Darkest Before Dawn

Tears glittered in Hancock’s eyes, shocking her with uncharacteristic emotion. He looked gutted. He had the look of a man tortured with demons that would haunt him for eternity. She wished with everything she had that she could take them for him. So that he could be free. Most of all she hated that her dying would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“I have two things to ask of you, Hancock. Just two. And they’re simple. I’ll never ask for another thing and I won’t fight you. I won’t try to escape. I do have some dignity and I’ve resigned myself to what must be. But I want you to promise me two things.”

“Anything,” he said hoarsely.

“Promise me that my death won’t be in vain. Swear to me that you’ll take Maksimov out.”

“He’s going down,” Hancock said, menace in his voice. “I swear it, Honor. I will not let your sacrifice be for nothing. Never.”

She briefly closed her eyes, steeling herself for the second request.

“Please spare my parents the details. You can tell them that my death brought an end to a maniac and his entire empire. But swear to me that you’ll tell them my death was quick and merciful. Promise me you won’t tell them how I died. They’d never survive it. I don’t want them to know that I prayed for death or that I died screaming and begging for death. I don’t want them to know all that was done to me. Please, Hancock. Please, I’m begging. Do this for me. For them.”

Hancock gathered her hand in his, squeezing so hard it took all her control not to wince because she knew he wasn’t trying to hurt her. It was the strength of his emotions, emotions he was trying not to allow to show but she did. She saw him. The heart of him. Past the outward facade he’d perfected over a lifetime.

“All your family will know is what a fierce, brave and loving woman you were. They will know of all the lives you saved and the courage you showed the entire time. When I said that you mattered, that you would never be forgotten, I never meant for you to think that what would be remembered is the way you . . . died.”

The last came out strangled, as if just saying the word wounded him deeply. He looked away from her, no longer able to keep their gazes locked and so she wouldn’t see what he so desperately tried to hide.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her own voice thick with tears.

“How can you thank me for being the instrument of your death?” he raged, anger and sorrow reflected in every word. “How can you offer forgiveness and understanding to your executioner? You should hate me, Honor. You should despise me. You should be plotting to kill me, to escape, to do whatever necessary to take me down, and all you ask is that I make sure Maksimov dies and that your family is shielded from the details of your torture and agony?”

Her face went soft, and she lifted her hand to gently stroke his cheek.

“You aren’t my executioner.”

“The fuck I’m not,” he said, fire in his voice. “I’m not a goddamn hero. I’m a merciless killer who is willing to sacrifice everything that is good in this world so I can complete my mission. That makes me no better than Maksimov, no matter what you say or think.”

He abruptly stood and she felt the loss of their closeness, suddenly chilled and shivering.

“You need to rest,” he clipped out. “You’re in pain. And don’t deny it. Conrad is going to give you another injection, and I want you to sleep.”

But she knew his order was only partly born of his belief that she needed rest and relief from the relentless pain that nagged her. He could no longer bear to look at her. Could no longer bear the guilt and horrible anger and helpless rage without losing all control.

Because they both knew her fate was inevitable, and he hated himself because there was no other way. No alternative. And they both knew it. He hated that she could so calmly accept what he could not and that worse, she’d given him forgiveness and understanding, two things he felt he didn’t deserve.

CHAPTER 23

“THE exchange has been set up.” Bristow said what Hancock already knew, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Maksimov was very pleased when I told him I had the woman in my possession.”

Hancock stood in silence, waiting. Behind him his men were just as silent, though he could feel the undercurrents, the tension radiating from them all. Because they knew that once Honor was delivered to Maksimov, she had no protection. And none of them were fool enough to think Maksimov wouldn’t avail himself of Honor and enjoy her for a time before he made the delivery to ANE.

“You leave in two days’ time. I have the coordinates and all the information you need. Maksimov has explicit instructions as to how he wants the woman delivered. I expect you to heed them all.”

Hancock merely nodded and took the folder from Bristow’s outstretched hand.

“Consider it done,” Hancock said coolly.

Bristow tossed a thick envelope toward Hancock. “Half your payment now. The other when you make the delivery.”

It took every ounce of his willpower not to kill the man right here and now. The envelope burned his skin. Blood money. He would give it to his men. They deserved it. But he wasn’t taking one goddamn cent for sending Honor to her death.

“You can leave now,” Bristow said arrogantly. “I’ll see to the travel arrangements. Discretion will be necessary, of course.”

“I will make the plans,” Hancock said in a cold tone. “You hired me to do a job, but it will be done my way. My men. My mission.” 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">