Page 176 of Hans


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“Who?” Gabriel snaps.

Andre visibly swallows. “Um, I think the guy next to him might’ve been Dominic Gonzalez.”

Gabriel’s head rears back. “The head of the Chicago mafia? What the fuck would he be doing with Hans?”

“Maybe it wasn’t him,” Andre backpedals. “I don’t know. I just saw the tattoos and hair…”

Both men turn toward me.

I don’t have to fake my smile this time. “Oh, didn’t you know? Hans is a part of The Alliance now.”

“You’re lying,” Gabriel hisses at me.

I lift a shoulder. “Am I?”

I might be lying; I don’t actually know the details. But the idea of it seems to be rattling this asshole’s confidence, so I’m sticking with it.

Gabriel steps closer into my space. “I was going to let you sit up here, nice and comfortable, until we lured Hans out of whatever hole he lives in and killed him. Then I would have killed you with a bullet to the head. Made it quick. But I think I’ll keep you instead. Put you to work.” He steps back. “Radio Henrik. Tell him we have product for him to transport to the cells. And let him know he can be as rough as he wants.” Gabriel’s voice is filled with a terrible-sounding glee that fills my stomach with dread.

I stand still while they leave, but as soon as the lock clicks behind them, I rush back into the bathroom.

I cannot just stand here and wait forHenrik.

I pull open the top drawer of the vanity.

Nothing new has appeared, and still nothing hard enough to break a mirror.

Then I pause.

Fucking duh.

I yank the drawer all the way out and shimmy it loose.

I tip the contents into the sink and find the best way to hold it two handed, like a square baseball bat.

Then I look down at my bare feet.

If I put my socks back on and the bad guy comes to get me, I won’t be able to run. I’ll just have to be careful and accept the risk of cutting my feet.

Squeezing my eyes shut and turning my head away, I swing the drawer.

The mirror shatters on impact, but I keep my eyes clenched shut for another second before opening them.

Shards are all over the counter, but there’s a perfectly pointy triangle of glass still sitting in the corner of the frame.

Using a washcloth I found earlier, I pry it out, then wrap the bottom half of the mirror chunk in the little towel so I can hold it without slicing my palm open.

I have a weapon. Now I need a plan.

I look around the small bathroom.

I could lock myself in here, but I have no doubt the man they’re sending up would be able to break the door down in moments. And then I’d be stuck in the narrow bathroom with no way out.

But is standing in the main room, facing off, glass chunk to gun, really a better idea?

CHAPTER113

Hans

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