Darkest Before Dawn (KGI series) (44 page)

“Describe ‘wasting away,’” Sam barked.

“You think I’m bullshitting you,” Kyle said, pissed now. “She won’t eat. She won’t drink. Goddamn it, I had to have one of my men hold her down so I could insert an IV so I could at least keep her hydrated. Yeah, that was fun. Terrorizing and bullying a woman who has already been to hell and back is right up there at the top of my list of duties. Hell of a way to serve one’s country, isn’t it?

“She doesn’t talk. She doesn’t respond. The lights are on but nobody is home, and that is
not
a figure of speech. She’s going to die, Sam. If something doesn’t change and change
soon
, she’s going to die. And the hell of it is, she’s waiting for it. She
wants
it. You have to
care
enough to fight to live, and she doesn’t give a shit what happens to her.”

Sam let out curses that would have blistered most hides. For Kyle, it was just another day in the field.

“Go time is tomorrow,” Sam said, and Kyle knew he wasn’t supposed to have told him that. “You do whatever
you have to do, but you keep her alive until tomorrow, and then I’ll call and you get her the hell back to her family. She’s not going to believe anything until she sees it.”

“
Now
you figure it out,” Kyle muttered.

•   •   •

HANCOCK stood over Maksimov’s bloodied body with so much hatred that the man’s eyes were filled with terror and also resignation. None of the blood was courtesy of Hancock. When the attack had been launched, Maksimov had shoved several of his men in front of him, using them as shields. The result was Maksimov wearing the blood of five men behind whom he’d hidden like the coward he was.

Resnick and KGI were true to their word, and Maksimov had been left for Hancock alone. Even now Resnick was tasking the military team with rounding up the terrorists who’d survived and doing a body count of those who hadn’t.

No one but Resnick, KGI and Hancock himself would ever know how Maksimov met his end.

Hancock wanted to take Maksimov away and make his death a long, excruciating, merciless death. Torture him as he’d tortured Honor. The burn marks on her body, the mangled and shredded skin on her wrists from the manacles that had to be pried out of her wrists because they were so deeply embedded were vivid images in his memory, and he wanted to repay Maksimov in kind.

It was what Hancock would have done years ago, hell, even a
month
ago. But that was before Honor. Before he’d actually seen and experienced
goodness
. He wanted Maksimov to suffer as no man had ever suffered. He wanted to return all that Maksimov had done to Honor tenfold. But that made him no better, no different than the monster who’d brutalized Honor and countless others. He didn’t want to be that man anymore. He wanted to be a man Honor would have been proud of. He wanted to be worthy of her. He wanted to
be
like her.

“You deserve no mercy for what you have wrought,” Hancock said in a voice that seethed with both anger and grief. “But I am better than you. And I won’t lower myself to your standards. I will not
become
you.”

He turned, sparing only a quick glance at the men who’d stood guard. Who’d saved Honor. Who even now were prepared to turn their back on what he wanted to do to Maksimov and swear ignorance of his fate.
Good
men whom he would have dragged into hell with him if he’d carried out his vengeance.

“Hand him over to Resnick. I have no use for this pathetic piece of shit,” Hancock spat, ignoring the looks of surprise and . . . respect. He walked past them and kept walking, only wanting to be away from this place and the memories that burrowed insidiously into his mind. Closing his eyes to all he’d gained—and lost—in such a short amount of time. A lifetime.

“Hey, hold up,” Rio said, jogging after his former teammate.

Hancock stopped, but all he wanted to do was just go. To be left alone.

“Want a ride to Honor’s place? By the time we get stateside, she’ll be at her family’s house.”

For a moment he couldn’t breathe for the pain splintering through his body, heart, soul.

“No,” he finally said in a low voice.

Rio shot him a look of surprise. “What the fuck, man? You’re walking away?”

Hancock turned on him, his features savage as anger rushed hot through his veins.

“I betrayed her. I broke so many promises I can’t even count. I don’t deserve her and she certainly deserves a hell of a lot better than me. She hates me but not more than I hate myself.”

“Don’t do this, man,” Rio said, his eyes dark with sympathy. “Don’t do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”

“Too late,” Hancock bit out, and he turned and walked away.

CHAPTER 42

KYLE Phillips stood in the living room of Honor’s parents’ home facing her entire family. Her mother, father, four brothers and her sister. There was stark grief in their eyes because he knew they assumed the worst.

The news had broken just the night before that the terrorist group responsible for the attack on the relief center Honor had volunteered at had been completely taken out by a joint U.S. special forces unit and SEAL teams. Her family was fully prepared to be told that their daughter’s death, although already broadcast over the news for endless days and nights immediately following the attack, could now be officially confirmed. There’d been no survivors, according to reports, though Honor’s body had never been returned. It was through that, that her family had clung stubbornly to hope. But now? They fully expected official confirmation of Honor’s death.

After formally introducing himself, Kyle asked them to sit and waited until they complied before he said what he’d come to say. There was no easy or delicate way to say what he had to say, and he wasn’t one to tiptoe around an issue. It was a lot less time consuming to get straight to the point.

“Your daughter is alive,” he said, no inflection to his tone as he took in all their faces and the sudden change from resignation to wary hope.

There was complete silence. Stunned expressions. Shock. And then it seemed to register what he was telling them. Her mother burst into tears as did her sister. Her brothers rocked forward, faces in their palms, and her father went ashen.

“W-what?” Mandie’s voice quivered as she stared at the Marine in disbelief. “But we were told she was dead. The whole country was told she was dead. It’s all the news has talked about since the attack on the relief center where she worked. What on earth are you saying?”

“She survived,” Kyle said quietly. “I understand this comes as a shock . . .”

He got no further before he was bombarded with questions.

“Where is she?” Honor’s mother said hoarsely, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Is she all right?” her father demanded. “Why isn’t she
here
? Why are you here and not her? What aren’t you telling us? Is she hurt?”

“Why the hell weren’t we informed before now?” Brad bit out angrily, his eyes ablaze with relief but also suspicion.

Kyle held his hands up to silence the torrent of conversation.

“I need you to listen to everything I have to tell you. It’s very important and it’s why I arrived first. She’s on her way here now. She’s not very far out, but I needed to come ahead to . . . prepare you.”

“Prepare us?” Honor’s mother whispered, her voice thick with tears, and now fear.

Sensing the importance of what Kyle had to say, everyone went silent and leaned forward, concern etched into their every feature.

Kyle gave them the details—most of them—of Honor’s escape and recapture. He gave an accounting of everything that had happened. Except anything relating to Hancock. Hancock was Honor’s to either reveal or not, but he’d not take that choice from her.

“I had to force an IV on her while we waited until it was safe to reunite you with her. She gave up,” Kyle said in a pained voice. “She was fierce. Brave. Courageous. I’ve never met her equal. But in the end, it was simply too much. Too
much pain and torture and worse, the final loss of hope that had kept her sustained for so long. She doesn’t believe I’m telling her the truth, that she’s free. She believes me to be taunting her—psychological torture—delaying her eventual
physical
torture and death that she’d come to accept. She’s broken, ma’am,” he said to her mother.

In a quiet voice, he told them what they had already deciphered for themselves. “Your daughter is not the same young woman she was when she left here, and I want to prepare you for that. She’s retreated deep inside herself. She’s starved. Refuses to eat. I had to force the IV or she would have already died. She’s wounded in multiple areas, in multiple fashions. She’s going to need your love, support and, above all, your patience. She needs medical care. But most of all, she needs a reason to
live
.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” her sister said, her sobs echoing through the room.

“She’s alive!” one of her brothers exclaimed. “She’s coming home!”

“We’ll help her,” her father vowed. “Whatever she needs. Whatever it takes. I will not have the miracle of my daughter back only to lose her again. I won’t let it happen.”

“There is nothing I won’t do for my baby,” her mother said fiercely. “Nothing.”

Kyle nodded. Yes, he thought. Her family would bring her back. He could see the love and resolve in their eyes. They were fierce. He could well see where Honor got it from.

But who would save Hancock?

•   •   •

HONOR cautiously opened her eyes and then slammed them shut again, fear shuddering through her fractured mind. Hope—something she’d been denied time and time again until she’d refused to allow herself to even entertain it—was insidiously creeping through her veins, accelerating her pulse until she was nearly breathless. She shook her head. No. Not again. Never again. She’d given in to hope one last time and it had destroyed her completely. Some lessons were learned the hard way.

When the SUV turned onto Oakwood Street, she lost any and all of her carefully constructed control and burst into tears. Her hands flew to her face, covering the guttural sobs tearing from her throat. She rocked back and forth as they drew closer and closer to . . . home.

“Stop!” she cried. “Oh God, please stop!”

The driver immediately slammed on the brakes and Honor bent over, putting her head between her knees as she struggled for breath, panic scraping her insides raw.

Kyle Phillips, who had returned to their “waiting” point and slid into the seat beside her, giving the driver the order to go, put his hand on Honor’s back and rubbed up and down and then in gentle circular motions.

“Honor? Are you going to be sick? Are you all right? Come on, honey, you have to breathe for me.”

“I can’t go in there,” she wept.

She lifted her tear-drenched gaze to Kyle’s surprised one.

“I don’t understand,” he said, clearly puzzled by her reaction. “They know you’re coming, Honor. It’s why I made you hang back. I wanted to prepare them. I didn’t want to just spring you on them.”

“They can’t see me this way,” she cried. “Look at me!” She made a sweeping motion of her emaciated body, the still-healing wounds, the fading burn marks and the still very vivid gashes on her wrists, a match to the ones on her ankles, but at least those were hidden.

“This will kill them,” she whispered. “I can’t do this, Kyle. Please, if you have any compassion, any mercy, you’ll tell them I’ll talk to them on the phone. And I’ll see them. After I heal. I’ll eat. I swear it. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. But please, God, don’t make me go in there like this.”

Kyle looked gutted, his eyes swamped with so much sympathy and understanding that it spurred another round of gut-wrenching tears.

Gently, he pulled her upward and then into his arms, hugging her to his chest, rocking back and forth in a soothing manner.

“I understand how you feel, Honor,” he said quietly. “I swear to you that I do. But, honey, they know what to expect.”

“You
told
them?” she asked in a horrified voice.

“Not everything,” he said even more gently. “Only what pertained to your physical and psychological condition. I never mentioned Hancock. That is yours to tell or not. But think of this from their point of view, Honor. They’ve just been told that the daughter they thought was dead is very much alive and will be home shortly. Of course they’re upset and angry that you endured so much. But what they want, what they need most right now, is to see you. To hold you. To have proof that you’re alive. You have
nothing
to be ashamed of.”

He tugged her away from his chest so he could cup her chin. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek and forced her to look into his eyes.

“Now, show me the Honor Cambridge who escaped and evaded capture by the most powerful and ruthless terrorist group in the Middle East. You will not walk into your home ashamed with your head down. Your family is overcome with joy. They are even now counting the seconds and watching for our vehicle to pull into their driveway so they can see you. Touch you. Hold you. And tell you how very much they love you. Would you deny them that?”

“No,” she choked out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. You were kind to me, but I learned that betrayal follows kindness, and so I wouldn’t acknowledge you. I couldn’t. It was the only way I could survive because I couldn’t allow myself the one thing that had the power to completely destroy me. Hope.”

“Shhh, you will not apologize. I would serve with you any day of the week, Honor Cambridge. You have the heart of a Marine, and that’s a fact. Now, can I tell Anthony to resume driving?”

She smiled and then impulsively hugged him, craving what she’d long been bereft of. Human touch. Contact. Comfort. Not since . . .

No, she wouldn’t go there. What she’d shared or rather what Hancock had taken from her didn’t count. Because it wasn’t real.

As if sensing her need for that contact, humanity, he
hugged her back ever so gently but no less encompassing and for long moments he merely held her, allowing her to clutch at him while she collected herself.