Lifting my hand to his cheek, I lean forward and gently press my lips to his. “You’re a good man, Hans.”
He shakes his head, but I kiss him again.
“You might do it through unconventional ways, but you make the world better.”
His dark eyes stare into mine. “I’ve killed a lot of people, Cassandra.”
“I killed one tonight.” I rest my head back on my pillow and shrug. “Some people deserve to die.”
Hans watches me. Like really watches me.
I’m a privileged girl from the suburbs. I’ve never physically hurt anyone before tonight. I’ve never thrown a punch. Never even slapped someone. And I’ve never seen a dead body outside of an open-casket funeral.
But I’ve watched enough documentaries. I listen to the news. I know there are some really awful people in this world who do really awful things. And I know—I know—Hans isn’t one of those people. He isn’t bad.
Sure, according to polite society, I should be much more alarmed by all this. By the fact that I’m lying in bed with someone who admitted they kill because they want to. That I took a man’s life tonight. That I may very well be in danger and on the run in the immediate future.
But really, what’s so bad about all that?
We only live once, as far as we know, and I wasn’t doing anything with my life.
I wasn’t saving anyone. I wasn’t bringing justice to wrongdoers.
I wasn’t unhappy, but I wasn’t thriving. I’ve just been existing. Looking for my passion. Something to inspire me.
My parents raised me to understand that there are consequences for our actions, repercussions we need to face when we do something wrong. And the men Hans has killed… Their wrongs are unforgivable. They earned their punishment.
Hans is their punishment.
And Hans is my passion.
Lying on our sides, facing each other, I feel a sense of rightness. Like this is where I belong.
When Hans told me the details about his past, about his family, it broke my heart.
I can’t fix it for him, no one can bring them back, but I can be here for him now.
“You’re a good man,” I say again.
Hans’s throat works on a swallow, then he grips my shoulders and forces me to roll away from him.
I don’t fight it, because I can feel him move with me. And as soon as I’m facing the other way, he presses his body to mine. His front to my back.
“My Butterfly.” Hans presses a kiss to the back of my head. “My girl.” He circles his arm around my waist. “My light.”
His words seep into my heart.
“My Grizzly Bear.” I hug his arm. “My man.” I melt into his body. “My stalker.” I smile.
Sleep finally starts to take me, the weight of the day pulling me under, when Hans whispers two more words.
“My love.”
