Darkest Before Dawn (KGI series) (35 page)

“YOU want to run that by us again, boss?” Viper asked, clear bewilderment in his eyes.

His other teammates wore similar confused expressions, but one common thread he found in every reaction he studied was . . . relief. In Conrad’s face he found not just relief but fiery satisfaction. He looked like he wanted to physically react and do something absurdly uncharacteristic like throw his hand up and do a fist pump. Conrad, who liked no one, had been won over by a woman with more heart than ninety-nine percent of the men they’d served with. She had his respect and now his protection. Of all the men, Conrad’s relief was the most pronounced. It had eaten at him that a woman who’d saved his life was being served up as a sacrificial lamb and he was participating in that repulsive act.

“You heard me,” Hancock said curtly, no patience for restating what they’d all clearly heard. “The mission has changed.”

“Good mojo,” Mojo said, with a more animated voice than his usual monotone. The man actually looked
happy.

“Not that I remotely object and if I were still in the military, I’d be saying
hooyah
,” Cope interjected. “But do we get a clue about what changed since our last meeting a little over twelve hours ago?”

“Everything,” Hancock snarled. “We aren’t going to use the torture and murder of an innocent
woman
to finally take Maksimov down. I’m fucking tired of the
good of the many
creed and I swear to God, I’ll have the balls of whoever says it in my hearing again.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Conrad snapped.

“Good mojo.”

“Rock the fuck on, bro,” Henderson piped up.

Viper and Cope both nodded their agreement.

“We’re going to take Maksimov out by making it appear we’re giving him what he wants. And then we take him and any other threat out. I don’t give a fuck how messy or clean. And I don’t give a shit about dismantling his empire. For once, someone else can clean up the goddamn messes.”

“You’re on it tonight, man,” Conrad said in a dry tone.

“Tell me how Bristow died,” Hancock asked abruptly, his tone turning lethal.

Conrad shrugged. “He might still be alive. Or not. I figured a few hours, but he’s a pussy. I doubt he lasted more than an hour. More’s the pity.”

The other team members muttered and expressed their disgruntlement at the idea he would die so quickly.

“His instructions were to drug her for the delivery,” Hancock said, turning the conversation back to its original subject.

Conrad’s brow lifted. “Is that what you’re doing?”

Hancock uncharacteristically paused. Usually his responses were quick, assured. Situation completely in hand and on point. His men picked up on it. He would have been pissed if they hadn’t, even as it pissed him off that he’d allowed himself that brief show of uncertainty. His men had been trained to pick up subtleties. It was the smallest of details that saved one’s ass.

Hancock sighed. “I am.”

The others looked at him in surprise.

“If I thought the other option was the best option, then I wouldn’t drug her.”

No one asked the obvious question, but it was there in every single face and in their eyes. They waited in silence for their team leader to explain.

“Honor can’t know that we’re actually pretending to deliver her, and she can’t be conscious for more reasons than the fact that Maksimov made it a condition. She’s simply too honest. All you have to do is look at her face, into her eyes, and you see the truth. Maksimov would never believe her to be what she
should
appear as. A scared, beaten-down captive about to be turned over to a monster. So I have to drug her, and . . . I have to fucking lie to her.”

He said that last with blistering rage, a bitter taste filling his mouth. It was a necessary evil, one that would save her life and, if they were lucky, take Maksimov out in the process. But it didn’t mean he liked deceiving her. Again. He fucking
hated
it.
Especially
after what they’d shared the night before. And even more, she’d given him her unconditional trust. The mere thought that for even one moment she could think he’d betrayed her made him sick to his soul.

“We do what’s necessary,” Viper said, his tone quieter than normal.

“Good mojo,” Mojo said by way of agreement.

“You know it’s the only way,” Conrad said, but Hancock could see the other man’s equal dislike of the deception. And his guilt. He could read Hancock. Conrad had always had the uncanny knack of reading his team leader, and he knew just how much Hancock hated what had to be done just as he’d known how much he’d despised the initial mission of handing Honor over and walking away.

“Yes. It is,” Hancock said. “Now, we need to come up with a plan. A damn good plan. There is
no
margin for error. Maksimov has to be taken out, and Honor can
not
be harmed in
any
way. She, not Maksimov, is the primary goal. Yes, we’re using her as a way to get close enough to Maksimov to take him out. But Honor’s safety comes before all else. Even if it means Maksimov escapes us. Again.”

“We’re on it,” Cope said immediately.

And then, as a team, they all turned to face Hancock, at attention, something they hadn’t done since they’d left the military.

“You have our word. We will protect Honor Cambridge with our lives,” Conrad said formally.

In turn, each of the remaining men repeated Conrad’s vow, and Hancock’s heart swelled with pride. They were hated, reviled. Their own government, whose dirty work Titan had done for years, had turned on them and tried to execute them. When that hadn’t worked, the government had put a bounty on their heads.

His men were
good
men. Good men who’d done terrible things in the name of justice. And for the fucking good of the many. Had saved lives, even the lives of the very people who sought their death. They worked under no banner, no country. They had no true homeland. And they would always be hunted by the few remaining who even knew of their existence.

The very country they had fought so tirelessly to protect—and still protected—had denounced them all. Branded them with the worst insult they could have possibly levied given just how many acts of terrorism they’d prevented. Terrorists. Traitors to their country. The country they would have given their lives for. They were stripped of honor, already declared officially dead before becoming the black ops group Titan and they’d been robbed of their citizenship. They had no home, no place anywhere to call home. No loyalty to anyone save themselves. Their cause, their mission, was still the same. That much had never changed even when everything else had. Protect the innocent. Hunt the evil. Regardless of nationality.

And his men had never once wavered. They’d stayed true to Hancock and to the principles they’d set forth when they were forced to go out on their own. Rogue. Through it all, Hancock had never been able to summon hatred for the country he still considered his, even though she did not claim him as one of her own. He loved America. He loved her people. His hatred was reserved for the few who’d betrayed them and put into motion a decade of eluding assassins, all the while fighting the good fight.

Last night had shaken him on many levels. But perhaps the most profound of all was that for the first time since his country had rejected him, leaving him no place to call home, he’d finally found home in Honor’s arms.
She
was home.
And nothing had ever felt so right—so peaceful and soul soothing—in his life.

“I have one more request,” Hancock said, as formal as his men had been. “If I go down. If something happens to me, get the hell out of there with Honor. Under no circumstances can she end up in Maksimov’s hands, even if it means abandoning the mission and letting the bastard go free. I know our creed has always been to never leave a fallen teammate. But I ask this of you because I would gladly trade my life for Honor’s. She deserves no less. She
deserves
to live. She serves a greater purpose and the world is a better place with her in it.”

“If we fail, it will only be because we all are dead,” Viper said by way of a vow.

The others nodded in agreement.

“We’ll get her home,” Conrad said softly. “One way or another. I’ll protect her with my last breath.”

CHAPTER 30

HANCOCK carefully balanced the tray in one hand while he opened the door to his bedroom with the other. He walked in to see Honor dressed as he’d requested in comfortable trousers and a T-shirt. Only her feet were bare and she was perched cross-legged on the bed and gifted him with a welcoming smile that was like a knife to the gut.

He had to remind himself that this was necessary to ensure her safety. To save her life and get her home as he’d promised her. A promise he had every intention of keeping.

He forced himself to return her smile and then carried the tray over to place it in front of her.

“Breakfast in bed?” she asked in mock surprise. “You know, I could get used to such royal treatment.”

She was radiant. Happy. Smiling. And her eyes were free of the shadows that had lingered there for so long. They were bright. Shining. And hopeful.

“I want you to eat and drink it all,” he said with mock severity, trying to adopt her playful mood.

He knew she’d eventually ask questions. She’d want to know what the plan was. She’d want to know every single detail because she would worry about
him
. So he wanted her to eat and drink before they got into things better left not discussed.

She glanced down at the plate and sighed, picking up her fork.

“Uh-uh,” he said with a frown he meant to amuse her.

He gestured toward the antibiotic pills on the tray. “Those first, and drink plenty of juice. Then you can eat.”

She rolled her eyes but complied with his request, washing down the pills with several gulps of the juice. Half the contents were gone. Good, but not enough.

He let her eat a few bites of her food, courtesy of Mojo, who was a wizard in the kitchen. He’d made crepes, whatever the hell those were. They looked too damn fancy for Hancock. There were beignets, which Hancock did know and liked. Who didn’t like beignets with strong black New Orleans coffee?

And there were fluffy scrambled eggs and breakfast ham along with bacon.

“What did he do, slaughter a pig?” she asked, laughter in her eyes.

He gestured toward the juice. “It’s fresh squeezed. Mojo will be offended if any is left.”

She nearly choked as she swallowed the food in her mouth. “Mojo cooked this?”

Hancock smiled at her reaction. “He’s a man of many hidden talents.”

“Obviously,” Honor murmured as she drained the juice.

She cut into one of the crepes and took a dainty bite, but she frowned and then quickly tried to cover it up. Hancock pretended not to notice, his heart already sinking.

She toyed with the eggs a moment, speared a forkful and lifted it toward her mouth, but then slipped her free hand over her stomach and let the fork drop with a loud clatter.

“Hancock, I feel sick. I haven’t eaten hardly anything. But I feel . . .”

She swayed, her face paling as she pressed her palm harder into her stomach. He saw her throat working as if she were trying not to vomit. He immediately reached forward to rub her back in an effort to soothe her and hopefully settle her stomach.

She flinched and then looked up at him with so much
horror and hurt in her eyes that it was like a knife to the heart.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in a stricken voice. “What did you
do
to me?”

He cupped her face firmly when she resisted, and he pulled her into a gentle kiss, pouring out all the emotion he’d never allowed himself to feel until
her
.

He tasted her hot tears. Felt her keen sense of betrayal as if it had been done to him, and it only made him hate himself more for what he knew he had to do.

Kissing her again, he whispered against her lips, “Trust me, Honor. Don’t fight it. Just go to sleep now. Just go to sleep.”

“Am I dying?” she asked in a choked voice, tears silently streaking down her cheeks. “Kiss me,” she whispered, eyes bright with those heart-wrenching tears. “Kiss me one last time before I go. Pretend this once, for me.”

It broke his heart that she thought he’d pretended passion with her. That he’d used her, manipulated her emotions and tricked her into trusting him. Believing in him.

But he gave her what she wanted—what he wanted, savoring the sweetness of her mouth one last time before they had to go. Then he drew away, gazing intently into her eyes so she would know he was sincere.

“No, baby,” he said tenderly, stroking a hand through her silky hair. “Just trust me. Just this once.
Trust me.
Death doesn’t come to the innocent this day.”

But her eyes had already closed and had he not had his hand against her head, stroking her hair, she would have listed to the side, already unconscious. He swore violently, tears burning his own eyelids. She’d slipped under not only thinking she was breathing her last breath, but that he had been the one to poison her. His final betrayal when she’d offered him her trust time and time again, only for him to break it over and over.

So much regret surged through his body, heart, mind and soul. For a moment he simply gathered her in his arms and held on, burying his face in her soft neck. He inhaled deeply, wanting to savor this one moment in time when there were no impossible barriers between them to breach.

He grieved silently, holding the woman who’d forever changed the course of his fate—his destiny—the very direction of his entire future. And then he once more reached for and embraced the familiar, icy chill of indifference. He made the transition from a man with humanity, a soul, to an emotionless killer. A machine programmed to carry out the mission at all cost. Or die trying.

Without a word, he bent and carefully gathered her in his arms before rising with her. He strode to the door and into the hall where his men waited, having shed any remaining vestiges of his deep connection to Honor, refusing to contemplate that he could very well
be
taking her to her death.