Darkest Before Dawn (Page 105)

“Yeah, yeah,” Honor muttered. “Until after all the bad guys are dead. Here’s a clue. They’ll never be dead. They were never alive. You can’t kill someone who doesn’t have a soul.”

The man, Kyle, as he’d introduced himself, frowned and studied her, something resembling concern reflected in his eyes.

“As soon as I’m given the go-ahead, I’ll take you to reunite with your family personally. You have my word.”

“Words are meaningless,” she said bitterly.

She turned back over, blocking him out, surprised she’d even bothered to say anything at all. For a moment she’d actually felt . . . anger. Something other than the dullness that had pervaded her entire mind. And she didn’t like it. Not at all. A crack had developed in her hard fought barrier against emotion. An impenetrable fortress surrounding her so she felt . . . nothing. Or so she’d thought. Would it disintegrate now when she needed it the most?

Too bad someone hadn’t swooped in with the handy-dandy syringe with a sedative. Then she could drift away again. To nothingness.

Instead, she closed her eyes and began mentally resurrecting the walls she’d so painstakingly built during her captivity, embracing the sensation of the black void.

•   •   •

“WHEN the fuck can I bring her home?” Kyle Phillips snapped to Sam Kelly.

“As soon as we fucking blow Maksimov and ANE all to hell,” Sam bit back.

“She’s wasting away,” Kyle said with pronounced frustration.

There was a brief pause. “What do you mean? You told her she was rescued and that she and her family are being protected and that as soon as Maksimov and ANE are eliminated she’s going home, right?”

Kyle made a sound of impatience. “Do you honest-to-God think a woman who has been shit on and lied to at every turn is going to just accept that one minute she’s on a plane with a man she believes is delivering her to a terrorist group and then she wakes up and the Marines swooped in and rescued her, but oh by the way, you can’t go home yet, but you will. Eventually.”

“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.