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The guy Hans saved last Christmas is named Dom, but he lives in Chicago, so Hans isn’t sure whether he’ll be here too.
I also found out that Hans rigged both of our houses to blow by using some sort of igniter thingy between the gas stove and the wall. He claims it was super safe, that he checked both of them every week, and that there was no worry about it ever blowing up on its own.
I probably could’ve learned more details about the whole house explosion thing if I hadn’t spent the first half of the car ride giving Hans a blow job, but honestly, I have no regrets.
With anyone else, I’d probably be embarrassed about how turned on I got watching him kill people. But considering he’s the one who just casually ended five lives in the span of a few minutes, it’s not like Hans can really judge me.
Plus, making him fight for control like that was amazing.
One hand between my legs, the other pushing my head down to take him deeper, while he drove with his knee and tried not to crash the truck…
I shift.
Okay, so even though I came so hard I had to change my underwear and my shorts when we stopped at a gas station, I’m still worked up enough that I’d happily climb over and impale myself on Hans’s lap if we weren’t about to pull up to someone’s house.
“You okay?” Hans asks, misreading my discomfort. “I don’t want to leave you at a hotel alone, but if you don’t want to come with, we can figure something out.”
I put my hand on top of his, where it rests on my lap. “No, I’m totally okay. Promise.” I squeeze his hand. “Just thinking about earlier.”
He slides me a look full of heat. “Dirty girl.”
I grin, and he shakes his head, then starts to slow the truck.
My eyes widen when I see the gate we’re turning toward. The other driveways have had gates, too, but this one seems…extra.
Instead of just a call box, there’s a pillar big enough to hold a couple of men.
Just as I think it, two men step into view from behind the bricks.
They’re dressed similarly to Hans, and they’re holding guns.
Hans pulls the truck to a stop in front of the closed gate, and one of the guys gestures for him to roll down his window.
Hans does.
From the other side of the gate, the man holds up a phone.
He must’ve taken a photo or is on a video call with someone to get approval because a few seconds later, he nods and the gate starts to slide open.
Hans keeps his window down as he drives through and slows when he comes even with the guard.
The guard keeps his gun at his side. “Stop in front of the house, exit the vehicle, and wait for the bosses.”
Hans doesn’t look like he’s going to reply, so I call out a “thank you” before he drives forward.
I try to keep the shock off my face as we near the house. It’s so fancy.
My teeth dig into my lip as I look down at myself.
Tennis shoes, new pair of jean shorts, same band shirt, hair slightly tamed, but still a mess.
I hope these guys dress casually. Though something tells me they don’t.
Hans puts the truck in park where the driveway curves in front of the house and turns off the engine.
He heaves out a breath and turns to me, lifting his hands to cup my face. “I’m trusting them because I know at least some of our morals line up. But other than the times I’ve told you about”—he means saving that one guy and threatening to blow them up in a restaurant—“I haven’t interacted with them. So, if this turns out to be a gigantic mistake, please forgive me.”
His grip on my face is firm enough that it squishes my cheeks when I try to smile, but that just makes me smile more.
