Текст книги "Darkest Before Dawn"
Автор книги: Maya Banks
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 29 страниц)
CHAPTER 11
THOUGH Hancock had warned her—them all—that the village was a crossroads in a rural area, she hadn’t been prepared for just how much traffic flowed through the village seemingly dropped in the middle of nowhere. It was as if the outpost served as a central hub to the entire country. Everyone traveled through this place when traversing the region.
Before they pulled into the outskirts of the settlement, Hancock had quietly warned them to stay close and stick together and for Conrad to get Honor in and out in minutes. Not only was the village an epicenter for people traveling to the far reaches and to other lands, but it was a place where one could acquire just about . . . anything.
Not only was the local economy supported by its steady fuel reserves and an army that protected those reserves day and night, but there were also arms dealers in every other tent¸ openly displaying their wares. It wasn’t legal, but the government looked the other way, turning a blind eye to the goings-on in the small population.
It was hard to imagine a bustling marketplace where for miles there was literally nothing in every direction. Interspersed among the tents selling guns and explosives and defensive apparatus were women preparing food and selling it. Clothing. Supplies. Fresh water. It could all be had for a price.
There was deceptiveness to the air of festivity. An innocuous feel that was quickly dispelled once someone looked beyond the surface and studied the faces and stances of the people buying and selling wares.
Honor studied every single person they passed as they weaved their way through the village to the opposite end where the fuel tanks were. There was grimness, an air of expectancy, watchfulness and wariness. On constant guard, guns—assault rifles—at the ready that no one tried to hide but kept in plain sight at all times.
She shuddered, imagining what the reality of living such a life was for these people. Yes, she’d lived and worked in an area of unrest, but apart from outsiders encroaching, the village was peaceful. Full of people who only wanted sanctuary from the senseless violence that was so predominant here and who had no wish to wake up each day facing a fight for their lives. And until A New Era’s attack, the village had gone largely unnoticed, even with the Western presence in the relief center. She had no doubt that her—and others’—presence wasn’t well received by most, but they were left alone. And they did provide shelter, food and essentials for survival that even those who despised everything Honor stood for didn’t quibble over accepting.
The people in this far-flung, hole-in-the-wall crossroads dealt with death and battle on a daily basis. Living in paranoia. Reacting instantly to any threat, imagined or real.
A very real chill worked its way to her bones, despite the heavy burka enveloping her from head to toe.
“Get ready,” Hancock warned, his tone low and utterly grave.
Already his gaze was up and sweeping the area, those cold eyes taking in the minutest detail. There was only a nearly imperceptible twitch to his jaw that betrayed his unease and how on guard he was.
“Are you sure she should get out here?” Conrad asked, turning his gaze on his team leader. “We can always find a place in the desert and let her squat where no one is around.”
Hancock shook his head. “I need to know if we’re met with suspicion. I and the others will be closely watching as you and Honor go in to see what attention you gain. I need to know if they’ve been tipped off and know who you are.”
“And if they are?” Honor asked in a strangled tone. “Isn’t this basically setting me up as bait? Like leading a blindfolded cow to slaughter?”
“Yes,” Hancock said bluntly, no apology in his voice. “But you aren’t being meekly led to your demise. My team and I will protect you. I need to know who is enemy and who is oblivious to who you are and most importantly where you are.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” she muttered. “It’s easy for you to say when you aren’t the sacrificial lamb.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he corrected. “You, they want alive. Me and my men? Not so much. Completely expendable. And we’re all that stands in the way of them getting their hands on you. So yeah, we’re definitely taking the bigger risk here.”
She was instantly ashamed at the selfishness of her thoughts. It made perfect sense now that he’d laid it out as matter-of-factly as he had. She’d never approached it from his mind-set, and it made her feel like a spoiled diva whose needs took priority over all others, at all costs. Even as the sobering thoughts dug into her consciousness, she sent Hancock a look of apology he couldn’t possibly misconstrue. But there was no acknowledgment—or condemnation, for that matter—in his eyes. But then he hadn’t pointed out the fact that he and his men were at greater risk than she was to take her down a few notches. He’d merely stated a fact in that unruffled manner he had perfected.
They pulled up to the tanker on the periphery of the village, the one that had the clearest escape route should the shit hit the fan. Conrad immediately herded Honor from the vehicle, and she was careful to keep her head bowed in a posture of submissiveness and remain a step behind and to the side of Conrad as he hurried her into a crude hut used as a washroom.
First he went in and checked to make sure no one was inside. Once satisfied it was empty, he gave Honor firm orders to get her business done as soon as possible and meet him at the entrance, where he was pulling guard duty to make sure no one intruded.
She wasted no time, fighting with the heavy burka and squatting carefully over the disgusting hole in the ground that was already filled with human waste. She breathed through her mouth so the foul odor didn’t fill her nostrils, afraid her stomach would revolt and she’d waste precious seconds throwing up.
It was uncomfortable as hell, bent at an awkward angle, holding the folds of her garment up so they didn’t get soiled in the process. Her knee protested holding herself as steady as possible while she went about the business of relieving herself.
By the time she’d peed about two gallons, both legs were shaking and her hurt knee was buckling incessantly, causing her to balance precariously on her good leg. She hastily washed up as best she could with the discolored water in the washbasin against the wall and didn’t even speculate on its cleanliness. It would only freak her out more than she already was.
She returned to where Conrad stood, his stance impatient even as his wary gaze constantly scanned the entire area. When he completed a sweep, he began all over again, never taking his eyes from the goings-on around them.
He glanced her way when he caught sight of her and dipped his head in the direction of the military vehicle where Hancock was finishing up the refuel. She fell into step behind him, and as Conrad continually did, she too kept a watchful eye on everyone in her sight line.
When they turned around the outhouse, Honor nearly froze. Only her rigid control prevented her from reacting to the sight of an armed man in fatigues lifting his assault rifle and pointing it at . . . Conrad.
Shit!
She couldn’t just act like she hadn’t seen it, and she had to act fast. Completely disregarding Hancock’s—and Conrad’s—strict instructions to not draw undue attention to herself, she launched herself toward Conrad as though she had fallen.
She crashed into the unsuspecting man, and the adrenaline surge that had spiked through her veins gave her much more strength than she thought she possessed. Conrad went sprawling just as a volley of bullets peppered the area right where Conrad had been standing a fraction of a second earlier.
Tensing, expecting pain from one of the bullets that had surely struck her, she hunched in on herself even as she dropped like a rock. Which was stupid because she and Conrad both needed to be on their feet so they could make their escape. But self-preservation ruled and she acted instinctively to prevent herself from getting killed. Even though she hadn’t been the intended target.
Vicious curses from more than one location blistered the air, and Honor suddenly found herself roughly dragged to her feet, thrown over a shoulder and flopping like a fish out of water as Hancock sprinted toward the waiting vehicle.
Conrad had already regained his footing and was two steps ahead of Hancock and Honor. Hancock forcibly threw Honor into the backseat before he and Conrad dove inside. Their doors weren’t even shut yet when the vehicle lurched forward, tires spinning momentarily as the driver floored it.
“Goddamn it. Goddamn it!” Hancock bellowed.
But it was Conrad’s expression that sent Honor’s heart into her throat. He was coldly furious. Rage simmered over and through his body, his face and eyes so black that she shivered. His jaw bulged from clenching his teeth together so tightly.
Everyone was pissed. At her. And she was utterly baffled. Genuinely puzzled. She’d saved Conrad’s life. Didn’t that get her off the hook for “drawing undue attention”?
“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” Conrad roared. “What about ‘do not draw attention to yourself’ did you not understand? Women here would never do such a thing. Swear to God, you must have a death wish.”
“Bullshit,” Honor snapped, pissed that the man wasn’t the least bit grateful that she’d prevented someone from making Swiss cheese out of him. “You forget I work in villages like this. I see mothers protecting their children. Their loved ones. Every bit as fiercely as the males.”
Hancock huffed out a breath that suggested he was hanging on to his patience—and temper—by a thread.
“Not in this village,” he said through clenched teeth. “Women here are rarely seen and never heard. They do not interfere. Worse, you brought dishonor to the assassin because you, a lowly woman, thwarted his objective and the entire village bore witness to it. This is an outlaw town and the only rules are the ones enforced by the people who have the power to back them up.”
“Good,” Honor snarled. “I hope he kills himself over the humiliation of it all. One less asshole in the world, though if I hadn’t interfered, then there’d be two less assholes in the world.”
She stared pointedly at Conrad, her expression frigid.
“More likely he’ll kill you,” Hancock said grimly. “It doesn’t matter if he knows you’re wanted or if he’s your enemy’s friend. He would seek your death for no other reason than the insult you handed him.”
“It’s customary to thank someone when they save your life,” she snapped. “Not tell them they’re a fucking idiot who can’t follow simple instructions.”
“If the shoe fits,” Conrad muttered.
“If you want to die so bad, I’ll gladly oblige you,” she seethed. “I’ll shoot you myself, but you can be sure I’ll be creative with the shot placements.”
“Bad mojo,” Mojo muttered, glancing over his shoulder at Honor with something that looked suspiciously like a glimmer of respect.
“It’s over and done with,” Hancock said by way of halting the back-and-forth. “Just get us the hell out of here, Viper, and don’t let up on the accelerator. And damn sure keep an eye out for a tail or an RPG attack.”
Honor sank against the seat, pain and intense heat bathing her side. She must have fallen on something when she hit the ground so fast. But over her dead body would she ever let these assholes know that she’d sustained another injury while saving their ungrateful ass of a teammate. They could all fuck off as far as she was concerned. Just when she began to tell herself that she misunderstood Hancock and his men and that they weren’t really flaming assholes, they just as quickly dissuaded her of that notion by proving yet again just what jackasses they were.
The demon inside her, the very pissed-off outraged demon, wouldn’t simply let it go as Hancock had commanded. She turned her head so she faced Conrad and stared him down unflinchingly, not giving a shit that he could snap her like a twig with two fingers.
“So you would have preferred I just stand there like some hapless twit and let you get killed? Really? Does your life mean so little to you?”
She couldn’t keep the derision or scorn from her voice.
Conrad’s scowl deepened and his features grew even blacker, if such a thing were possible. He looked like an angry storm cloud in spring tornado season. His brow was so furrowed that his eyebrows bunched together to form one continuous line of hair over both eyes. And those eyes glittered with fury.
“Ungrateful ass,” she muttered, before refusing to look at him a second longer.
Instead she leaned back, tilting her head against the seat even though the rough terrain made it impossible for her skull not to endure battering from all the holes and bumps in their path.
She closed her eyes, shutting them all out. If she was lucky, she could fall asleep and they could just wake her up when they got to wherever they were stopping and she could be a good little hapless maiden and go sit on her hands while the big bad alpha males got their balls shot off.
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.
“Three minutes,” Copeland called from the front seat.
Honor nodded her understanding, squaring her shoulders.
Minutes later the vehicle came to an abrupt stop, causing Honor to lurch forward, the seatbelt ramming into her belly. To her surprise Conrad was there before Hancock to catch her, and then he carefully eased her back against the seat.
Conrad got out first and then the others piled out. Only Viper stayed behind the wheel. Hancock reached over to unlatch Honor’s harness. His arm pressed into her side in order to reach the latch buried under the folds of her burka.
She winced and her face went pale. What the fuck?
He quickly unsnapped the buckle and prepared to help her out of the vehicle. But when he drew his arm back, the one that had pressed hard into Honor’s side, he was stunned to see fresh blood smeared on his skin.
Dread took hold of his spine.
He lifted a hand to Honor’s cheek, staring her intently in the eyes.
“Are you hurt?” he asked in a soft tone.
Her eyes were wide and frightened. She’d seen the blood on Hancock’s arm. She was pale and shaken as her lips worked to answer his question.
“I don’t know. I didn’t think so. I felt a twinge of pain in my side, but I fell and just thought it was sore. But it hurts now,” she said, gritting her teeth.
Hancock swore viciously and guilt, not an emotion he was well acquainted with at all, gripped his chest like a vise.
“Let me get you in the other vehicle. We can’t afford to stop. But I’ll take a look and see what’s going on. If it’s serious, we’ll have to risk taking you to the hospital.”
Fear immediately filled her eyes even as she shook her head.
“I’m alive. I’m not dying. I just hurt. And I’ve dealt with pain for over a week. I’ll deal with it now,” she said quietly.
Once again a surge of pride overtook him. She simply didn’t know the meaning of the word quit. If only he weren’t destined to betray her. To sacrifice her for the greater good. The world needed people like her, and it fucking sucked that the good ones were usually the sacrificial lambs.
“Let me help you. We don’t know what’s going on and I don’t want you making it worse,” he said in a low voice.
She nodded her agreement.
Hancock leaned in and slid one arm beneath her knees and the other between her back and the seat, gently lifting, watching for any sign of pain or discomfort in her eyes. He should have known he wouldn’t find any no matter how much pain she was in. She had too much pride and determination to give in and appear weak in front of him and his men.
He retreated from the interior and turned Honor’s face into his neck to protect her eyes from the scorching, blowing sand.
“Open the back,” Hancock said as he strode toward the waiting vehicle. “Honor and I will ride in back for a few miles. I need a flat surface so I can see about her injury.”
“Injury?” Conrad demanded. “What injury?”
“I don’t know yet,” Hancock said calmly.
Conrad let loose with a string of obscenities and continued to mutter and curse under his breath as he opened the vehicle and hastily arranged a comfortable place for Honor to lie. Then he stood back as Hancock positioned her carefully on the blankets Conrad had spread out. But Conrad didn’t budge. In fact he pressed in close, touching elbows with Hancock, a grim expression on his face.
Hancock didn’t reprimand his man. Beneath the fury, Hancock could see . . . worry. And guilt. Conrad assumed she’d taken a bullet meant for him, and it would eat him alive. Hancock and his men, every single last one of them, were protectors. Yes, they didn’t always protect the good and innocent. Sometimes it took becoming the very thing they hunted so relentlessly in order to take out evil in the world. So that the innocent would prevail.
Only this innocent he couldn’t save. Her fate had already been decided and written. Unchangeable. It would have been far more merciful for her if she had died in the clinic bombing. Because the short future she faced wouldn’t go by quickly. It wouldn’t be merciful. In fact, it would tear her down to her soul, and in the end, that would fade too, leaving only a hollow shell of the fierce woman she used to be. She would welcome death. Pray for it. And it would only make her captors all the more determined to prolong her hour-to-hour agony.
And he was responsible. He would have done that to her. Make it possible for her to be treated with less regard than an animal. And for what? The greater good? It was the philosophy Titan had always held as their creed, even when Rio led Titan. The man who’d taught Hancock everything he knew.
Hancock had always believed in that motto. He understood it. He lived it, breathed it, risked his life to uphold it. But for the first time, the idea of Honor’s sacrifice being responsible for Maksimov, Bristow and ANE going down and saving hundreds of thousands of innocent people in the process made him . . . sick. It disgusted him.
Maybe it was time to hang it up. Disappear somewhere and start a new life where he would be known to no one and not relentlessly hunted. Somewhere he could be alone, never having to deal with the oblivious people he’d lost his soul for in order for them to continue their ignorant, happy existence.
But no. He had family. By love, not blood. They were the only people in the world he felt . . . anything . . . for. Affection. Love. Unwavering loyalty. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for any of them.
He couldn’t simply walk out of their lives and never return. They deserved better of him after all they’d done for him. They’d saved him. They’d given him purpose and a place in the world, even if it was a place so steeped in shadows and sins that he doubted he’d ever see the light again.
He’d long ago made peace with the fact that he wasn’t a good man. He’d never be a good man. But for his family, he could and would be that man even if it was all a lie. Big Eddie, his foster father. And his brothers—Raid, a policeman, and Ryker, a former military man who went into personal security after his discharge. He’d heard from Eden that KGI was considering taking Ryker on. But he’d last spoken to her months before and only then to let her know he’d be out of touch for an indefinite period of time.
Eden. His baby sister who meant the world to him. She was everything good. Everything he wasn’t. He wasn’t a man who scared easily, or at all for that matter. He was calm in the face of adversity, his mind always calculating like a computer his options and possibilities. And he kept all his missions impersonal. Never forming any attachment or bond with anyone.
But nearly losing Eden—losing her for several hours when she endured horrific torture—had unhinged him. He’d been terrified. Out of control. Shaking. Emotional. All the things he considered weaknesses in his work.
Even as he considered that if he had no family he’d never face those very uncomfortable emotions and reactions, he knew that he loved the Sinclairs when he loved no one else. They were his only anchor in the dark world he was being absorbed into more and more with every passing day.
Shaking himself back to the task at hand, he glanced up at Honor to see if she was still conscious. She was, but her eyes were glazed with pain, though not a single sound passed her tightly closed lips. No betraying quiver in her body. The only evidence of her strain was her tightly curled fists on either side of her.
“I’ll be careful,” he said in an attempt to reassure her.
And then he didn’t understand why he felt the need to say anything at all. If she hadn’t put herself in the line of fire, she wouldn’t be hurt and bleeding. He ought to still be pissed, but lying to himself did no good. He hadn’t been pissed because she hadn’t followed orders. He’d been pissed because when he’d witnessed what she did, his heart had plummeted into his stomach and unholy . . . fear . . . assailed him that she would be killed. And it had nothing to do with the fact that if she died his mission would be FUBAR.
Shut it off. All of it. His stupid thoughts and feelings. He began to roll the heavy material of her burka up her legs. When he got to her thighs he gave silent thanks that she’d worn athletic shorts and a sports bra underneath. The last thing he needed was to start fantasizing about what had to be a gorgeous naked body. He had enough issues to deal with without adding completely inappropriate lustful thoughts. He already had too many recently discovered weaknesses, and he had no wish to add to that list. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt lust or experienced sexual urges. His missions were his mistress, the only thing he gave unwavering fidelity to. Getting off was something he had neither the time nor the desire for when so many lives depended on him.
There was blood smeared down her right side even past her hip, but he hadn’t yet gotten to the source of the blood.
Finally he simply tugged the burka all the way over her head and tossed it aside. When he looked back, he sucked in his breath. Beside him, Conrad swore viciously again.
Right between her bottom rib and her hip was a still-bleeding crease at least six inches long.
“At least it’s just a graze,” Conrad muttered, but anger was still vibrating in his voice.
Hancock carefully palpated the area, forcing himself not to jerk away when she flinched.
“No sign of a bullet lodged in the muscle or tissue. It bled a lot, but it’s not serious.”
He glanced up at Honor to gauge her reaction to his assessment and saw relief simmering in her deep brown eyes.
“It needs stitches,” Conrad said with a frown.
Hancock stifled a smile at how concerned he was for Honor’s well-being despite the image he projected of being an angry, ungrateful asshole.
“Yeah, she does. I can get it done, but I’m not as good at it as you are, and you have far more medic training.”
“I’ll do it,” Conrad said, pushing past Hancock, a med kit in his hand.
Alarm instantly registered in Honor’s eyes, the first sign of fear in this entire fucked-up situation that she’d allowed anyone to see. Then she glanced at Conrad, who was crawling into the back with her, and unease billowed off her in tangible waves.
“I’ll be right here,” Hancock said in a soothing tone.
She didn’t look at all relieved. Her eyes never once left Conrad, and every time he pulled something from the med kit and placed it beside her, her panic intensified.
Fuck. She was scared shitless of his man and was even more wary after Conrad had yelled at her and given her a scorching dressing-down.
“Can’t you or Mojo do it?” Honor asked with quivering lips.
