Darkest Before Dawn (KGI series) (27 page)

Hancock’s jaw twitched, because despite Honor’s rage, her outward show of strength, he saw something else just as realization hit him as to why she was so determined to be aware when Conrad repaired her torn sutures.

She was bracing herself for pain. Preparing herself for what was to come. Because simple stitches, while painful, were mere annoyances compared to torture designed to cause as much agony possible without killing the victim. To make them endure so long until the pain took over like a madness and they begged for death. Ultimate freedom. Peace and freedom from the misery of their existence.

So to imagine what would happen to her, knowing she was painting equally painful images in her head at the same time, made the fingers barely clinging to his own sanity threaten to finally slip.

And all he had left at the moment was his sanity. The intelligent, calculating part of his brain that carried him through every mission, no matter how much of his soul it sucked away. God knew the rest of him had already given in to the overshadowing guilt and despair.

“No sedative,” Hancock said after studying her a moment longer. And his gaze never once left her face as he gave the next order. “But she gets antibiotics and she gets pain medication. Before anything else. Before you numb her for the stitches. And you wait until it starts taking effect before you so much as touch her.”

CHAPTER 21

“THE pain medication does the same thing as a sedative,” Honor accused, shrinking from Conrad’s sudden presence at her bed. “It makes me loopy, and I
won’t
be put off. I want the damn answers to my questions answered.”

If a prisoner, mere
merchandise
, gave imperious orders to men who thought nothing of callously discarding her and sending her through the very gates of hell to greet Satan himself and then expected obedience, it was obvious the captive had indeed lost her mind.

What’s the worst they could do? Kill her? Torture her? It wasn’t like that wasn’t her eventual fate. Delaying made it all the worse because it gave her too much time to imagine how she could survive even one day in the hands of a brutal inhumane animal whose only goal was to make her suffer.

“You’ll be aware enough to ask your questions,” came Hancock’s dry, emotionless response. “However, you will
not
be aware of your pain if I have anything to say about it.”

Since she well knew that implacable expression, she knew she wouldn’t have a choice regardless of what he decided to do to her.

Bitter defeat brought acid tears, stinging her eyelids like angry bees. Beside her, Hancock stiffened, and for a moment his hand hovered over her arm before settling there, his
fingertips resting on her skin. She jerked back as if he’d burned her and huddled further inside herself, making herself as small as possible in a room filled with impossibly large men.

Hancock reached down to lift the hem of her pajama top even as he easily slid the band of her bottoms down just enough to bare her hip. Furious at how helpless she was—she felt—she lay there stoic, refusing to show them anything else. No more weaknesses to exploit.

She felt the first needle slide in, controlling her pained reaction as the medicine burned. She barely managed to prevent wincing in accordance with the involuntary flinch when Conrad’s hand pushed over the injection site and gently massaged the area to spread the medicine more quickly so the discomfort would abate sooner.

Then as if he hadn’t just touched her with tenderness she knew none of them possessed, he deftly inserted the second needle and administered what she assumed—hoped—was merely the antibiotic Hancock had insisted she be given.

She waited for betrayal. Waited for the dim awareness that a sedative would bring. The numbing of all her emotions until she drifted off into nothing more than a manageable vegetable, unable to resist whatever they chose to do.

But other than the fog of the pain medication, which was already doing its job of tamping down the pain—her physical pain—she felt no other indication that she was impaired.

Apparently Hancock was capable of keeping promises when it suited him.

He waited long moments, watching her with eyes that missed nothing before turning and dismissing the others. The only instructions he gave his men were, “Keep an eye on that bastard and make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

She was too tired and sick at heart to even attempt to consider what he meant by his cryptic demand.

As soon as his men left, leaving her alone with her betrayer, she gave him no chance to take over the situation. No chance to have the advantage, though she knew she in no way had any advantage in this situation.

“Why?” she asked in a deceptively soft voice.

She knew that her terrible rage simmered just below the
surface, that it wouldn’t take much for it to erupt into something horrible.

Hancock sighed and put more distance between them, a small thing for her to be grateful for, but she could admit that his closeness only made her feel more trapped, more vulnerable, and if she was going to get through this, she needed any advantage she could gain.

“I’ve been working undercover a long time, Honor,” he said quietly, as if the walls themselves had ears and eyes.

Even as he spoke, he swiftly closed the distance between them once more, sliding onto the bed beside her, only this time settling himself to sit next to her, so both their backs rested against the pillows against the headboards.

“You weren’t my intended target. You merely became . . . collateral damage. An unavoidable sacrifice for the greater good.”

She made a low sound in her throat because he was subtly dancing around the issue when she wanted the straight, cold truth.

“I work for Bristow.” A cold smile twisted those ruthless lips. “Or so he’d like to believe. That I’m no threat to him. And that suits my purpose just fine. He’ll never know the truth until it’s too late.”

“He said you were adept at making people believe what you wanted them to,” she said in a detached tone. “Perhaps he knows more than you think.”

“Yes, he’s aware of my talent. He simply believes himself impervious. He’s wrong. I’ve been manipulating him since I came to work for him. I needed him only for the connection he has to a Russian named Maksimov. A man who has killed thousands upon thousands of innocent people. Women. Children. None of it matters to Maksimov. He’s unstoppable. I’ve twice been close to bringing him down and he slipped through my fingers. I won’t allow it a third time.”

She knew that she had everything to do with the confidence with which he spoke of taking him down this time. And it scared the living hell out of her.

“What could I possibly have that any of you want?” she asked scornfully, attempting to hide the paralyzing fear and
sense of fatalism as she realized she was a much bigger piece of the overall picture. Perhaps the only piece that mattered now. She was completely bewildered as to how or why. She was insignificant. A nobody. How could she be so important to not one but three very powerful men—and organizations? She knew why A New Era wanted her. To save face. By why Bristow? And why this Maksimov?

She was trapped. She’d never go home. Never see her family again. Tears glittered in her vision, but she didn’t attempt to hold them back. She grieved for what could never be. For the loss of the one thing that had gotten her through so many long, painful days. Kept her going despite insurmountable odds. Hope. Hope that had been extinguished the minute Hancock revealed his cutting, impersonal betrayal. Without hope, there was only defeat. And . . . death.

Sorrowfully, she remembered that brief moment of weakness, when she had the knife in her hands and had contemplated ending it right then. And later, when she had obtained freedom from the rubble she’d been trapped in, her promise to kill herself before ever allowing A New Era the satisfaction of making her beg them for death. God, how she wished she’d given in to the impulse now. At least then she’d have the one thing that was now forever denied her. Peace.

“You escaped ANE,” Hancock said simply. “You became a beacon of hope to an oppressed people. You gave them hope when they thought none available to them. ANE fucked Maksimov over on a deal. And Maksimov isn’t a man to be trifled with. ANE owes him a
lot
of money. Bristow is trying to make a play at Maksimov. He’s not stupid enough to think he can take the Russian out and take over his operations. He just wants a piece of the pie. He wants a place of importance within Maksimov’s organization. So he sent me to find you before ANE eventually caught you. And they would have had I not gotten to you when I did.”

She opened her mouth to let loose her rage and denial, but Hancock simply squeezed her hand, their fingers threaded together, and she didn’t remember them getting that way. But when she tried to tug her hand free, his grip only tightened even as his thumb smoothed over the sensitive skin on her wrist.

“Bristow is setting up a meeting with Maksimov and plans to give you to the Russian, who will then dangle you in front of ANE’s nose like the proverbial carrot in front of the donkey’s nose. ANE has lost a lot of face and they will do anything to have you back in their possession so that one slip of a woman does not forever taint their honor and pride by permanently escaping them. Once Maksimov has you, he will then make an exchange with ANE, one that will cost them way more than what they owe Maksimov. But their pride is greater than their common sense, and Maksimov knows this. He will take advantage of it. He’ll get what he wants, and ANE will get what they want.”

“Me,” she whispered.

And then she crumbled, yanking her hand from Hancock’s grip as both her hands flew to her face in an effort to stifle the sob that somehow made its way out anyway.

“Oh God, why didn’t I die that day? Why was I the only one to survive? I believed at first that I had a purpose. That my living stood for something. That I would make it home if for no other reason than so the world would know what these animals had done. That my escaping would be the ultimate act of defiance and refusal to allow them absolute rule and control over such a vast region. But it was all for nothing. All that running, the pain, the fear, all those nights of not being able to sleep for the nightmares and fear of discovery at every turn. I never had a chance, did I?” she asked, her voice small and achingly vulnerable.

Hancock’s voice was rough. It sounded mean and pissed off. And all he said was one word and yet it conveyed a wealth of emotion.

“No.”

She dug her palms into her eyes and rocked back and forth, her distress so great that she wasn’t even aware of what she did or how very fragile she appeared.

“The medication has had time to take effect,” Hancock said in the same even tone, betraying no hint of anything, as if he hadn’t just sounded enraged seconds before.

It took a moment for her to realize who he was even addressing until she saw Conrad step from the shadows on the other side of her bed. She’d forgotten his presence. Had assumed he’d left when Hancock had commanded the others
to do the same. But he was going to reset the torn stitches. And she’d bared herself painfully, not to only Hancock, but now also to Conrad. A man whose life she’d saved.

She went silent, not saying a single word, not issuing a single sound as Conrad quickly pulled the pieces of broken sutures from her skin and then reset them, making inarticulate sounds deep in his throat. Almost like the growl of an angry predator.

She retreated inside herself, already preparing her barriers, seeing how strong they could be and how adept she was at becoming someone, something, altogether different.

It took a long moment, the room cloaked in silence, for her to realize Conrad had retreated and only Hancock remained.

“You can go now,” she said, no life in her voice.

“Honor, listen to me,” Hancock said, an urgency she’d never before detected in his voice brushing over her like an electric shock.

She stared mutinously ahead, her gaze fixed on a distant object as she continued to retreat more and more into the silent void she’d built around her.

“Damn it, Honor. For once just listen to me. I know you hate me. Despise me. You have every right. But I need you to listen to me. Your sacrifice will
not
be in vain,” he said fiercely. “Your bravery will not go untold. Your courage will not be forgotten.
You
will not ever be forgotten. I swear that to you on my life.”

“What does it matter?” she asked dully. “I will die a coward, begging for death, wishing with all my heart and soul to die. How is that bravery or courage? I never want my parents to know the truth of my death. It’s kinder to tell them I died in the bombing. Can you promise me that at least, Hancock? Can you do them this one small kindness since I know you won’t do it for me?”

“No,” he said in a pissed-off voice. “No, I will never let them believe you simply died. I will tell them the truth. That your life and death meant something. That your death saved hundreds of thousands of other people. So they never think your death was senseless and random. They deserve
that
truth.”

“So it doesn’t matter what I want, but then that should be obvious to me by now,” she said, self-loathing filling her for even considering for a moment that it would.

She turned up her face to him and saw him recoil from whatever terrible look was in her eyes. Or perhaps it was the lack of what he saw in her eyes. Life. Meaning. That she no longer cared and had given up. Finally defeated.

“Why did you kiss me?” she whispered fiercely, hating herself all the more for this display of utter weakness. “Why bother making me care? Making me think you cared at least on the level of one human caring about another? Do you despise me so much then? I can’t conceive of the kind of hatred that drives you.”

She shivered and ran her hands up and down both arms, folding inward, becoming smaller and more inconsequential with every passing minute. Preparing herself, her defenses, strengthening them for the terrible future that awaited her.

“I care,” he denied harshly. “I care too goddamn much, and that’s why I’m so fucking pissed off, Honor. Because I’m not supposed to care. I’m not supposed to be human. I’m a killer. A mercenary. Call me what you will, but it’s all true. Every possible terrible thing you can conjure. It’s true. But you can never say I don’t care, goddamn it. Because I care too much.”