HANS: Alliance Series Book Four, page 1
Hans
ALLIANCE BOOK FOUR
S. J. TILLY
HANS
Alliance Series Book FOUR
Copyright © S.J. Tilly LLC 2023
All rights reserved.
First published in 2023
ISBN 9781962096034
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover: Lori Jackson Design
Model Image: Wander Aguiar Photography
Editors: Jeanine Harrell, Indie Edits with Jeanine
& Beth Lawton, VB Edits
This book is dedicated to Nero, the beautiful bastard who started it all. I love your unhinged ass.
-
This battle belongs to all of us. Because we’re all human. And that makes it ours.
Contents
Content Warning
1. Hans
2. Cassie
3. Hans
4. Cassie
5. Hans
6. Cassie
7. Hans
8. Cassie
9. Hans
10. Hans
11. Cassie
12. Hans
13. Cassie
14. Hans
15. Cassie
16. Hans
17. Cassie
18. Hans
19. Cassie
20. Hans
21. Cassie
22. Hans
23. Cassie
24. Hans
25. Cassie
26. Hans
27. Cassie
28. Hans
29. Cassie
30. Hans
31. Cassie
32. Hans
33. Cassie
34. Hans
35. Cassie
36. Hans
37. Cassie
38. Hans
39. Cassie
40. Hans
41. Cassie
42. Hans
43. Cassie
44. Hans
45. Cassie
46. Hans
47. Cassie
48. Hans
49. Cassie
50. Hans
51. Cassie
52. Hans
53. Hans
54. Hans
55. Cassie
56. Hans
57. Cassie
58. Hans
59. Cassie
60. Cassie
61. Hans
62. Cassie
63. Hans
64. Cassie
65. Hans
66. Cassie
67. Hans
68. Cassie
69. Hans
70. Nero
71. Cassie
72. Hans
73. Cassie
74. Hans
75. Cassie
76. Hans
77. Cassie
78. Cassie
79. Hans
80. Cassie
81. Hans
82. Cassie
83. Hans
84. Cassie
85. Hans
86. Cassie
87. Hans
88. Cassie
89. Hans
90. Cassie
91. Hans
92. Cassie
93. Hans
94. Cassie
95. Hans
96. Cassie
97. Dom
98. Cassie
99. Hans
100. Cassie
101. Hans
102. Cassie
103. Hans
104. Cassie
105. Hans
106. Cassie
107. Hans
108. Cassie
109. Hans
110. Cassie
111. Hans
112. Cassie
113. Hans
114. Cassie
115. Hans
116. Cassie
117. Hans
118. Cassie
119. Hans
120. Cassie
121. Hans
122. Cassie
123. Hans
124. King
125. Cassie
126. Hans
127. Cassie
128. Hans
129. Hans
Epilogue
Payton
Hans
Cassie
Savannah
Val
Cassie
Epilogue 2 - Hans
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books By This Author
Content Warning
This is a dark vigilante romance.
It contains a lot of graphic violence and death. There is stalking, breaking and entering, and surveillance.
This book deals with human trafficking. There are no first-person POVs of any trafficking victims, but you will see firsthand the trauma it leaves behind.
This book also contains death of parents, death of a sibling, and the torment of wishing you’d done more.
Since Hans only lives between these pages, if you, or someone you know is a victim of human trafficking, please call 1-888-373-7888. If you are outside of the United States, visit this site for further help https://bit.ly/InternationalTraffickingHotlines There are people who care about you, and they will help you.
Please proceed well informed and with caution.
CHAPTER 1
Hans
The soft scraping sound of my blade gliding over the whetstone fills me with a sense of calm.
It’s familiar.
My dearest friend.
Instinctually, my wrist twists to hold the metal against the stone at a fifteen-degree angle, five degrees shallower than most brand standards. A little sharper. A little more dangerous.
A little more my style.
Ahead of me, a yellow light blinks in the corner of one of my monitors.
I move my eyes up from my knife to the signaling screen and watch Cassandra, my neighbor, the bane of my existence, hop across the street from her driveway to mine.
Okay, so she’s not hopping. But in that strappy little tank top and shorts, she might as well be for how much every inch of her is fucking jiggling.
The work surface in front of me creaks as I lean forward, my fist gripping the knife handle, pressing the butt of it against the old wood.
Does she not realize what a fucking temptation she is?
Does she have no sense at all?
Her big tits bounce as she takes her next step, her flimsy flip-flops doing nothing to protect her feet from the cracked blacktop.
A girl like her should wear…
Nothing.
A girl like her should wear absolutely nothing, and she should spend her nights on her back with her thighs spread, her hands pinned, and her body heaving… underneath mine—where no one else can ever lay eyes on her.
I grind my teeth.
This world isn’t made for delicate creatures like her.
On the screen, Cassandra brushes one hand down the front of her purple top as she turns off my driveway and down the little brick pathway that leads to my front door.
My front door, which is one level up from my current spot in my basement.
My front door that I never answer.
Because I can’t talk to her.
I can’t let myself get that close to her.
The doorbell is inaudible through the reinforced walls of my hidden safe room, but I hear it clearly through my speakers.
Another screen shows a different view, and this one might be my favorite.
The camera is in the peephole, so it’s a perfect angle of her perfect face.
She bites her lip.
She shifts the glass container of badly made baked goods in her hands.
She reaches up and brushes her curly black hair away from her face.
I shove the air out of my lungs.
It’s almost time for her next haircut. Her bangs are a little long, hanging into her eyes, the curls even more apparent in the short strands, making her look just the right amount of unkempt.
I love them.
But I hate when they block my view of her soft brown irises, even if it’s only for a second.
Her tongue darts out, swiping across her plump bottom lip.
And I look to the ceiling.
The doorbell sounds again.
Maybe if I focus, I can slam my head forward, impaling my eye socket onto my blade, and put myself out of this fucking blue-ball misery.
“I thought you were home, Hans.” Her soft voice slides through my speakers, and I snap my eyes back up to the screen.
She almost always mutters something to herself when she stands at my door. But she never says my name.
My dick reacts, knowing exactly how her lips would’ve parted while she breathed out my name.
I’ll play the recording back when she’s gone. Watch the shape of those perfect pink lips as they open and close.
“Dammit, Butterfly.” I press my palm down over my growing erection.
Her exposed cleavage rises as she takes a big breath, then she dips
It doesn’t actually say welcome. But it does have a sheet of carefully crafted explosives woven into the inner layer of the mat, so there’s that.
I keep pressing down on my dick as she straightens.
And I press harder when I watch her glance at my front window.
The curtains are closed, so there’s nothing for her to see, but I love that she tried.
Then I keep watching as she turns away from the tiny camera and hops back down the steps, the sunset causing her form to glow.
She’s so fucking thick. And soft. And beautiful. And the spark behind her eyes is so trusting and healthy and…
I let my fingers grip my length, squeezing until she’s crossed the dead-end street, skirted past her car—that she always leaves parked in the driveway—and closed her front door behind her.
I slouch back in my chair.
The only other time I’ve heard her say my name was the day we met.
I’d been out of town—out of the country. I was busy killing terrible men, so I hadn’t known my original across-the-street neighbor had died. She was a nice old lady who couldn’t hear for shit, couldn’t see past her front yard, and had an online poker habit that kept her away from the windows. She was perfect. But then she up and died, and her sister had a friend who had a daughter who was looking for a place, and by the time I got home, I had a new fucking neighbor.
Cassandra.
That was last summer. One year, one month, and two weeks ago.
I had just climbed out of my truck, and she had hurried across the street, already at my tailgate by the time I shut my door, and she thrust her hand out toward me.
Before I could stop myself, I placed my calloused palm in her smooth one while she said I’m Cassie, your new neighbor. And since my brain could come up with nothing better to say, I replied with Hans.
Just that. Just my name.
And then she repeated it back. Just as simple. Just once. Hans.
And I haven’t fucked anyone since.
If I don’t push her out of my brain soon, I’m going to lose it.
I reach out and tap the button to switch on more monitors.
Four across and two high, all eight screens flicker to life, their displays divided into four quadrants, giving me views of the whole cul-de-sac.
The house at the end is abandoned. And since some corporation bought the property for tax reasons, it’ll probably sit abandoned for the next twenty years. And if Cassandra hadn’t swooped in on 1304 Holly Court, I would’ve—I mean, that same corporation would have—bought that house too. And then they probably would’ve rented it out to Karmine, letting her use it as a sort of forward operating base for her self-built army.
But that didn’t happen, and I don’t have complete control of my little street because of Cassandra.
The curvy little vixen who just turned thirty, twelve days ago—making her nine years my junior and too young for me—and has been doing her best to kill me with food poisoning through her little deliveries.
Maybe it’s actually been working. Maybe she’s been microdosing me with some sort of secret government toxin. Maybe that’s why I can’t get her off my mind.
From the camera positioned on the top point of my garage, I watch her shadow move behind her thin living room drapes as she turns the lights off on her main floor.
Her form disappears, but then the windows on her upper floor light up, and I know she’s going to bed.
CHAPTER 2
Cassie
I tug back the paisley shower curtain and grab my facewash off the tub’s ledge, squeezing a careful amount into my palm.
The citrus scent is usually enough to lift my mood, but not tonight.
Sighing, I turn back to my sink, the running water finally turning warm, and lather my hands together.
“You gotta give up one of these days,” I reprimand myself before tipping my face down and scrubbing the bubbles into my skin.
Every couple of weeks, ever since I moved in, I deliver cookies or breads or desserts to the incredibly hot man across the street. Hans.
He’s… I don’t know how to explain it. He’s just different. And I shouldn’t even have an opinion on him because I’ve only seen him up close that one time. That first time I saw him.
And if his track record since is any indication, I only got that close because I caught him off guard. Because he hadn’t known I’d moved in.
I had begun to wonder if I even had an across-the-street neighbor, but the realtor promised the single-story home was occupied. And I asked no less than three times because I was a little creeped out by the empty house at the end of the street. So I kept an eye out for my supposed neighbor.
Even though the lots here—on the edge of this little town—are large, our driveways are perfectly lined up. It made me feel a weird sort of companionship with the neighbor I hadn’t met yet. Like we were in this together, with the other houses in our neighborhood out of sight around the corner, feeling a world away.
It was three weeks and four days after I spent the first night in my first home that a plain white pickup truck pulled into the driveway across from mine.
I was so excited that I didn’t even check what I was wearing, didn’t take even a moment to dust on some bronzer. I just leaped off my couch and walked as fast as my legs were willing to go out my front door, down my cracked driveway, and up his. I was already at the back bumper of his truck when he climbed out.
And then my breath caught. Because he was… handsome. Like so handsome, but also intimidating. And strong. He looked so freaking strong.
My neglected libido tumbled out of hibernation like a hungry bear rolling out of her cave, dried leaves shaking off with each roll, until she splashed headfirst into a lake that smelled of man.
I snort at myself, causing water to splash over the edge of the sink, as I remember the way I acted that day.
My palm was probably sweaty when I stuck it out between us.
His long dark blond hair was pulled back into a bun, with a few pieces escaping and falling across his eyes. And it did things to me. Because they weren’t just eyes. They were intense, and his irises are such a deep brown they almost looked black. And his jaw line… I could faint now just thinking of it. It’s chiseled, and it was covered in this stubble several shades darker than his hair.
It was too much.
Hans was too much.
