Darkest Before Dawn (KGI series) (28 page)

In that moment, Honor knew. She knew that Hancock wasn’t quite as incapable of emotion as she’d thought. That he likely hated what he knew had to be done. But that wouldn’t stop him because he believed in whatever his mission—job—was. And in order to, as he’d put it, save thousands of other lives, hers must be forfeit.

And he hated that.

But he hated that he cared even more.

How lonely and stark must his existence be? Devoid of all the things she took for granted being raised in a huge, loving family, surrounded by unconditional love and support. Things he’d obviously never had—never would have—because he’d never allow himself to have those things.

He didn’t think he was worthy or that he deserved them.

She hated him for betraying her, but she understood in a twisted way. In his own way, he was honorable. Doing what most couldn’t do but had to be done to rid the world of monsters. Even become the very thing he hunted. A monster of the worst kind.

Maybe if he hadn’t made her care about him, the man, she wouldn’t be as hurt or feel so betrayed. Perhaps she’d even understand better that her sacrifice, as he’d deemed it, was necessary.

But she couldn’t simply put it aside like he did and turn off what made her human. It still hurt. It hurt more than the thought of torture and death. It hurt her that she’d trusted him, that she’d cared about him on a deeper level. That they had shared the intimacy—a bond—that she’d shared with no one else and it had all been thrown back in her face.

It hadn’t meant to him what it had meant to her, and for that she felt foolish and humiliated.

Was her hurt pride truly worth the loss of so many lives? Did it even matter how she died or how she was sacrificed if so many others could be saved by one woman? Her?

And why now was she preparing to try to absolve him of the terrible guilt and suffering she’d seen so briefly in his eyes? What kind of naïve fool did it make her to even believe she could give him absolution or peace?

“I understand, Hancock,” she said, allowing some of the cold aloofness in her voice to fade away, sincerity taking its place. “And I forgive you, for what it’s worth. You’re right. What is the good of the one compared to the good of the many?”

Hancock swore savagely, getting up so swiftly that it rocked the bed, and she braced herself, fuzzy from the pain medication. He paced the floor like a caged animal, rage radiating from him in wave after wave.

“Don’t you
ever
forgive me,” he hissed. “And you sure as fuck do not offer me an apology that disguises itself as understanding.”

She gazed at him, allowing sorrow to fill her eyes. And resignation.

“You can’t control my feelings, Hancock. You control my fate, yes. My ultimate destiny. My life even. But you can’t control
me
. You don’t get that choice over whether I grant forgiveness or understanding or even apologize that I’m not stronger, that I can’t just stop fighting and accept that my death will save the lives of so many other innocent people.”

Hancock stood still, stopping his pacing as he faced her,
his hands in tight, clenched balls at his sides as he shook with uncontrolled rage. She sucked in her breath at the raw agony swamping unguardedly in his eyes, something he’d never allow—or want—anyone to see. But she saw it where perhaps no one else would. Where someone else would merely think he was dangerously angry.

“I don’t make many promises, Honor. And you shouldn’t even trust me to keep them if given. But one thing I vow before all else is that you
will
be remembered. Your sacrifice will
not
go unheralded. Your family will be told the truth. Every ugly part of it. Because you and they deserve that much. Your life will not be forgotten. And goddamn it, you matter. You
matter
.”

His gaze dropped and his fingers uncurled and curled in rhythmic motion she wasn’t sure he was even aware of. And when he looked back up at her, she inhaled sharply at all that she saw in that one unguarded moment.

“You matter to
me
,” he said hoarsely.

And then he stalked toward her bed, the predator that he was, but when he once more settled onto the bed, there was something fierce in his eyes that had nothing to do with the predator and everything to do with him, the man.

He framed her face in his hands and kissed her, pouring all of the tightly held emotion into that kiss. He devoured her mouth like a man starving. His tongue swept hotly over hers, leaving her breathless and aching.

He kissed her as if there were no tomorrow, as if this single moment were all they had, were all that mattered.

The kiss went on and on until she surrendered, relaxing against the strength and warmth of his muscled body. Then, surprising her, he pressed tiny kisses over the entire line of her lips, pausing at the corners, licking at them delicately with his tongue, and then he simply pressed his mouth to hers and left it there until they both had to gasp for air.

“You matter, Honor,” he whispered against her lips. “Never think you don’t. You matter to me,” he said, echoing the same words he’d uttered just moments earlier. “You matter too goddamn much.”

The anguish in his voice was nearly her undoing.

CHAPTER 22

HONOR awakened and the first person she saw hovering at her bedside was Hancock. She glanced accusingly at him, still shaken from the last moments before she’d succumbed to the effects of the medication.

Hancock sighed. “It was only pain medication, Honor. After we spoke, you were exhausted, not just physically but emotionally drained as well. Nothing would have kept you from drifting off. I gave you what you wanted. Answers.”

He’d given her a hell of a lot more than the answers to the questions she’d asked. Much more. And she hadn’t had time to sort through the tangle of emotions swamping her. She was confused, heart and mind completely at odds.

“Not all of them,” she murmured.

“The ones that mattered,” he said simply.

She pushed herself upward, testing the restraints that her injuries had placed on her body, satisfied she could do so without giving away the pain that swamped her.

“It was a very abbreviated version. One you might give in a debriefing. Not lying, but not giving the full truth either.”

He nodded, unsurprised by her perceptiveness. Not many people saw past the facade he always, always had in place, and yet she saw so much deeper, to the man behind the iron mask, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“I want it all,” she said in a low voice. “If this is to be my fate, what must be done, then I at least deserve . . . everything. And this time no one is coming near me with a needle.”

“And after?” Hancock challenged. “When you’re drooping with fatigue and have gone pale with the obvious pain you’re feeling even now, will you fight me then or will you allow me to give you this small thing—a few hours where you aren’t hurting and you aren’t remembering betrayal?”

She’d have to be blind not to see the flash of pain he couldn’t control. Not in front of her. He might as well be an open book where she was concerned. For fuck’s sake, she’d apologized to him. For being selfish. For not being strong. Didn’t she realize she had courage that most men couldn’t muster? Could never possess? Courage wasn’t something learned. It was born in fire, by hell itself. It was bravery in the absence of fear, or perhaps masking fear.

She was the most fucking fierce woman he’d ever met in his life, and he knew there’d never be another like her. He could search the world over and never meet any woman—or man to equal her.

“After,” she agreed, and he realized her steely resolve disguised just how much mental and physical pain she was even now enduring. “But first I want the whole truth. Not just the watered-down bare-bones truth you choose to give me. I want to know who this Maksimov is and why he’s such a threat. Why a man as ruthless as Bristow is afraid of him and why you’re so certain that he would just hand me over to ANE.”

Hancock rubbed a hand over his hair and to his nape, gripping it in obvious agitation. It was obvious he had no liking for her question. He didn’t even attempt to hide his revulsion, and that frightened the hell out of her, that he would react so violently. Yet, she also knew he would give her the answers she demanded. Was she prepared, truly prepared, for the unvarnished, ugly truth?

“Maksimov is a monster beyond your wildest imagination. He’s cunning and ruthless and has no conscience.” He visibly winced, shame entering his gaze as he stared at Honor. “Just like me.”

She shook her head before she even realized she was doing so, adamant, her eyes going flat, angry.

“Don’t you
ever
compare yourself to him,” she said fiercely. “You don’t fool me, Hancock. Don’t even try lying or attempt to make me see what you want me to see. I see you. And you are
not
Maksimov.”

He looked . . . bewildered, as if he had no idea how to respond to her impassioned statement. For a long moment silence reigned.

“Back to Maksimov?” she prompted.

“Killing is second nature to him. To him killing is as normal as breathing. As eating or drinking. If it gets him what he wants, he does it. He thrives on pain, torment.” He winced again. “Torture. Rape. You can’t imagine the twisted, sadistic things he does to the women he rapes. He’s into every imaginable crime. He has no loyalty except to himself. He deals drugs, guns, bombs. Human trafficking. He’s a fucking
pedophile
and he indulges himself even as he sells children to people who are as perverted and twisted as he is.”

Hancock vibrated with rage. He simmered, like a volcano about to erupt. His eyes were icier than she’d ever seen them, and she’d been witness to that flat, emotionless coldness before, but never this degree of utter frigidity. These were the eyes of a killer. Eyes that evoked terror in whoever was his target.

“Money, making money, is a game to him. And no matter how much he has, he craves more. Because to him, money is power, and power, ultimate power, is what he wants most. He sees himself as a god. He’ll never stop, and so someone has to take him down.”

“You,” she whispered.

He gave a clipped nod. “I’m the best chance anyone has of taking him out because unlike others, I don’t have a heart, a conscience. I’m more machine than man. A programmed killing machine, willing to do whatever it takes to take him down. Even become the very thing he is. I
am
what he is. I’m no better than what he is.”

“You are
not
a heartless killing machine,” she snapped, angry all over again. “Tell me something, Hancock. Do you
go out and find some innocent woman to rape and torture, prolonging her agony until she can finally take no more and then dispose her like trash? Do you prey on children? Are you a depraved pedophile who enjoys inflicting pain and terror on innocent children?”

His eyes were shocked, and he shuddered, revulsion swamping his eyes. “No!
Never!
God
, no.”

She smiled her satisfaction, and he didn’t look pleased that she’d pushed his button and had gotten the reaction she obviously wanted from him.

“There is a difference between becoming
like
someone in order infiltrate his ranks in order to kill him and save thousands of lives and
becoming
that monster when you aren’t on the hunt for one,” she said in a soft voice. “You can tell yourself all manner of lies, Hancock. You can try to convince yourself that you’re no better than Maksimov, but you and I
both
know the truth. Even though you’ll never admit it to yourself. You do what you have to do in order to save countless innocents, but you hate it and you hate yourself. But that’s not who you are. It’s not who you will ever be. The world is a better place for having you in it,” she said, even quieter than before. “Don’t let evil win and let it convince you that
you
are evil. That you’re some unfeeling bastard who craves killing, torturing and shedding blood. Because when you truly start believing that of yourself,
then
you will become the very thing you hate the most.”

“Fuck me. Swear to God I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Honor,” he said, his agitation obvious.

Her face immediately fell, and she turned, trying to hide it from him. Because they both knew exactly what he was going to do with her, and she didn’t want to make him feel even worse.

How fucked up was that? That she wanted to shield him from her pain. That she didn’t want to cause
him
pain. To add yet one more burden—sin—to stain his already tarnished soul. He had betrayed her. He’d deceived her at every turn. She should hate him. She shouldn’t care how much pain she caused him or he caused himself. But she couldn’t do it. She didn’t understand this . . . connection . . . whatever
the hell it was between them, only that it was there. A living, breathing entity that she was powerless against. She simply couldn’t turn it off and make herself cold and unfeeling as Hancock could when he wished it. It wasn’t her nature. It wasn’t who she was, any more than Hancock was what he purported to be.

“That was a sorry thing to say,” Hancock said in a low growl. “Goddamn it, Honor, I’m sorry. That was shitty and unforgivable.”

“I thought I had already established that only I get to decide what is shitty or unforgivable,” she said lightly.

And then she gave him a somber look and beckoned him with her hand.

Grudgingly, he came, settling onto the bed next to her. This time it was she who took his hand, when before she’d tried to avoid any personal contact with him. She curled her fingers around his and at first he was rigid, stiff and unyielding, but she simply waited, refusing to allow him to slip from her grasp.

Then with a sigh he relaxed and stroked his thumb over her knuckles.

“Look at me, Hancock,” she asked softly.

At first he refused, but then finally he lifted his gaze to hers, and he looked . . . tormented. Something deep inside her twisted painfully and robbed her of breath. There was grief in his eyes and it
hurt
her. And it made her want to take it from him. To somehow ease the horrible pain inside
him
.