HANS: Alliance Series Book Four

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

Pant-ing.

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!

Hans uses his sword like a toothpick in a grape and maneuvers Second Man so he’s standing with his back to the stairs. But from the way the man is slumped, I think Hans is supporting his weight.

With a shove, Hans sends the man falling backward down the stairs, but he doesn’t release the sword, so it slides free from the man’s body as he falls away.

The thud of the body tumbling down the stairs is loud in the speakers.

Hans kicks the basement door shut, with him still on the other side of it.

I find the screen showing the street, but everything is the same. The driver is still sitting there, head bobbing slightly like he’s listening to music. And I can’t see any signs suggesting where those other two guys are in my house.

I kinda hope Hans kills them too. And not just because they work for that human trafficker asshole, but because they’re going through my things. I won’t be able to wear any of my clothes again, not knowing what they touched. Or use my dishes. I’ll have to freaking burn it all. And that pisses me off.

In the living room, Hans drops to his knees next to the coffee table.

He reaches underneath it, doing something, and then a piece of wood in the center of the table flips open.

Hans lifts the newly revealed rifle from its hiding place.

“Well, that’s clever.”

From his knees, Hans rolls himself over his shoulder in a move I’ve only seen in movies, ending up back on his knees next to the big window on the front of the house.

With one hand, he unlocks the window and slides the pane up. Giving himself just enough room to set the barrel on the windowsill.

I can’t stop my smile.

He’s about to sniper the shit out of those other guys.

Hans lifts something small and black to his mouth.

His voice is low when he speaks, sounding a little off. “You guys are gonna want to see this.”

He drops the black thing, some kind of walkie-talkie he must’ve grabbed off the first dead guy, and lowers his eye to the scope.

It really was the smartest thing to say. Gets the curiosity of the other guys without alarming them.

My front door is hanging open, broken, and my eyes are on it when both men step into view, preparing to walk out of the house at the same time.

The leading man is one step away from the threshold when his head snaps back and red mist fills the doorway.

The man behind him freezes for one second, then turns to dive back into the house.

But Hans is quicker.

A second crack of gunfire fills the speakers while the last man falls to the floor, lifeless.

“Damn.”

Having also heard the gunfire, the driver slams on the gas, but he had it in drive, and he’s facing the end of the cul-de-sac.

He’s got to be the worst getaway driver in history.

The van nearly tips as the driver speeds around the circle in front of the abandoned house, no way out except back between the houses.

I glance back at the screen with Hans.

The angle of the camera means I can’t see Hans’s face, but I can see him shake his head as the van careens back our way. I’m certain he’s rolling his eyes.

I look back to the street view just in time to see the van’s windshield crack, red splattering it from the inside.