Текст книги "Darkest Before Dawn"
Автор книги: Maya Banks
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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 29 страниц)
CHAPTER 39
ALL eyes flew to the door to the bedroom an hour later when Maren stuck her head out. Hancock’s stomach bottomed out because Maren looked as though she were on the verge of shattering. Steele was up and across the space before Hancock could ask about Honor.
“Come inside with me, please, Jackson,” Maren asked in a tearful voice.
She was the only one who called him by his first name, and it sounded odd when Steele fit the man’s personality to a T.
Hancock stood to protest, but Maren held up her hand. “She’s resting peacefully. She won’t be aware of Jackson’s presence. I . . . I need him for a moment.”
Steele pressed in close, enfolding his wife in his arms, pushing them both into the room and closing the door behind them.
Maren burst into tears, burying her face in her husband’s broad chest.
“Don’t cry, baby,” Steele said in a desperate voice. It was a well-known fact that his wife’s crying brought him to his knees and made him as helpless as a newborn baby.
“She’s hurting so badly, Jackson,” she choked out. “They both are. Hancock was right. She’s shattered. She’s not there. There’s no fight left in her. She wants to die.”
Steele held her, stroking his hand up and down her back, offering her comfort he knew she wouldn’t find. She was good to her toes. Tenderhearted and sweet. Light and sunshine. All the things he wasn’t but experienced through her. With her. God, what had his life been like before her?
He glanced over his wife’s head to where Honor lay curled into a protective ball on the bed, and he winced. She looked like hell.
“What did that bastard do to her?” Steele asked, his voice dangerously low, rage rolling from him in waves.
“He tortured her. He used a cattle prod on her frequently. She has marks all over her body. She’s bruised. She’s been beaten. But Jackson, that’s not the worst of it. She’ll recover from her injuries. But she’s broken. She’s simply given up. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t hate. She doesn’t love. She isn’t angry. She’s incapable of feeling anything. She’s an empty shell, already dead except that only her heart still beats. But in every way that counts, she’s already gone.
“She isn’t afraid of being turned over to ANE. She accepts it. She welcomes it. God! She simply doesn’t feel anything. I don’t know if she’ll survive this. She tried to kill herself when Bristow tried to rape her. Both wrists are stitched and the cuts are deep. When she realizes she’s not being turned over to ANE, I fear she’ll simply finish the job and end her physical life, because her soul is already dead.”
“Son of a bitch,” Steele said, rubbing his chest at the sudden ache that gripped him. “That woman has been to hell and back. She survived in the face of impossible odds. She fought. She never gave up. But she obviously loves Hancock, and his perceived betrayal was able to do what nothing else could. Defeat her.”
Maren raised her tearful gaze to Steele’s. “And how can I walk out there and tell Hancock everything I just told you? Did you see him? As dead as she is, as devastated as she is, he is every bit as dead on the inside. He won’t survive this any more than she will.”
Steele cupped her chin gently in his hand and pressed a kiss to her lips. “You don’t.”
“He won’t accept that,” she said. “He’ll lose it. He’s already torturing himself with what Maksimov did to her. Not knowing is killing him.”
“You give him the basics. You tell him of her injuries. But everything you just told me, you don’t tell him. It accomplishes nothing, and in fact, it could compromise our mission in a huge way. Because he will completely lose it if you tell him everything you told me. He will be unstoppable. A liability. His only goal will be to take out the man who hurt her and the men who will hurt her. He won’t care if he dies. As you said, he’s already dead. But he could get a hell of a lot of us killed. We need him as calm and as focused as possible, so tell him only what you need to tell him and nothing more. I will not lose a single member of KGI because Hancock has lost his tenuous grip on his sanity and put our entire mission in jeopardy.”
She sighed, leaning into him. He wrapped his arms around her and simply held her, knowing that was what she needed most right now.
“You’re right, of course,” she said. “But God, Jackson. It hurt me to see that young woman so defeated and accepting of her fate. I want so badly to cry for her.”
He smiled. “Honey, you are crying. You’ve cried all over me.”
She sniffed. “You weren’t supposed to notice that.”
He took her hand and squeezed. “Let’s go give Hancock a report before he tears the plane apart.”
“I love you,” she said in an aching voice. “I think part of the reason I’m so devastated for Honor is this could have been me.”
Steele hugged her to him, tremors running through his body. The memory of just how close he’d come to losing her never left him. There wasn’t a day he didn’t think of it, that he didn’t remember the moments when he thought he had lost her. Because, God, there had been more than one.
“I love you too,” he said gruffly. “You and Olivia are my life.”
“And it hurts me to see Hancock this way,” she said in a pained voice. “He’s a good man. He’s not the man everyone thinks him to be. He’s not the man he believes himself to be, the man he’s convinced himself he is. He took care of me the entire time I was in captivity. He protected me and he was gentle and caring. He offered me reassurance and comfort when he knew I needed it the most. Never once did he threaten me, and he gave up his mission to save me. And then he saved me again. He was willing to die for me. He doesn’t deserve this, Jackson. Neither of them do.”
He stroked a hand through her hair, knowing full well he owed Hancock a debt he could never possibly hope to repay. Because of Hancock, he had Maren and their precious baby girl. No, Hancock didn’t deserve the pain of losing the woman he loved and he hoped like hell that somehow, someway, things would work themselves out and that two people dying slow deaths could somehow find their way back to one another so they could be whole again.
CHAPTER 40
WHEN the plane landed at the airstrip where the teams would split up, one taking Honor to the safe house and standing guard over her and the others to rendezvous to plan the mission to take Maksimov and ANE down, Hancock insisted on carrying Honor to the jet she and Resnick’s team would fly out on.
He requested a few moments alone before the others boarded, and they granted the request. The mood was grave, and sorrow pervaded the entire group.
Reverently, Hancock laid Honor on the couch, ensuring that she was as comfortable as he could make her. His hands drifted over the torn flesh at her wrists. On top of the sutures from when she’d cut her own wrists, the skin was ripped and raw from the manacles that had dug so deeply into her delicate flesh.
He palmed her forehead, stroking his fingers through her tangled hair, and he simply drank her in before leaning down to press a kiss to her still lips. He inhaled, savoring her smell, her taste, imprinting it into his heart for all time.
Grief bore down on him, so heavy he couldn’t move. Wherever he went in his meaningless life, he would forever carry a piece of her with him. That piece being the best—the only good—part of him.
“I’m so sorry, Honor,” he whispered. “I love you. I’ll always love you. Only you. There’ll never be another I love as I love you. I’m so damn sorry I couldn’t be the man you needed. That I couldn’t be a good man for you. I hope you find happiness. That I haven’t forever destroyed something so very precious. The world needs more people like you, Honor. It needs your kindness, your spirit, fire and courage. And your compassion. All the things I lack, but just for a little while got to experience what those things felt like through you. Be happy, my love. And live. Live.”
Knowing if he didn’t walk away now, he’d never be able to, he reluctantly rose, allowing his fingers to linger in her hair, trailing down to the very end of the tresses until finally they fell away. He felt the loss as keenly as if she’d died.
He’d never touch her again. Never kiss her, hold her, be enveloped by her sweetness, nor would he ever see her radiant smile that rivaled a sunrise.
Closing his eyes, he turned and walked to the front and then down the steps to the paved runway. He knew what he looked like. Why the others refused to look at him. Because what they’d see was something terrifying. Too terrible to look upon. He’d never look in the mirror again, because without Honor, he knew he’d only see a soulless monster who’d robbed an innocent of everything.
“Let’s go,” he said in a voice he didn’t recognize.
CHAPTER 41
HONOR began the slow climb to awareness, signaling she was once again shrugging off the effects of a sedative. She’d been so adamant in the beginning about not being given them, not wanting anything to impair her. She needed sharp reflexes and clear thinking.
Now? It was a welcome respite and it really wasn’t so different from her nondrugged state, so she couldn’t really bring herself to care.
She opened her eyes and discovered she wasn’t on a plane anymore. She was in a bedroom. A nicely furnished bedroom with a really comfortable bed. A hysterical laugh began in her throat, but she stanched it. It reminded her of when she’d awakened in Bristow’s house, thinking she was safe, rescued.
She would never make that same mistake again. Never be so trusting and naïve.
A sound had her slowly turning her head in its direction, disinterest reflected in her movements.
A tall, well-muscled man in a military uniform stood just inside the doorway. When he saw she was awake, he took a few steps forward but maintained a distance between himself and the bed. As though he feared scaring her? She had to bite her lip to prevent the hysterical laughter from bubbling up from her throat. She was beyond the frightened stage. Now she was simply accepting of her fate.
“Miss Cambridge, I’m Kyle Phillips of the United States Marine Corps. We intercepted an attempted exchange between a Russian arms dealer and a terrorist organization, and realizing you were a prisoner, we took the necessary steps to rescue you and get you back to the U.S.”
She merely blinked. Did he expect her to believe this bullshit? Furthermore, why bother to lie? Apparently monsters liked to play psychological games. Hancock was certainly a master at it.
“Until the terrorist organization is dismantled and Maksimov is eliminated, you’ll be under constant surveillance and around the clock protection. You are not a prisoner. You’re free to go anywhere in this house you wish. We also believe there to be a credible threat to your family, so until that threat is eliminated, we’ve arranged for their protection as well. But it’s imperative they not know you’re alive until after—”
“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.
“Hey, hold up,” Rio said, jogging after his former teammate.
Hancock stopped, but all he wanted to do was just go. To be left alone.
“Want a ride to Honor’s place? By the time we get stateside, she’ll be at her family’s house.”
For a moment he couldn’t breathe for the pain splintering through his body, heart, soul.
“No,” he finally said in a low voice.
Rio shot him a look of surprise. “What the fuck, man? You’re walking away?”
Hancock turned on him, his features savage as anger rushed hot through his veins.
“I betrayed her. I broke so many promises I can’t even count. I don’t deserve her and she certainly deserves a hell of a lot better than me. She hates me but not more than I hate myself.”
“Don’t do this, man,” Rio said, his eyes dark with sympathy. “Don’t do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”
“Too late,” Hancock bit out, and he turned and walked away.
CHAPTER 42
KYLE Phillips stood in the living room of Honor’s parents’ home facing her entire family. Her mother, father, four brothers and her sister. There was stark grief in their eyes because he knew they assumed the worst.
The news had broken just the night before that the terrorist group responsible for the attack on the relief center Honor had volunteered at had been completely taken out by a joint U.S. special forces unit and SEAL teams. Her family was fully prepared to be told that their daughter’s death, although already broadcast over the news for endless days and nights immediately following the attack, could now be officially confirmed. There’d been no survivors, according to reports, though Honor’s body had never been returned. It was through that, that her family had clung stubbornly to hope. But now? They fully expected official confirmation of Honor’s death.
After formally introducing himself, Kyle asked them to sit and waited until they complied before he said what he’d come to say. There was no easy or delicate way to say what he had to say, and he wasn’t one to tiptoe around an issue. It was a lot less time consuming to get straight to the point.
“Your daughter is alive,” he said, no inflection to his tone as he took in all their faces and the sudden change from resignation to wary hope.
There was complete silence. Stunned expressions. Shock. And then it seemed to register what he was telling them. Her mother burst into tears as did her sister. Her brothers rocked forward, faces in their palms, and her father went ashen.
“W-what?” Mandie’s voice quivered as she stared at the Marine in disbelief. “But we were told she was dead. The whole country was told she was dead. It’s all the news has talked about since the attack on the relief center where she worked. What on earth are you saying?”
“She survived,” Kyle said quietly. “I understand this comes as a shock . . .”
He got no further before he was bombarded with questions.
“Where is she?” Honor’s mother said hoarsely, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Is she all right?” her father demanded. “Why isn’t she here? Why are you here and not her? What aren’t you telling us? Is she hurt?”
“Why the hell weren’t we informed before now?” Brad bit out angrily, his eyes ablaze with relief but also suspicion.
Kyle held his hands up to silence the torrent of conversation.
“I need you to listen to everything I have to tell you. It’s very important and it’s why I arrived first. She’s on her way here now. She’s not very far out, but I needed to come ahead to . . . prepare you.”
“Prepare us?” Honor’s mother whispered, her voice thick with tears, and now fear.
Sensing the importance of what Kyle had to say, everyone went silent and leaned forward, concern etched into their every feature.
Kyle gave them the details—most of them—of Honor’s escape and recapture. He gave an accounting of everything that had happened. Except anything relating to Hancock. Hancock was Honor’s to either reveal or not, but he’d not take that choice from her.
“I had to force an IV on her while we waited until it was safe to reunite you with her. She gave up,” Kyle said in a pained voice. “She was fierce. Brave. Courageous. I’ve never met her equal. But in the end, it was simply too much. Too much pain and torture and worse, the final loss of hope that had kept her sustained for so long. She doesn’t believe I’m telling her the truth, that she’s free. She believes me to be taunting her—psychological torture—delaying her eventual physical torture and death that she’d come to accept. She’s broken, ma’am,” he said to her mother.
In a quiet voice, he told them what they had already deciphered for themselves. “Your daughter is not the same young woman she was when she left here, and I want to prepare you for that. She’s retreated deep inside herself. She’s starved. Refuses to eat. I had to force the IV or she would have already died. She’s wounded in multiple areas, in multiple fashions. She’s going to need your love, support and, above all, your patience. She needs medical care. But most of all, she needs a reason to live.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God,” her sister said, her sobs echoing through the room.
“She’s alive!” one of her brothers exclaimed. “She’s coming home!”
“We’ll help her,” her father vowed. “Whatever she needs. Whatever it takes. I will not have the miracle of my daughter back only to lose her again. I won’t let it happen.”
“There is nothing I won’t do for my baby,” her mother said fiercely. “Nothing.”
Kyle nodded. Yes, he thought. Her family would bring her back. He could see the love and resolve in their eyes. They were fierce. He could well see where Honor got it from.
But who would save Hancock?
• • •
HONOR cautiously opened her eyes and then slammed them shut again, fear shuddering through her fractured mind. Hope—something she’d been denied time and time again until she’d refused to allow herself to even entertain it—was insidiously creeping through her veins, accelerating her pulse until she was nearly breathless. She shook her head. No. Not again. Never again. She’d given in to hope one last time and it had destroyed her completely. Some lessons were learned the hard way.
When the SUV turned onto Oakwood Street, she lost any and all of her carefully constructed control and burst into tears. Her hands flew to her face, covering the guttural sobs tearing from her throat. She rocked back and forth as they drew closer and closer to . . . home.
“Stop!” she cried. “Oh God, please stop!”
The driver immediately slammed on the brakes and Honor bent over, putting her head between her knees as she struggled for breath, panic scraping her insides raw.
Kyle Phillips, who had returned to their “waiting” point and slid into the seat beside her, giving the driver the order to go, put his hand on Honor’s back and rubbed up and down and then in gentle circular motions.
“Honor? Are you going to be sick? Are you all right? Come on, honey, you have to breathe for me.”
“I can’t go in there,” she wept.
She lifted her tear-drenched gaze to Kyle’s surprised one.
“I don’t understand,” he said, clearly puzzled by her reaction. “They know you’re coming, Honor. It’s why I made you hang back. I wanted to prepare them. I didn’t want to just spring you on them.”
“They can’t see me this way,” she cried. “Look at me!” She made a sweeping motion of her emaciated body, the still-healing wounds, the fading burn marks and the still very vivid gashes on her wrists, a match to the ones on her ankles, but at least those were hidden.
“This will kill them,” she whispered. “I can’t do this, Kyle. Please, if you have any compassion, any mercy, you’ll tell them I’ll talk to them on the phone. And I’ll see them. After I heal. I’ll eat. I swear it. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. But please, God, don’t make me go in there like this.”
Kyle looked gutted, his eyes swamped with so much sympathy and understanding that it spurred another round of gut-wrenching tears.
Gently, he pulled her upward and then into his arms, hugging her to his chest, rocking back and forth in a soothing manner.
“I understand how you feel, Honor,” he said quietly. “I swear to you that I do. But, honey, they know what to expect.”
“You told them?” she asked in a horrified voice.
“Not everything,” he said even more gently. “Only what pertained to your physical and psychological condition. I never mentioned Hancock. That is yours to tell or not. But think of this from their point of view, Honor. They’ve just been told that the daughter they thought was dead is very much alive and will be home shortly. Of course they’re upset and angry that you endured so much. But what they want, what they need most right now, is to see you. To hold you. To have proof that you’re alive. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
He tugged her away from his chest so he could cup her chin. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek and forced her to look into his eyes.
“Now, show me the Honor Cambridge who escaped and evaded capture by the most powerful and ruthless terrorist group in the Middle East. You will not walk into your home ashamed with your head down. Your family is overcome with joy. They are even now counting the seconds and watching for our vehicle to pull into their driveway so they can see you. Touch you. Hold you. And tell you how very much they love you. Would you deny them that?”
“No,” she choked out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. You were kind to me, but I learned that betrayal follows kindness, and so I wouldn’t acknowledge you. I couldn’t. It was the only way I could survive because I couldn’t allow myself the one thing that had the power to completely destroy me. Hope.”
“Shhh, you will not apologize. I would serve with you any day of the week, Honor Cambridge. You have the heart of a Marine, and that’s a fact. Now, can I tell Anthony to resume driving?”
She smiled and then impulsively hugged him, craving what she’d long been bereft of. Human touch. Contact. Comfort. Not since . . .
No, she wouldn’t go there. What she’d shared or rather what Hancock had taken from her didn’t count. Because it wasn’t real.
As if sensing her need for that contact, humanity, he hugged her back ever so gently but no less encompassing and for long moments he merely held her, allowing her to clutch at him while she collected herself.
Finally she pulled away and braced herself, and allowed hope and relief to flood the very depths of her hollow soul.
Excitement began to burn as she caught sight of her house at the end of the cul-de-sac. She half expected her entire family to be on the front lawn waiting, but Kyle had said he’d gone ahead to prepare them, which likely meant he’d told them how fragile she was.
When they pulled to a stop behind her mother’s familiar minivan, Honor sat, frozen to her seat as she hungrily drank in the sight of what she thought she’d never see again. Uncertainty gripped her and her palms grew sweaty, and she recognized the signs of yet another impending panic attack.
Kyle reached over and took her hand, squeezing reassuringly.
“I’ll be with you the whole time,” he said quietly.
She smiled at him. Really smiled, and he seemed delighted.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely.
“Forgive the corny thing I’m about to say, but it has truly been an honor to know you, Honor Cambridge.”
She squeezed his hand back and then drew in a deep cleansing breath, the wheeze floating away as her lungs opened fully, allowing her to breathe easy once more.
“Let’s do this,” she said.
