Darkest Before Dawn (KGI series) (18 page)

She returned to where Conrad stood, his stance impatient even as his wary gaze constantly scanned the entire area. When he completed a sweep, he began all over again, never taking his eyes from the goings-on around them.

He glanced her way when he caught sight of her and dipped his head in the direction of the military vehicle where Hancock was finishing up the refuel. She fell into step behind him, and as Conrad continually did, she too kept a watchful eye on everyone in her sight line.

When they turned around the outhouse, Honor nearly froze. Only her rigid control prevented her from reacting to the sight of an armed man in fatigues lifting his assault rifle and pointing it at . . . Conrad.

Shit!

She couldn’t just act like she hadn’t seen it, and she had to act fast. Completely disregarding Hancock’s—and Conrad’s—strict instructions to not draw undue attention to herself, she launched herself toward Conrad as though she had fallen.

She crashed into the unsuspecting man, and the adrenaline surge that had spiked through her veins gave her much more strength than she thought she possessed. Conrad went sprawling just as a volley of bullets peppered the area right where Conrad had been standing a fraction of a second earlier.

Tensing, expecting pain from one of the bullets that had surely struck her, she hunched in on herself even as she dropped like a rock. Which was stupid because she and Conrad both needed to be on their feet so they could make their escape. But self-preservation ruled and she acted instinctively to prevent herself from getting killed. Even though she hadn’t been the intended target.

Vicious curses from more than one location blistered the air, and Honor suddenly found herself roughly dragged to her feet, thrown over a shoulder and flopping like a fish out of water as Hancock sprinted toward the waiting vehicle.

Conrad had already regained his footing and was two steps ahead of Hancock and Honor. Hancock forcibly threw Honor into the backseat before he and Conrad dove inside. Their doors weren’t even shut yet when the vehicle lurched forward, tires spinning momentarily as the driver floored it.

“Goddamn it.
Goddamn it!
” Hancock bellowed.

But it was Conrad’s expression that sent Honor’s heart into her throat. He was coldly furious. Rage simmered over and through his body, his face and eyes so black that she shivered. His jaw bulged from clenching his teeth together so tightly.

Everyone was pissed. At
her
. And she was utterly baffled. Genuinely puzzled. She’d saved Conrad’s life. Didn’t that get her off the hook for “drawing undue attention”?

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” Conrad roared. “What about ‘do
not
draw attention to yourself’ did you not understand? Women here would never do such a thing. Swear to God, you must have a death wish.”

“Bullshit,” Honor snapped, pissed that the man wasn’t the least bit grateful that she’d prevented someone from making Swiss cheese out of him. “You forget I work in villages like this. I see mothers protecting their children. Their loved ones. Every bit as fiercely as the males.”

Hancock huffed out a breath that suggested he was hanging on to his patience—and temper—by a thread.

“Not in this village,” he said through clenched teeth. “Women here are rarely seen and never heard. They do not interfere. Worse, you brought dishonor to the assassin because you, a lowly woman, thwarted his objective and the entire village bore witness to it. This is an outlaw town and the only rules are the ones enforced by the people who have the power to back them up.”

“Good,” Honor snarled. “I hope he kills himself over the humiliation of it all. One less asshole in the world, though if I hadn’t interfered, then there’d be
two
less assholes in the world.”

She stared pointedly at Conrad, her expression frigid.

“More likely he’ll kill you,” Hancock said grimly. “It doesn’t matter if he knows you’re wanted or if he’s your enemy’s friend. He would seek your death for no other reason than the insult you handed him.”

“It’s customary to thank someone when they save your life,” she snapped. “Not tell them they’re a fucking idiot who can’t follow simple instructions.”

“If the shoe fits,” Conrad muttered.

“If you want to die so bad, I’ll
gladly
oblige you,” she seethed. “I’ll shoot you myself, but you can be sure I’ll be creative with the shot placements.”

“Bad mojo,” Mojo muttered, glancing over his shoulder at Honor with something that looked suspiciously like a glimmer of respect.

“It’s over and done with,” Hancock said by way of halting the back-and-forth. “Just get us the hell out of here, Viper, and don’t let up on the accelerator. And damn sure keep an eye out for a tail or an RPG attack.”

Honor sank against the seat, pain and intense heat bathing her side. She must have fallen on something when she hit the ground so fast. But over her dead body would she ever let these assholes know that she’d sustained another injury while saving their ungrateful ass of a teammate. They could all fuck off as far as she was concerned. Just when she began to tell herself that she misunderstood Hancock
and his men and that they weren’t really flaming assholes, they just as quickly dissuaded her of that notion by proving yet again just what jackasses they were.

The demon inside her, the very pissed-off outraged demon, wouldn’t simply let it go as Hancock had commanded. She turned her head so she faced Conrad and stared him down unflinchingly, not giving a shit that he could snap her like a twig with two fingers.

“So you would have preferred I just stand there like some hapless twit and let you get killed? Really? Does your life mean so little to you?”

She couldn’t keep the derision or scorn from her voice.

Conrad’s scowl deepened and his features grew even blacker, if such a thing were possible. He looked like an angry storm cloud in spring tornado season. His brow was so furrowed that his eyebrows bunched together to form one continuous line of hair over both eyes. And those eyes glittered with fury.

“Ungrateful ass,” she muttered, before refusing to look at him a second longer.

Instead she leaned back, tilting her head against the seat even though the rough terrain made it impossible for her skull not to endure battering from all the holes and bumps in their path.

She closed her eyes, shutting them all out. If she was lucky, she could fall asleep and they could just wake her up when they got to wherever they were stopping and she could be a good little hapless maiden and go sit on her hands while the big bad alpha males got their balls shot off.

It couldn’t happen to a nicer group of guys.

CHAPTER 12

HANCOCK—and the rest of his team, for that matter—had fallen silent after her scathing putdown of their ingratitude. She’d made no bones about the fact she thought they were all complete unfeeling bastards.

She wasn’t wrong.

His men didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of them when it came to doing their job at any cost. Like they were ultimately handing Honor back over to the very men they were currently saving her from. And that was all sorts of fucked up. Yeah, they tended not to give a rat’s ass whether they were saints or Satan himself. But it was in every man’s eyes, expressions, demeanor, that Honor . . . mattered.

They respected her when they respected no one but their team leader and each other. And if that didn’t throw a serious kink in their plans, he didn’t know what did. What if he ended up with a full scale rebellion on his hands? What if his men grew a conscience, as Hancock had in recent years—and he had vowed he’d never let that conscience interfere in another mission—and refused to hand Honor over to Bristow, then Maksimov and ultimately A New Era? There were too many ways for this to go wrong. What if Maksimov decided to say
fuck you
to A New Era? He was out of their reach and probably the only unofficial
organization that would be an even match with A New Era. Maybe even far superior because Maksimov had no cause, no emotion. The members of A New Era were ruled by emotion, rage, a sense of righteousness and justice. They had no problem sacrificing themselves for the greater good.
Their
greater good.

None of Honor’s choices were remotely pleasant. Bristow was an evil bastard who got off on hurting women. Maksimov was brutal with his women, sometimes killing them with his depraved fetishes. In his world women were a dime a dozen and completely expendable.

And, well, if Bristow and Maksimov actually did turn Honor over to A New Era, she would endure unspeakable torture and degradation. She would pray for death, no matter how strong and fierce she was. No woman or man could endure what A New Era would dole out to her day after day, week after week until finally they killed her, and again, it wouldn’t be slow or merciful.

Many other militant terrorist cells, while brutal and inhuman, killed their hostages somewhat humanely. Usually a shot in the back of the head, execution style. Or they simply sliced the head off in a public venue so others would fear them and take them seriously.

He glanced sideways at Honor, at her closed eyes, her lashes resting delicately on her cheeks. So damn innocent. An innocent who would serve as the sacrificial virgin just so hundreds of thousands of people would live. It wasn’t fair. None of it was. But Hancock had come to grips long ago with the fact that it was impossible to have it all. Sacrifices had to be made, no matter the cost. He didn’t have to always like it, but he knew it for the truth it was, and it was the only way to bring down people like Bristow, Maksimov, and eventually ANE, A New Era.

He couldn’t tell if she was sleeping or merely closing her eyes to shut them all out. He couldn’t blame her. She’d been pissed—rightly so. And she was right. Not one had expressed their gratitude. Only anger at her for not following orders and the unspoken sentiment that she’d damn near gotten herself killed for a man she didn’t even know—or like.

Why had she done it?

It was a puzzle that had racked his brain ever since it had happened. He couldn’t come up with one good reason, when she’d fought so valiantly and intelligently to elude ANE that she would simply step in the path of a bullet and shove his teammate to safety.

He wasn’t used to women of Honor’s caliber. The only women he’d ever met who had spines of steel and resolve better than any man’s and yet were infinitely fragile were the Kelly women and the wives of KGI members. They were much like Honor. Exactly like her. Maybe that was why he could allow grudging respect for Honor, because the KGI women were fucking fierce and she was every bit the warrior the KGI women were.

“Almost there,” Henderson called from the front. “Better get the woman up and lucid so we don’t waste any time hiding this vehicle and transferring to another. Unless you want to bunk down again tonight?”

Hancock shook his head. “No. We need to keep moving. We’ll switch out driving so the others can get sleep. I’ll need at least one awake with the driver to keep a close watch and make sure we aren’t being followed or driving into a trap.”

Having issued the commands, Hancock turned his attention to Honor, whose eyes were still closed. As he studied her closer, he saw the lines of strain on her forehead, and her jaw was clenched, even in sleep. Almost as if she were in pain.

But given all she’d gone through, she was more likely having a nightmare.

He gently touched her shoulder, giving it a nudge.

“Honor. Honor, you need to wake up. We’re on a short time line and we need to ditch our vehicle.”

Her eyelids fluttered sluggishly as if she were swimming her way from unconsciousness. He frowned because she had always been ready without complaint, even when she was in a great deal of pain. But she never complained and she kept pace with him and his men. Again, how could he not admire this woman?

She licked her lips and frowned, almost as if she were
confused by the difficulty she was having becoming fully awake. He saw the moment resolve settled over her shoulders, shaking away whatever fog had been present. Her eyes gleamed with determination and she quickly scanned their surroundings.

“How long?” she asked.

“Three minutes,” Copeland called from the front seat.

Honor nodded her understanding, squaring her shoulders.

Minutes later the vehicle came to an abrupt stop, causing Honor to lurch forward, the seatbelt ramming into her belly. To her surprise Conrad was there before Hancock to catch her, and then he carefully eased her back against the seat.

Conrad got out first and then the others piled out. Only Viper stayed behind the wheel. Hancock reached over to unlatch Honor’s harness. His arm pressed into her side in order to reach the latch buried under the folds of her burka.

She winced and her face went pale. What the fuck?

He quickly unsnapped the buckle and prepared to help her out of the vehicle. But when he drew his arm back, the one that had pressed hard into Honor’s side, he was stunned to see fresh blood smeared on his skin.

Dread took hold of his spine.

He lifted a hand to Honor’s cheek, staring her intently in the eyes.

“Are you hurt?” he asked in a soft tone.

Her eyes were wide and frightened. She’d seen the blood on Hancock’s arm. She was pale and shaken as her lips worked to answer his question.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think so. I felt a twinge of pain in my side, but I fell and just thought it was sore. But it hurts
now
,” she said, gritting her teeth.

Hancock swore viciously and guilt, not an emotion he was well acquainted with at all, gripped his chest like a vise.

“Let me get you in the other vehicle. We can’t afford to stop. But I’ll take a look and see what’s going on. If it’s serious, we’ll have to risk taking you to the hospital.”

Fear immediately filled her eyes even as she shook her head.

“I’m alive. I’m not dying. I just hurt. And I’ve dealt with pain for over a week. I’ll deal with it now,” she said quietly.

Once again a surge of pride overtook him. She simply didn’t know the meaning of the word
quit
. If only he weren’t destined to betray her. To sacrifice her for the greater good. The world needed people like her, and it fucking sucked that the good ones were usually the sacrificial lambs.