“Ha—Holy shit!”
My gaze scans the bare skin in front of me, down to the towel wrapped low around Hans’s hips.
Hans opened the door practically naked, and I don’t know what to do with myself.
A large hand closes around my forearm, and he pulls me into his house, slamming the door behind me. But I can’t look away from his… body.
And all the scars.
“Cassandra,” he snaps. “What happened?”
I force my eyes up to his and swallow. “I think I killed someone.”
He doesn’t even flinch. “Explain.”
With nothing else to hold on to, I twist my fingers in the hem of my shirt. “I, um, I heard something in the backyard, after—after, um, I opened the window. And then—”
Hans frames my face with his warm hands. “Breathe, Butterfly.”
I stare into his dark gaze, appreciating his damp hair and the way a piece hangs across his forehead. It makes him feel normal.
I take a breath.
“I opened the back door to see.” His jaw works, but he stays quiet. “I was holding my, uh, crossbow. And when I turned the light on, there was—” My heart rate spikes. “There was a man running straight for me.”
“What man?” His voice is even.
“I didn’t recognize him. Hans…” I reach up and grab his wrists. “I shot him. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to pull the trigger. But he scared me and I stumbled. And I…”
“Where is he now?” His thumbs brush across my cheeks.
“My backyard,” I whisper. “I think he’s dead.”
“Did you call anyone yet?”
I shake my head. “I… I didn’t even think about that. I just ran over here.”
“Good girl.” Hans leans in and presses his lips against my forehead. Then he pulls back. “Do you trust me?”
I nod. Because I do.
He presses another kiss to my forehead. “Good. Come with me.”
Hans lets go of my cheeks to grab one of my hands, then pulls me with him to the door that leads to the basement.
He yanks it open, and we descend.
My bare feet are a little sore from running over here, catching a few pebbles when I crossed the street, but when we reach the bottom of the stairs, the cool concrete floor soothes my soles.
Hans lets go of my hand so he can resecure his towel, but he doesn’t stop walking, so I follow him across the unfinished basement to… a wall.
My lips purse, starting to form the word what, but then he presses his hand to the wall, and a door-sized panel swings outward.
Behind the secret door is a hidden door made of metal that looks sturdy enough to survive a bomb.
Hans lifts his right hand and sets it on a black rectangular screen embedded in the wall next to the door.
My jaw drops.
Is that a freaking palm reader?
There’s a heavy-sounding clunk, then the thick metal door opens inward.
Wow.
Hans guides me toward the pitch-black room, and as soon as I step foot inside, lights automatically turn on above me, filling the large room with an even glow.
Extra wow.
My mouth opens even wider.
The room is big. Like bigger than it should be, based on the size of the house upstairs.
I can’t tell whether the walls are made of concrete or metal. But one entire wall is covered with a sort of rack system with hooks. And hanging from those hooks are guns. A whole-ass wall of guns. And are those… grenades?
The door shuts behind Hans, and I hear the quiet whirl of fans turning on.
“The life support systems automatically come on when a body is in the room.” I look up at the ceiling, then over to Hans. He tips his head to the side as he walks past me, like he’s thinking about what he said. “Well, an alive body.”
“Um, has there been an unalive body in here?”
I probably shouldn’t ask that. If this were a movie, I’d be yelling at the girl to turn around and run out of the scary bunker.
But this isn’t a movie. This is my life. And this is my neighbor who calls me Butterfly and drives me to the airport. And who I’m now ninety-nine percent sure was the man on the bus in Mexico.
“Not in this house.”
Not in… Oh, right. Dead bodies.
My eyes follow Hans as he opens one of the four doors lining the far wall, revealing a closet.
More scars mark his back, with one particularly long line of raised flesh two inches away from his spine.
“You have other houses?” My question comes out breathy.
“A few,” Hans replies, then he drops his towel.
And holy ass cheeks, this man is built like a Viking god. Battle marks and all.
Even though I’ve had his tongue, fingers, and cock inside me, I haven’t seen him naked. Not even shirtless. Until right now.
When he bends down to pull on a pair of black boxer briefs, I get a glimpse of his balls hanging down between his legs, and I have to brace my hand on the wall.
Lord have mercy, why is that hot?
When he starts to pull on a pair of black pants, like the ones he wore to dinner at my parents’, I drag my eyes away to look around the rest of the room.
Opposite the weapon wall is what I can only describe as a monitor wall. Like something out of one of those Jason Bourne movies. Rows of screens, all turned off at the moment, mounted above a counter that runs the length of the wall.
“Wait, did you say you have a few houses?” I ask as I walk over to stand behind the rolling office chair centered in front of the monitors.
“We’ll talk about it after. Okay?”
I turn back in time to see Hans lacing up a pair of his boots, black T-shirt already in place. “After?”
Righting himself, Hans moves to the weapon wall.
He slips a shoulder holster off a hook and shrugs it on.
I watch in fascination as he selects two matching handguns, doing that thing people do in the movies to check the clips, then shoving them into the spots on the holster. Then he grabs a long knife in a fabric sheath and attaches the whole thing to his belt.
“You’re like Batman,” I whisper. He’s only missing the cape and mask.
Hans shakes his head. “Nah. My parents got rich off mining.”
His tone is dry, and it sounds like he’s joking. But I guess I don’t know the Batman lore that well because I don’t understand the joke.
“Wait.” It suddenly dawns on me what he’s doing. “You’re going over there.”
Hans nods, then gestures for me to move so he can pull the chair out.
I do, and then he points. “Sit.”
I comply.
Hans grips the back of the chair and turns me to face the monitors.
I don’t see a way to turn them on, but then Hans flips up some hidden panel in the counter and a keyboard appears before me.
He taps a few keys, and the screens come to life.
I lean forward, trying to get a closer look, since most of the screens are split into four quadrants.
“What…” Then I recognize what I’m seeing.
A view from Hans’s front door, at eye level. A view of the street. A few more of what must be Hans’s yard. My house.
Lots of views of my house.
“I’m the only person who can get into this room from the outside, but you can exit the room anytime you want,” Hans says.
I tip my head back to look up at him. “Are you obsessed with me?”
Hans blinks once, slowly. “Cassandra, I need you to listen.” Oh my god, I think he is. “You aren’t trapped here, okay?”
I nod, but I’m still thinking about the fact that he’s obsessed with me.
Hans points to the monitors. “You can watch me through these so you can see when I’m coming back. If something happens, and I don’t come back—” Hans sets a phone down in front of me. “Call the contact A3.”
His words are like a bucket of ice water on my skin. “What do you mean, not come back?”
“Just a precaution.” He points to the phone. “Now, tell me who to call.”
“A3,” I repeat. “Who is that?”
“His name is Dom. He owes me. And if he doesn’t answer, try A2 or A1.” He pauses. “In that order.”
When he starts to step away, I reach for him. “Please don’t go.”
He grips my hand in his. “I’ll be right back, Butterfly. Stay here.”
And then he’s gone.
The heavy door shuts behind him, and the locks slide into place with a thud.
Oh Jesus.
I tap the phone to make sure it’s not locked. Because if he doesn’t come back and I don’t have a way to make a phone call, I’m going to start finally freaking out.
But the phone isn’t locked.
And I can see the home screen. And the photo saved as the background is… me. Asleep in his bed.
I bite down on my lip.
He’s totally obsessed with me.
