“Hans,” I sigh, but he just carries me into the airplane hangar, refusing to set me down.
We took the chopper to an empty patch of desert, where Nero landed it fairly well. Then we were met by some guy driving a catering van, which wasn’t actually a catering van.
Not much was said as we all lounged against the walls, sitting on the floor in the back of the van, but just now, when we got out, I noticed they left that big bag full of money behind.
“Baby, I’m okay.” I try to reason with Hans.
“You’re not okay,” he grits out next to my ear.
I made the mistake of gingerly touching my head a few minutes ago, causing Hans to ask what was wrong. So I told him about Dead Andre pulling me by my hair, and he said something along the lines of I should’ve kept his hands for you. And Hans has been boiling with rage ever since.
So, while everyone else is working to ready the plane we’ll take back to Minnesota, I continue to cling to Hans like a koala.
I expect him to set me on one of the benches along the wall, but he veers off and takes us into one of the unused offices.
It’s just a plain square room with one door, a set of windows that look into the hangar, and a round table with four folding chairs.
Hans lowers me onto a chair. “Stay right here.”
“Hans, seriously, I—”
He holds up one finger. “Cassandra, we have at least three hours in that plane and then another hour before I tuck you into bed at Nero’s house.”
“Nero’s house?”
He holds up a second finger, and my body reacts as though it heard him say that’s two. “I am not going to let you sit around for the next four hours with pieces of glass, or whatever it is, in your fucking feet.”
I’m hardly even listening to him. But he’s right. I don’t want my feet to throb for the next however many hours. But his little scolding has my body responding, and I also don’t want to wait the same number of hours until we’re back at Nero’s house to do something about it.
Leaving me where I am, Hans stomps out of the office, and I assume he’s off to find a first aid kit.
I shift on the seat, but the hard metal chair is uncomfortable against the bruises that are definitely forming on my ass.
Gingerly, I climb onto the floor.
If Hans wants access to my feet, he can have it.
