* TW: descriptions of murder, sex, and the use of guns.
"You are disposable to me."
Hans hadn't been lying about that part, unfortunately. Despite having been spread open on top of a desk with his gun (and other things) buried between your legs, he still saw you as nothing but a bargaining chip. A useful, or perhaps useless, means to the end he truly wanted. How he was intending to use you to reach that very end, you weren't sure. You were a mere assistant. A servant to the higher ups of the company. What could you possibly offer him?
The office was stuffy and hot, the air not having much of an escape or means to circulate as you dressed yourself back into your own clothes and smoothed out any wrinkles in the material. Hans was already dressed back in his fancy suit, sat comfortably behind the large desk as he fiddled with the very same gun he had used to fuck you senseless moments ago.
You felt rather dirty, guilty for allowing yourself to succumb to such earthly pleasures given by a very dangerous German terrorist. That would make for a very interesting conversation starter at parties. Hans hadn't uttered much of a single word to you since you two had untangled from your sweaty aftermath of sex, the silence between you two even more deafening than the echoes of your orgasm-fueled screams.
You ran you fingers through your hair to fluff it up a bit, letting out an exasperated sigh as you turn to face in the direction of Hans. "So...what is your plan, Mr. Gruber?"
Hans flickered his gaze slowly up to you and he stared back with a stoic, cold expression pulling at his features. His eyes seemed emptier than they had earlier and it admittedly scared you, the heat pooling beneath your cheeks in a rosy flush once more.
He didn't answer you. His fingertips ran up the barrel of the silver gun and stopped at the tiny hole, circling the rim with his index finger as the tip of his tongue peeked out to wet his lips. Tease.
"You know, if it's about money...why not just rob a bank? Why keep a bunch of people hostage while you hide out in an office?"
You were pushing it. You could tell. A dark blonde brow raised and cocked up slowly, reaching over so he could sit the gun back on to the hard surface of the desk.
"What makes you think I'm hiding?" He purred softly, lips twitching up into a faint smile.
You crossed your arms over your chest and gave a surprised tilt of your head, letting out the quietest of chuckles. Very funny, Hans.
"Aren't you? I mean, all of your men are running around, waving their fancy guns, and doing all of the dirty work. You're sitting here in a closed off room, gazing out the window like you're on vacation."
He was most definitely about to show you just how disposable you really were. Might as well continue while you were ahead, right? Not like you really had all that much to lose, anyway. You took a few steps forward and shot him a daring glare.
"Too scared to get your own hands dirty, Hans? Afraid you might dirty up your little expensive suit?"
That was it. Hans stood up from the desk and quickly rounded it until he was right up against you, hand gripping around your throat and giving it a rather harsh squeeze. Perhaps your subconscious wanted to make him angry. Wanted to see him blow his top. But that was insane, right? He was a terrorist willing to kill anyone to get what he wanted!
His pupils were blown wide and his upper lip curled into an angry snarl, feeling his hot breath blow against your slightly open mouth.
"For as good of a fuck that you are, your personality is grossly insufferable..." he growled low and guttural as he spit each consonant out with a hiss.
You gulped and could feel yourself swallow hard against the palm of his warm hand, reaching your own up to grasp at his wrist. Inhaling sharply, you gazed up into his eyes and didn't dare look away, heart thumping rapidly against your chest. And he could most definitely feel it within your pulse. Hans withdrew his hand and watched as your shoulders slacked and you breathed in a sigh a relief. He slowly eyed you up and down before backing away and sitting himself back down behind the desk.
You ran a slightly shaky hand through your hair and straightened yourself out, tearing your gaze away and glancing down to the floor. "You're just mad that I'm not afraid to challenge you."
"You've hardly challenged me, silly girl." Hans gave a dramatic roll of his eyes as he leaned back in the leather chair, clasping his hands together and resting them in his lap.
His words brought a smile to your own lips as you lift your chin and avert your eyes in his direction, hands perching at the hilt of your waist.
"Oh yeah? If I'm not a challenge to you, what's stopping me from leaving this room?"
His smile was immediately wiped from his face and that cold, burning stare was back again. His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed, slowly sitting himself up and giving a stretch of his shoulders. Before either you or Hans was able to elicit any other words, the looming sound of sirens echoed from the outskirts of the city. Thudding footsteps followed suit and soon enough, two other men came bursting into the office as they panted breathlessly.
You whipped your head around, dropping your hands from your hips.
"We've got company!" One of the men shouted, the other rushing over the edge of the desk and slamming his hands down with frustration.
He was covered in sweat and dirt, as well as what you could only assume was blood. Whether it was his or someone else's you had no clue. Hans stood up and crossed the floor to the large glass windows, glancing out and down to the empty parking lot below, which was soon to be filled with police cars.
"Everyone relax," Hans purred.
"This is a matter of inconvenience timing, that's all. Police action was inevitable and as it happens, necessary. So, let them fumble about outside and stay calm. This is simply the beginning..."
Your eyes bounced back and forth between the two men and Hans, waiting for the next set of instructions. At this point, you had no idea what use you were to Hans or his plan. At it seemed, thus far, you were only in the way. A distraction. If the police were on their way, it was a jail sentence to be caught beside the crazed terrorist with the machine gun. Should you run? Hide?
The chirp of the small black walkie talkie sat atop the desk brought you out of your thoughts and back to reality. Hans reached out and snatched it up, pressing the button as he spoke into it.
"I thought I told all of you I want radio silence until further n—"
A voice on the other end seemed to cut in, stopping Hans mid sentence.
"Ooooh," the voice drawled out. "I'm very sorry, Hans. I didn't get that message. Maybe you should've put it on the bulletin board."
His eyes darkened and his body language stilled, smooth as he slowly lifted his gaze. You blinked nervously, hugging your arms close to your chest.
The man on the other end continued. "I figured since I waxed Tony and Marco and his friend here, I figured you and Karl and Franco might be a little lonely. So, I wanted to give you a call..."
The same man who had slammed his hands onto the edge of the desk suddenly spoke up, clear worry etched into the tone of his voice.
"How does he know—"
"SHHH," Hans interrupted, holding up the palm of his free hand.
"That's...very kind of you. I assume you are our mysterious party crasher," Hans continued. His voice was low and as smooth as rich velvet, dripping like melted honey with each drawl of a vowel. It sent shivers running up the length of your spine.
"You are most troublesome. For a security guard."
The voice on the other end screeched in what sounded like an imitation of a buzzer, causing you to flinch just slightly and bite down hard on your lower lip. Hans took notice, flickering his eyes over to you.
"Sorry Hans, wrong guess! Would you like to go for double jeopardy where the scores can really change?!"
The conversation didn't last for much longer, Hans dropping the walkie talkie away from his mouth as he turned to one of his men. "Check on all the others. Don't use the radio. See if he's lying about Marco and find out if anyone else is missing."
You took this as your opportunity to run. And fucking run you did. You turned on your heels and bolted for the door, hands gripping the knob and giving it a fumbled twist. Just when you had thought you were finally free of your bewildering entrapment, a sharp and burning pain hit you in the back of your right leg.
Warmth soaked your skin and pooled at your fancy heel as you tumbled against the door, white spotting your vision as your head began to spin. You twisted around as best you could to get a glimpse of your leg and felt yourself nearly vomit at the sight of the blood, bringing a shaky hand up to touch the now open wound just above the inner crook of your knee.
Hans shot up from the desk, rushing over to one of the two men who has his gun gripped in both hands. He twisted the other man's wrists and tossed the gun to the floor, shoving him up against the nearby wall and causing a framed photo to fall and shatter over the carpet.
"Verdammte Idiotin!" Hans was clearly angry, his forearm pushing into the crook of the the other man's throat until he was practically begging to be let go in the form of choking coughs.
"GO. Now."
The two men rushed out of the office, stepping over your hunched frame in the process. Hans shot you a flaming look, eyes burning holes into your skin. You whimpered in pain as you attempted to move from the floor but it was no use. You had been fucking shot!
Hurrying back over to the desk, Hans gripped the walkie talkie and buzzed it on, speaking hushed into the receiver. "Mister mystery guest. Are you still there?"
"Yeah, I'm still here," the other end chirped. "Unless you wanna open the front door for me."
"Uh no, I'm afraid not. But...you have me at a loss."
HELLO? You had just been shot in the leg for damn sake. How could he be standing there, having such a casual conversation with a stranger on the other end of the line?!
Hans cocked a brow up, keeping his eyes on you. "You know my name, but who are you? Just another American who saw too many movies as a child? Another orphan of a bankrupt culture who thinks he's John Wayne? Rambo? Marshal Dillon?"
The man on the other end took a moment to respond, and all that could be heard was your panting and groans of shooting pain.
"I was always kinda partial to Roy Rogers, actually. I really like those sequin shirts."
"Do you really think you have a chance against us, mister cowboy?" Hans chuckled into the walkie talkie as his lips curled slightly at the corners.
"Yippie ki yay, motherfucker."
Hans released the button and tossed the talkie onto the desk, turning his attention back to you and striding across the carpet to where you sat in a bloody heap.
"About fucking time you helped me! Your guy SHOT ME."
He stood, silent, before slowly bending to his knees and balancing on the tips of his shoes. His eyes traveled the frame of your body to the wound that penetrated the skin of your thigh. He brought his hand up to lightly touched over the bullet entry with his fingertips and you immediately flinched back from him, hissing as the pain shot up your entire leg.
"Easy, easy," he hummed calmly as he held up his other hand, flashing his palm in a silent show of concern.
Your chest heaved as you struggled to calm your breathing, little droplets of sweat forming over your skin. Fuck, it hurt. It hurt really bad. You had wondered a few times before what it would feel like to get shot, and now you were wishing you didn't know. Without warning, Hans was hooking his arms underneath your back and your legs, pulling you up into a careful embrace as he shoved the door open with the flat of his foot.
"Ow, fuck!" You cried out softly, the warmth of blood continuing to cover the back of your leg.
Hans took quick strides down the empty hallway and around a few short turns, your brows furrowing together in a line of confusion.
"Hans, where are we going?"
Your hands gripped the fancy fabric of his suit and gave it a tug, feeling your leg throb with each of his steps. He continued to walk even as he stole a quick glance down at you. You could've sworn you saw a sparkle of worry and soft affection deep in those dark hues. He let out a soft sigh and gripped you tighter within his arms.