In a blur, one of his hands whips forward, and something flies from it.
There are more shouts. More cries of fear. But I can’t focus on anyone else. And I can’t look away from the new man. Because peeking out around the bottom of his mask is hair. Long dark blond hair.
Still striding forward, the man nears where I’m sitting. And when he reaches me, when he passes my seat, he turns his head my way.
Just for a heartbeat.
A split second.
But our eyes connect.
My stunned ones to his intensely dark ones.
My heart skips.
“Hans?” I gasp the name against my fingers.
But the man doesn’t stop.
He doesn’t acknowledge me. He just keeps moving.
My head turns to follow him.
Something inside me urges me to go after him. To be near him. But…
It can’t be him.
Can it?
I hadn’t noticed the gloves on his hands until he puts them on the back of two seats, one on each side of the aisle, and swings himself forward.
I stand, needing to see.
The masked man swung over the man on the floor with the knife in his eye.
I’m not great with anatomy, but the man is on his stomach, and blood is pooling around his face.
I don’t think he’s gonna make it.
There’s a grunt, and I snap my eyes back up.
The second man, who was dragging the driver out of the seat, is pulling a knife out of his neck.
The ski-mask man, our hero, who might be my mother-freaking neighbor, must’ve thrown that knife too.
Second Man presses his free hand over the bleeding wound in his neck, then he lunges, knife first, toward Ski Mask.
This time, I’m the one who screams.
Faster than I can track, Ski Mask avoids the wild swipe by dodging down and to the right.
Second Man still has his arm extended.
Ski Mask lets his right arm lead, shooting up and to the left, cutting across between them and stealing the knife back from Second Man.
Because I’m staring—because I can’t look away—I see the knife spin in Ski Mask’s hand so the sharp side is pointed back toward Second Man.
Bringing his arm back down, Ski Mask steps forward as he slams the blade into Second Man’s chest.
Second Man stumbles backward, crashing into the controls at the front of the bus.
Not stopping, Ski Mask slams his palm forward, against the butt of the knife, sinking it farther into Second Man.
It all happened in seconds.
My mouth is hanging open.
Someone up front pukes.
And Ski Mask doesn’t stop.
Gaping, I watch as he grips the shirt of Second Man, who’s gone limp, and tosses him down the bus steps. The door at the bottom of the stairs is still open from when the bad guys broke it.
New shouts sound from outside the bus.
More bad guys.
Ski Mask ducks down and picks something up off the floor.
I see a glimpse of a gun, then he’s following the body of Second Man down the stairs and off the bus.
Gunfire erupts outside, and as everyone crouches down in their seats, I move onto my tiptoes.
I need to see.
I need to know.
CHAPTER 58
Hans
Fucking idiots.
I pull the trigger again, this bullet sinking through the skull of the man behind the wheel of the van.
They’re all fucking idiots.
The morons trying to steal a bus full of people.
The morons who organized this idiotic trip.
A man groans from the back seat, and I turn my aim to put another bullet into his torso. The first two didn’t work fast enough.
Two dead on the bus. Two more that I shot out on the sidewalk. And these two, trying to get away.
Shoving the driver to the side, I reach into the van and put it into neutral.
I toss the empty gun onto the floorboard and take the assault rifle the driver dropped on his lap.
Jogging, I circle back to the bus. I’ve only been off it for thirty seconds, and this ground crew is dead, but more could be coming.
I bound up the blood-stained stairs and lock eyes with Cassandra. The only person who’s standing rather than hunched down.
Did she not hear the fucking gunshots?
From the front of the bus, I point a finger at her. “Sit. Down.”
I don’t have to work to make my tone angry and intense.
I am angry.
I’m fucking pissed that she was this close to violence.
This fucking close to being taken.
Rage boils inside me.
I want to drag her off this bus and leave everyone else to their own fate.
But she probably wouldn’t like that. And since I escalated the situation, I’ll finish it.
Needing to clear the aisle, I grab the dead asshole by his feet and drag him to the top of the stairs, then shove him down them, his body landing on top of his dead asshole friend.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the corporate yuppies reach for a pistol lying on the floor between the seats.
I yank my third throwing knife from my belt and toss it so it lands buried in the floor between the man’s outstretched fingers and the firearm.
“Don’t be fucking stupid,” I snap at him, and he cowers back into his seat.
Now to get everyone to safety.
The bus driver is dead, and he deserves more than me pushing him to the floor, but it’s the best I can do under the circumstances.
Stepping over his body, I climb into the driver’s seat.
The bus is still in drive, and with the van in front of us in neutral, I’m able to depress the gas and push it out of the way.
Now that the gunshots have stopped, people are starting to gather around. And I probably have about two more seconds before someone starts to live stream this shit.
I take a hard right at the light and speed up for a dozen yards before slamming on the brakes.
The people in the seats behind me shout in alarm, but the motion forces the rear door to slam closed.
Nothing about this piece of shit bus is bulletproof, but I don’t need an open back door inviting fucking trouble.
My foot moves back to the gas, and after we’ve gone a few blocks, I turn again.
Toward the US Consulate.
CHAPTER 59
Cassie
Suzanne is wailing loudly in her seat across from me.
I should probably try to comfort her or Bob—who is rocking and crying in the seat ahead of me. But I can’t look away from the man driving our bus.
His head and face are still covered with the ski mask, but the more I stare at him, the more I try to catch another glimpse of his eyes in the oversized rearview mirror, and the more I’m convinced that the man who just killed several people is Hans.
I swallow.
But how would that even be possible?
Okay, so I’ve felt his muscles. I’ve sensed that edge of danger that surrounds him. Maybe I can believe the how.
But why?
Why would he be here? In Mexico. Specifically in the exact location as me.
The bus rocks around a turn, and a car horn blares, but the man behind the wheel never loses control. He just keeps driving.
I can’t wait anymore.
I need to know.
And I need to… move.
I feel too hot.
Too… flustered.
Too—
Oh god, am I turned on right now?