Darkest Before Dawn (KGI series) (36 page)

They all had grim expressions, having no more liking for the task than Hancock did. But they had no choice. It was their only chance to save Honor. And finally take down Maksimov. God help them all if they failed.

God help the world if Honor was lost and Hancock survived. Because no one would be able to stop him. Not even the devil himself.

CHAPTER 31

THE members of Titan crept silently through the brush, circumventing the route Maksimov had outlined so they’d surround him and come in behind him where he thought he would be safe. They’d spent countless hours, considering every angle, every possibility, preparing for the worst-case scenario and the easiest. After all, sometimes the path of least resistance was . . . just that.

For the first time, Hancock didn’t lead his men as he always did, placing himself between him and his team. His team—their safety—was his responsibility, but today Honor was his sole objective.

The others encircled him and Honor, forming a protective barrier around him and the unconscious woman he held so carefully in his arms. He’d ensured that the drug he’d given her was strong so there was no chance she’d regain consciousness until it was all over with and she’d awaken in his arms, safe with the knowledge that it was over. That Maksimov was no longer a threat and she was finally safe. Beyond the reach of ANE.

And well, a few planted seeds, leaks to the right media outlets, and a sensational story would spread like wildfire that Honor Cambridge had died at the hands of ANE. It would save face for them and appease their sense of
dishonor. Their public image was everything and as long as Honor kept a low profile, she would be safe within the confines of the United States.

But they were going to have a serious come-to-Jesus meeting about her vow not to let ANE disrupt her work. She was never going back to her old job. Over his dead body would she put herself in that kind of jeopardy again, and he knew he’d have allies with her family.

She’d told him that they had desperately tried to dissuade her from going but that in the end, they’d supported her decision. When they knew the truth—and they would know the full truth, minus the gory details that did them no good to dream about at night—they would ally themselves with him and be just as determined to keep her out of harm’s way.

A prickle of alarm, a shift in the air, brought unease knotting Hancock’s gut. And he always listened to his gut. Even as he shifted Honor from the cradling position he held her in to carefully place her in a fireman’s hold so he could free the hand that already gripped the stock of his pistol, he heard Mojo’s muttered “Bad mojo.”

A sentiment shared by his other teammates as they stopped and sniffed the air like predators on the hunt. Or prey, measuring their opponent.

Pain seared into Hancock’s left shoulder, leaving him breathless as hot blood scaled its way down his arm and side. Damn it. He’d made a rookie mistake. With Honor cradled in his arms, no one had a clear shot at him without risking hitting her. When he moved her, it left his entire left side exposed.

He staggered to his knees, ensuring that he took the brunt of the fall so Honor wasn’t jarred into consciousness. The very last thing he needed was her awake and aware, convinced he’d betrayed her and given her up to the enemy. And who was to say he hadn’t done just that, fuck it all.

His arm went numb as he tried to stumble upward and right himself so he could position himself over Honor, but his rifle fell from his hand’s useless grip. His knees hit the ground, jarring his entire body painfully, and his men erupted in gunfire around him, with shouts of “Get down!
Get down! Sniper! Six o’clock. Cover Hancock, damn it! He’s down!”

He fell forward, rotating as best he could so he absorbed the impact, not Honor. She was little more than a rag doll lying beside him, his arm curled tightly around her.

The world around him was going to hell. Ambush. Some of his men had been shot, some already dying.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Honor, his voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry, Honor.”

The firefight was fierce and unrelenting. His men gave as good as they got, but Hancock couldn’t spot Maksimov anywhere. And all he could do was try to keep Honor covered as best he could and somehow maneuver his now-useless arm so he could get a grip on his gun, now slippery with his own blood and the only goddamn means he had of protecting Honor.

From seemingly a mile away, Hancock heard Cope shout, “Mojo!”

Hancock closed his eyes. Goddamn it,
no!
Mojo had obviously taken a hit, and by the frantic note in Cope’s voice it was bad.

Grief consumed him when he heard Viper’s equally impassioned plea. “Mojo! You stay with us, goddamn it. Don’t you dare let go. Do you hear me? Fight, damn it! You fight!”

Copeland scrambled over and dragged Mojo behind thick rock outcroppings that provided natural cover and only one way in or out. Anyone coming in would meet with the end of Cope’s rifle and he was in a cold-blooded rage, ready to take out every single one of the bastards.

“Mojo, man, hold on. Speak to me,” Cope begged, shaking his teammate.

Blood bubbled and was frothy coming from Mojo’s lips, and Cope knew that wasn’t good. A hit to the lung.

As Viper pleaded with Mojo to hold on, Mojo whispered, “Good mojo.”

Then he smiled, to the shock of his teammates. Mojo
never
smiled. He turned to his teammate with tears streaming down his face. A face carved with emotion they’d never
once witnessed. Stoic and reserved. Never had much to say. He was overcome and could barely speak around the tears clogging his throat.

“I always figured I’d go to hell for all I’ve done in my time on earth. But this
has
to be heaven. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

There was awe in his voice, and then his words trailed off and his gaze became fixed, but there was such an expression of peace that it choked Cope up, and he laid his head on Mojo’s chest as Mojo took his last gasping breath.

His eyes fluttered closed and he suddenly looked so much younger; the lines of age and of the horrors they’d seen and participated in eased, leaving smooth skin of youth in their stead. His lips curved upward almost as if he were holding his arms wide, welcoming death like a long-lost lover.

Hancock felt a kick at his leg and stiffened, his grip on Honor tight, so tight it would leave a bruise. He’d never been more afraid in his life. He was absolutely unable to protect her. There was nothing he could do to prevent her from being taken from him. And God help him, but he’d tear the world apart to find her again.

“Well, maybe I was wrong.” A heavily accented Russian voice made him stiffen, his arm imperceptibly tightening around Honor. “Perhaps he didn’t form too much of an attachment to the girl and my informants were wrong.”

Of course Maksimov would have more than one mole reporting every movement made in Bristow’s household. Whom had Hancock overlooked? He’d sniffed the first out quickly, but how had Bristow gained any knowledge of his “attachment” to Honor? Unless . . .

No, he wouldn’t even allow for the seed of doubt. His men were solid. They wouldn’t betray him. There was someone else in Bristow’s operation who’d been feeding Maksimov information, and it was Hancock’s own goddamn fault for losing his shit when Bristow had tried to rape Honor a second time and having the asshole killed. That would have tipped off Maksimov in a big way, because he would know of icy Hancock. The one with no emotions, no feelings. As cold as an iceberg and absolutely incapable of human
feelings or reactions. Maksimov’s informant would have left out no intel that was useful to Maksimov.

“Perhaps the idiot Bristow intended to kill her or use her in such a manner that neither you nor ANE would want her,” suggested Ruslan, Bristow’s second. “You’ve received all the intel on him and his men. You know that they take their missions seriously, and you wouldn’t have paid Bristow for damaged goods, which means he and his men wouldn’t have been paid either. He’s a mercenary. I doubt he was interested in anything more than a paycheck.”

“Perhaps,” Maksimov reluctantly conceded. “He did as I asked and drugged her, and it does appear as though he was set to deliver her to me. Ah well, it never pays to be too careful.”

Maksimov sounded perplexed and a little amused at the notion he could be wrong. He toed Hancock’s body and then bent to pry Honor away from him. Honor was lifted and Hancock’s hand trailed down her body to desperately latch onto her hand, holding for the briefest of moments before it was pulled forcibly from his grasp.

“No, I wasn’t wrong at all,” Maksimov said smugly. He appeared in Hancock’s blurred vision above him. “I wonder what you thought you were doing by hand-delivering the girl to me?” He laughed and then leveled a pistol at Hancock’s chest and rapidly fired a shot.

Despite the Kevlar vest Hancock and all his men wore, at such close range and with the fact that Maksimov was using what on the streets were called “cop killers,” meaning they could penetrate a bulletproof vest, while he didn’t feel like the bullet had penetrated his skin, it damn sure felt like he’d broken some ribs. Or something vital. It was like being hit by a pitchfork from hell. Apropos, since soon he’d be at the gates of hell. The gates would be flung wide and he’d be welcomed like a lost child or an escaped sinner who’d been judged and found guilty several lifetimes ago.

For so long, he’d embraced the notion that he’d lost all semblance of humanity and was the emotionless ice man everyone thought him to be. Because it meant never feeling remorse. It meant never feeling loss so devastating that it
threatened to consume him and eat at his soul until there was nothing left. Anything at all was worth not feeling that. He knew that now, because he felt it
all
now. And it was worse than any mortal bullet wound would ever be. The world faded to black around him and a single tear trickled from the corner of his eye over his temple to disappear into his hair.

It was becoming hard to breathe, and the pain in his chest was unbearable, whether because of the bullet or the weight of his despair he wasn’t certain. Probably a healthy dose of both.

He’d failed his men. He’d failed his country, though it neither claimed him nor embraced him. He’d failed countless innocent lives. He’d failed himself but most of all, he’d failed the one thing that mattered to
him
. Not the fucking greater good bullshit creed. Because Honor
was
the greater good. She was the very
essence
of the greater good. Of what their creed
should
stand for. What it should have always stood for.

And now an innocent would be doomed to hell, a place where no angel’s wings should ever be singed by greedy, licking flames, preventing them from flying into the heavens where Honor belonged.

CHAPTER 32

KGI HEADQUARTERS

STEWART COUNTY, TENNESSEE

THE mood was unusually relaxed in the KGI war room. Sam was holding a “staff” meeting, though the others teased that it was just an excuse to get everyone together for Swanny and Donovan to demonstrate their mad cooking and grilling skills.

They hadn’t drawn a mission in four weeks. Four peaceful, blissful weeks they’d spent with their families. Their wives, children, the people they cared about. Good times.

Laughter sounded when Garrett dropped an F-bomb and was immediately threatened by at least three of his men, knowing that Sarah was even more strict than ever now that they had a baby girl and she didn’t want her child’s first word to be
fuck
.

As the laughter died down, a phone rang and a round of groans sounded. Sam cursed vehemently, more than taking up the slack for Garrett in the swearing department. The secure line had to ring
now
? Today of all days? When the weather couldn’t be more beautiful. Autumn on Kentucky Lake. The wives all on their way to the central gathering point, Marlene and Frank Kelly’s newly constructed and
recreated replica of the house the six Kelly brothers had all grown up in. The new heart of the KGI compound. Now all that remained outside the secured facility was the lone holdout, Joe. Well, and the team members. But of the Kellys, only Joe still lived in Sam’s old cabin, calling it the perfect bachelor pad, and if he didn’t spend too much time inside the compound then he would escape his mom’s and sisters-in-laws’—whom he adored beyond reason—hatching plots for his eventual downfall.

Goddamn it all to hell. Sam had looked forward to spending time with his precious wife. His beautiful Sophie and her mini-me, Charlotte, or Cece as she was lovingly dubbed by her doting aunts, uncles and grandparents. And his baby son. He took the time every single day, no matter where in the world he was, no matter how grim or dire the circumstances, to thank God for the miracle of his family. He still marveled at all that was his, and he knew his brothers and many of the members of his team did as well. Rio, a team leader. Steele, another team leader. Nathan, co–team leader with his twin brother, Joe, who also happened to be the sole surviving unmarried Kelly chick under Mama Kelly’s watchful eye.

KGI had undergone many traumatic events over the years. Things that would have crippled and destroyed a lesser family. But the Kellys were tough, resilient, all qualities inherited from and instilled in all their children—blood or not—by Frank and Marlene, the patriarch and matriarch of the ever-expanding Kelly clan. The very heartbeat of the entire family.

Marlene’s reach extended not only to her birth children but far beyond. She had a penchant for adopting strays, as her sons teased her, a term she took offense at. But she’d taken many under her wing. The now sheriff of Stewart County, Sean Cameron. Rusty Kelly, whom his parents had adopted even though she hadn’t been a minor when the adoption had occurred. But it had meant more to her than anything else in her young, troubled life, and Sam knew without a doubt that his mother had saved Rusty’s life.

Swanny, who’d come back as wounded and suffering as
Nathan had after months of captivity when a mission went FUBAR. All the KGI team members, including the leaders, and they didn’t even bother trying to deny it. They could protest and pretend to be exasperated, but they loved Ma’s mothering just as her own sons did.