Darkest Before Dawn (Page 58)

“Hancock.”

Conrad’s cold voice penetrated the red-hot haze surrounding Hancock’s mind, turning him once more into a ruthless killing machine.

“You can’t compromise the mission over what he’s done. If he’s done anything at all.”

“The hell I can’t,” Hancock spat. “I don’t need Bristow to make the exchange with Maksimov. I did at first. But that contact has been made. All I have to do is complete the drop and then take the bastard and his entire network down.”

“But not in time to save Honor,” Viper said tightly.

Hancock swung his haunted gaze to his man. “Don’t you think I would if I could?”

“Would you?” Henderson pressed, his face drawn into grim lines. “You’ve never wavered in a mission before. Why now?”

“You forget I sacrificed two opportunities to take down Maksimov to save innocent lives,” Hancock snapped. “I won’t do so a third time. Now move out. If he’s touched Honor, if he’s made her afraid, I’ll kill him.”

None of his men commented on the hypocrisy of Hancock’s killing a man who would at least be more honest with Honor than Hancock had been. None dared.

CHAPTER 19

HONOR was so tired of being in the bed, she was ready to scream. If one more day passed and she heard, just as she heard every time she asked Hancock the question of when she could go home, “Not yet,” she was going to hurt someone. And she was only fantasizing about one face to smash. When she wasn’t fantasizing about the mouth attached to that face.

She was out of her freaking mind. Barking mad, crazy as a loon. It could only be explained by the insanity she’d endured over the last two weeks. Surely no one could come out of something like this with their mind intact. She wasn’t an exception. She’d lost as much brain mass as she had blood, so she couldn’t hold her fixation with the brooding badass huge question mark that was Hancock against herself. Or so she tried to convince herself. But she was failing miserably.

What kind of a freak was attracted to a man she didn’t even know? A man shrouded with so many layers of secrets that even each individual layer had multiple layers. It would take eternity to discern the man beneath the cloak of mystery, and even then she wasn’t certain there was anything but those secrets he wore like skin.

She was crazy. It was the only reasonable explanation. And then she wanted to laugh at herself for using the word reasonable when explaining crazy.

The door opened and her pulse immediately leapt, anticipating the only man who’d come into her room in the past days. Yesterday, she’d been feeling restless and cagey and decided to test the extent of the damage done to her; she’d forced herself out of bed, determined to walk out of this room and figure out where the hell she was. At this point she was just desperate for a change in scenery. The lavender walls and cheery floral artwork were just taunting her, since the very last thing she was feeling was happy and carefree.

It had exhausted her, but elation had lent her a surge of strength when she’d finally shuffled to the door, only for that illusion of strength to evaporate when the knob wouldn’t turn. She was locked in, and it only locked from the outside.

She wasn’t a prisoner. Was she?

Not knowing what else to do, with her knees perilously close to giving out on her, she shuffled back to the bed and crawled onto it, her body protesting her every movement. And then a sound had her freezing and just as quickly turning to settle into place on the bed, angry at the guilt she felt, as though she were an errant teenager trying to sneak out.

She wasn’t a prisoner!

Her pulse, already elevated, spiked, and it was like pressing the accelerator to the floor on a sports car. A man she’d never seen slid like an oily snake through the barely opened door. He didn’t fit in this world. This place. But then where was here?

It was she who didn’t belong here.

An uneasy sensation circled and swelled as fear boiled in her stomach and acid traced its way up her throat. Worse, the moment the intruder picked up on her fear, she saw him go hard with arousal. There was an unmistakable bulge in his expensive slacks that clearly outlined his erection, and low laughter escaped him. It—he—was vile and repulsive.

“Who are you?” she demanded with far more bravado than she felt.

She gathered the sheets in a tight bundle, shielding her body from his view even though she was fully dressed beneath the covers.

Just like that his eyes went flat and cold and a shiver went up her spine. Malice glittered brightly in the black orbs as he advanced on the bed. She opened her mouth to scream and he was on her in an instant, stifling any cry she would have made with a sharp slap to her mouth.

The blow stunned her into silence and only a small whimper of pain escaped.

“I’m the man who owns you. Temporarily,” he added, the sound of his voice coming as a hiss, cold on her skin as though he weren’t a living thing at all. A monster. Like so many of the monsters that haunted her dreams.

Where was Hancock?

Inside she was screaming for him. His name. Over and over. A litany, begging him to save her. Again. Who was this man? How did he get into her room? Hancock had told her she was safe.

Hadn’t he?

She frantically searched her memory for the words. For what exactly he’d said to her. They hadn’t had very many actual conversations. She would be certain of what he’d promised her. She was sure. She’d held the few assurances he’d given her close to her heart. A talisman.