Darkest Before Dawn

It couldn’t happen to a nicer group of guys.

CHAPTER 12

HANCOCK—and the rest of his team, for that matter—had fallen silent after her scathing putdown of their ingratitude. She’d made no bones about the fact she thought they were all complete unfeeling bastards.

She wasn’t wrong.

His men didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of them when it came to doing their job at any cost. Like they were ultimately handing Honor back over to the very men they were currently saving her from. And that was all sorts of fucked up. Yeah, they tended not to give a rat’s ass whether they were saints or Satan himself. But it was in every man’s eyes, expressions, demeanor, that Honor . . . mattered.

They respected her when they respected no one but their team leader and each other. And if that didn’t throw a serious kink in their plans, he didn’t know what did. What if he ended up with a full scale rebellion on his hands? What if his men grew a conscience, as Hancock had in recent years—and he had vowed he’d never let that conscience interfere in another mission—and refused to hand Honor over to Bristow, then Maksimov and ultimately A New Era? There were too many ways for this to go wrong. What if Maksimov decided to say fuck you to A New Era? He was out of their reach and probably the only unofficial organization that would be an even match with A New Era. Maybe even far superior because Maksimov had no cause, no emotion. The members of A New Era were ruled by emotion, rage, a sense of righteousness and justice. They had no problem sacrificing themselves for the greater good. Their greater good.

None of Honor’s choices were remotely pleasant. Bristow was an evil bastard who got off on hurting women. Maksimov was brutal with his women, sometimes killing them with his depraved fetishes. In his world women were a dime a dozen and completely expendable.

And, well, if Bristow and Maksimov actually did turn Honor over to A New Era, she would endure unspeakable torture and degradation. She would pray for death, no matter how strong and fierce she was. No woman or man could endure what A New Era would dole out to her day after day, week after week until finally they killed her, and again, it wouldn’t be slow or merciful.

Many other militant terrorist cells, while brutal and inhuman, killed their hostages somewhat humanely. Usually a shot in the back of the head, execution style. Or they simply sliced the head off in a public venue so others would fear them and take them seriously.

He glanced sideways at Honor, at her closed eyes, her lashes resting delicately on her cheeks. So damn innocent. An innocent who would serve as the sacrificial virgin just so hundreds of thousands of people would live. It wasn’t fair. None of it was. But Hancock had come to grips long ago with the fact that it was impossible to have it all. Sacrifices had to be made, no matter the cost. He didn’t have to always like it, but he knew it for the truth it was, and it was the only way to bring down people like Bristow, Maksimov, and eventually ANE, A New Era.

He couldn’t tell if she was sleeping or merely closing her eyes to shut them all out. He couldn’t blame her. She’d been pissed—rightly so. And she was right. Not one had expressed their gratitude. Only anger at her for not following orders and the unspoken sentiment that she’d damn near gotten herself killed for a man she didn’t even know—or like.

Why had she done it?

It was a puzzle that had racked his brain ever since it had happened. He couldn’t come up with one good reason, when she’d fought so valiantly and intelligently to elude ANE that she would simply step in the path of a bullet and shove his teammate to safety.

He wasn’t used to women of Honor’s caliber. The only women he’d ever met who had spines of steel and resolve better than any man’s and yet were infinitely fragile were the Kelly women and the wives of KGI members. They were much like Honor. Exactly like her. Maybe that was why he could allow grudging respect for Honor, because the KGI women were fucking fierce and she was every bit the warrior the KGI women were.

“Almost there,” Henderson called from the front. “Better get the woman up and lucid so we don’t waste any time hiding this vehicle and transferring to another. Unless you want to bunk down again tonight?”

Hancock shook his head. “No. We need to keep moving. We’ll switch out driving so the others can get sleep. I’ll need at least one awake with the driver to keep a close watch and make sure we aren’t being followed or driving into a trap.”

Having issued the commands, Hancock turned his attention to Honor, whose eyes were still closed. As he studied her closer, he saw the lines of strain on her forehead, and her jaw was clenched, even in sleep. Almost as if she were in pain.

But given all she’d gone through, she was more likely having a nightmare.

He gently touched her shoulder, giving it a nudge.

“Honor. Honor, you need to wake up. We’re on a short time line and we need to ditch our vehicle.”

Her eyelids fluttered sluggishly as if she were swimming her way from unconsciousness. He frowned because she had always been ready without complaint, even when she was in a great deal of pain. But she never complained and she kept pace with him and his men. Again, how could he not admire this woman?

She licked her lips and frowned, almost as if she were confused by the difficulty she was having becoming fully awake. He saw the moment resolve settled over her shoulders, shaking away whatever fog had been present. Her eyes gleamed with determination and she quickly scanned their surroundings.

“How long?” she asked. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">