” She lifts a shoulder. “I tried ordering a ride from the different apps, but no one is out this way.” She grimaces. “And if I don’t leave in the next few minutes, I’ll be late.”

The town we live in isn’t tiny, but it’s small enough and just far away enough from the bigger suburbs that the different taxi services rarely run here, and there is no public transportation.

Which is good, because if I witnessed her getting into the back of a stranger’s car, I’d have my sniper rifle out and aimed at the back of the driver’s head before you could say psychotic.

She shifts her weight in her little white tennis shoes.

I take her in again. Casual shoes, pretty dress that stops a couple of inches above her knees, big leather purse slung over her shoulder, hair pulled up into a curly ponytail, glossy lips…

“I’ll drive you.”

Her face brightens. “You will?”

I nod. Because apparently, I will.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She hops twice, and I want to shove my face in her tits.

But I don’t. I just nod my acceptance of her thanks, then gesture for her to back up. “Let’s go.”

“Do you, I don’t know, need to get anything?” Cassandra glances down, then notices that I’m already wearing my shoes. Or tactical boots, to be more exact.

I glance down at myself too.

My black pants bunch a bit at the tops of the boots, and that, combined with my black nylon belt and black T-shirt, makes me look like a fucking mercenary.

Practice prevents me from fidgeting. And getting changed now would only draw attention to what I’m currently wearing and questions about why I put it on if I wasn’t willing to leave the house dressed like this.

I don’t have a mission tonight. No plans to utilize all the pockets hidden in my pants. But I like to be prepared. And anytime I’m sitting in my room downstairs, watching my monitors and sharpening my knives, I make sure I’m ready to go, should the need arise.

“I’m good,” I reply and pull my keys from my pocket.

Cassandra spins around and walks ahead of me to the front of my garage.

I click a button on my key fob to open the overhead door, and we wait for it to rumble open before going to our respective doors.

It’s not until we’re climbing into my truck that I think to ask, “Where am I taking you?”

Cassandra pulls her door shut and answers while reaching for her seat belt. “Dinner at my parents’ place.”