by Maya Banks
Rio led the way inside, because he was known to Titan. Although that hadn’t saved him from an overeager trigger finger one of the last times Titan and Rio had butted heads.
Conrad met Rio at the door, pain in his eyes. “Mojo,” he choked out.
Rio closed his eyes a moment. He’d liked Mojo. Quiet but tormented like so many others in the ranks of Titan. But Mojo was loyal to his bones, and his death hit Rio harder than he would have imagined after so long.
He’d given that life up. A life forever in the shadows, always skating the thin edge between right and wrong. Sometimes, wrong was right. And sometimes right sucked. But now, seeing the men who used to follow him as they now followed Hancock brought back many of the things he’d tried to forget.
“I’m sorry,” Rio said, allowing the sorrow he felt to creep into his voice. “He was a good man.” He glanced toward the floor, where Conrad had been working on his team leader. “Hancock?”
Conrad walked back to where Maren was already looking Hancock over. Conrad had given him pain medication but not enough to suppress his respirations too much because there was no way to know the extent of the damage to his lungs. A CNS depressant could be lethal to weakened lungs and too-shallow respirations.
Maren bent over Hancock, and he turned dull eyes on her that briefly lit with recognition. And relief.
“Maren. Thank God. Need you.” He licked dry lips. “They have her. Didn’t save her like I did you. Have to,” he said painfully.
“Hancock,” she said with mock severity, her hand on her hip. “What have I told you about playing with guns?”
Steele had silently glided to his wife’s side the moment she’d moved toward Hancock, and he saw Hancock smile. The bastard actually smiled, but just as quickly it was gone and his eyes flashed with so much pain and grief that it took Steele’s breath away. And it took a hell of a lot to elicit that kind of reaction from Steele. Maren had seen it too because moisture rimmed her tenderhearted eyes. While the rest of KGI had an . . . interesting . . . love/hate relationship with Hancock, Maren liked him and made no bones about the fact. He had her loyalty, and well, she was a hella fierce woman when she gave her loyalty.
“How bad is it?” Hancock asked bluntly through a tightly clenched jaw. He had to be in a lot of pain. Perspiration glistened on his forehead and he was pale, with deep grooves etched into his face. He suddenly looked a hell of a lot older, when before he had had a timeless look about him. It was part of his chameleon ability to blend, to look anywhere from midtwenties to midforties or anywhere in between. Right now he looked exhausted and sick to his soul.
“I need to be on my feet. I don’t have much time.” Sorrow flooded his gaze and to Steele’s continuing shock, a shimmer of tears glistened in the hardened man’s eyes. “I may already be too late,” he said hoarsely.
“You’ll live,” Maren said lightly. “Conrad did an excellent job with the tools he had. He’s to be commended. He saved your life.”
“I only did my goddamn job,” Conrad snapped, pissed that saving his team leader would be heralded. As though he would have made any other choice.
Steele’s head whipped in Conrad’s direction, his eyes as cold and as flat as Hancock’s typically were. “Watch how you speak to my wife,” he hissed.
Conrad’s eyes were bleak. “I meant no disrespect, Dr. Steele. But he’s my leader. I’d give my life for him.”
“Stand the fuck down, Conrad,” Hancock snapped. “We don’t have time for this shit.” Then he looked at Maren, catching at her hand, squeezing her fingers in what might have been construed as an affectionate gesture if Steele didn’t know better.
“Level with me, Maren. I’ve got to get to her. Every hour . . . Every goddamn minute she’s in his hands . . .” He broke off and closed his eyes but not before his grief and fear was broadcast throughout the entire room, leaving the KGI members to look on in astonishment.
They were witnessing something more momentous than watching Steele, formerly the ice man, be taken down by a petite blond blue-eyed woman and a precious baby girl who looked just like her mama.
The looks ranged from bewilderment, to amusement, to disbelief and outright “what the fuck?”
P.J. didn’t look haunted, as one might expect. Yes, it had taken time for her not to react to the knowledge of a woman being abused, but she’d become more adept at hiding her reaction.
Then Hancock’s gaze settled on Resnick and flickered dispassionately over the teams standing behind the man who dangled an unlit cigarette from his lips. That gaze went back to Sam, studying and measuring, asking the silent question.
“He can be trusted,” Sam said. “We need all the firepower we can get. It’s not going to be a walk in the park to take Maksimov down, but first we have to find him, and that’s where Adam has proven himself to be particularly useful in the past.”
“You should know,” Resnick said in a sour tone. “You shot me and hacked into my computer.”
Hancock didn’t bother giving fake remorse. They all knew that their jobs made for less-than-desirable missions, and every single person in the room had been forced at one time or another to go against their personal code in the name of good.
Hancock ignored Resnick’s dig, and his gaze found Maren’s again. “Cope is hurt. I need you to look at him. Viper too. You said it yourself. I’m not dying. Yet. Take care of them.”
Then he gazed fiercely at Rio and included Sam, who stood beside Hancock’s former team leader. Though Sam led KGI, it didn’t bother him for Hancock to look to Rio. Rio had been to Hancock what Sam was to Rio and the rest of KGI.
“The priority is Honor. I don’t give a fuck about Maksimov. Another day. Another time. There’ll always be another time. But not another Honor. She has to come first. Swear it. She has to be the priority.”
Rio knelt and grasped Hancock’s uninjured arm in the grip of one warrior to another.
“You have my word on it, brother.”
It was the first time Rio had acknowledged the once strong bond between himself and the man he’d trained. And Sam knew how Hancock felt. Every man in the room knew how he felt. They’d all been in the position of knowing the woman they loved had to come before all else. The mission. The greater good. That in some cases, the good of the one did goddamn well outweigh the good of the many.
“I’m already on locating him,” Resnick interjected. “He could goddamn be anywhere, but I’m working on the logistics given our present location and what I know to be some of his hidey-holes. The problem has never been not knowing where Maksimov is, but rather being able to nail the bastard down. He’s a fucking escape artist. There one moment, gone the next.”
“I was arrogant,” Hancock admitted painfully, looking up to find Swanny. His brother-in-law of sorts. “I should have put a tracking device on her like you did Eden. There just wasn’t much time and I was so sure I could just take him out and Honor would never even wake up.”
“Why did you drug her?” P.J. asked angrily.
Her teammates eyed her warily, and Cole’s expression turned grim even as he gathered his wife close to his side.
“You made her helpless and you didn’t plan for the worst. You always plan for the worst,” she said hoarsely.
Hancock closed his eyes. “I had no choice. I was working without a net. No backup plan. It was the way Maksimov wanted her delivered, and I had to make it look good or we would have never gotten close enough to take him out. Not that it did us any good.”
His tone was bitter and filled with self-condemnation.
“I found his mole buried in Bristow’s organization, but there was obviously another. That or one of my men is or was dirty, and I can’t believe that.”
“You know you can’t assume anything,” Rio said bluntly, reprimanding his former man.
“You know them too, Rio. You look at them. You look at their faces and see how they feel about Honor. Then you tell me one of them sold her—us—out.”
“What’s
the damage to him, Maren?” Steele asked, interrupting the tense exchange. “Is he up to this? Because I have no qualms about sidelining him if I think he’s going to get any one of us killed.”
“Free-floating piece of broken rib,” she said briskly. “The vest saved his life, but at such close range, and with the caliber bullet used, he’s fortunate the bullet didn’t go right through the vest. Conrad alleviated the pressure on his lung and drained the fluid and air so it could reinflate. Not saying he could go to war, but he’ll do. Provided he rests and doesn’t move until go time.”
Hancock nodded, surprising Sam with his acquiescence. Judging by the paleness and sweat, Hancock was suffering far more than he was letting on. But his physical suffering paled in comparison to his emotional pain.
“Then let’s get to tracking down this motherfucker and take him out,” Garrett said, speaking up for the first time.
Every single person in the room—KGI, Titan and Resnick’s teams—all echoed the sentiment in unison. There was an innocent woman in the hands of a monster, and while that was reason enough to stage the takedown of one of the world’s most dangerous men, this wasn’t just any woman.
She was the only woman Hancock had ever shown any vulnerability over, and that made her even more important.
CHAPTER 36
HONOR lay in her cage, curled into an unfeeling ball. She sensed Maksimov’s frustration, his mounting rage. And his puzzlement over her ability to withstand his repeated attempts to hurt her. But she simply felt nothing at all. It was hard to hurt someone who simply didn’t care and no longer had anything to live for.
She wasn’t a fool. There would be no rescue. When Maksimov grew tired of his games, he’d resort to getting the only thing from her he could. Money. From ANE. She knew it would be soon because with every passing day—and she’d lost count of them—he grew more agitated and disappointed that his prey didn’t give him the satisfaction he’d counted on.
She sensed the change in him this morning when he strode into the tiny, windowless room where her cage was suspended from the ceiling. He hadn’t bothered giving her food and water. She couldn’t have eaten anyway. She would have thrown it all up. But water, she’d sell her soul for, but then she remembered she didn’t have one.
Dead people didn’t have souls or anything else.
“You’ve proved a disappointment,” he said in a churlish tone. Almost like a child deprived of his favorite toy. But then he was nothing more than a spoiled bully, unused to not getting his way.
He was used to being feared to the point of being able to bend and manipulate people to his will, and he’d utterly failed with Honor.
“I’ll be going out for a while,” he said with a sinister smile that might have once scared her. “ANE is very anxious to get their hands on you. You’ll be going on a trip soon. I believe you’re familiar with the destination. At least you won’t have an issue with the language barrier.”
She didn’t react. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Besides, this brought her one step closer to death, so she welcomed it. She’d expected him to keep her several more days, determined to have his fun and more importantly win the battle of wills he thought ensued between them.
If he only knew. There was no battle. She had no reason to fight. All she wanted now was to rest. And hope to find peace in the next life, though her beliefs had been badly shaken and she was no longer sure what awaited her upon death. She’d witnessed evil winning too many times to be so sure that goodness existed. That it triumphed over all. And that those who fought the good fight were rewarded in final rest.
He didn’t even bother with a parting shot. No attempt to make her cry out in pain. Perhaps he knew he wouldn’t be any more successful than he’d been with all the other attempts.
He simply turned on his heel and stalked from the room, slamming it behind him. She heard the hiss of the airlock, sealing the room. It was an impenetrable room with fortified walls. Likely underground, though she was only guessing by the dank smell and the fact that there were no windows, just fluorescent light that stayed on at all times, ensuring that she was never able to seek solace in the soothing embrace of the dark. Just another attempt to break the already broken.
She fixed her gaze on the far wall and began making patterns in her mind, creating a swirl of color and calling back memories of her family, a ritual she indulged in constantly, especially when Maksimov was tormenting her. She was building a wall around herself because worse was to come and just because she welcomed it, wanted it, would be relieved when death finally claimed her, didn’t mean that she was going to go out screaming, begging, sobbing.
She might have no pride any longer, but it wasn’t about pride. It was about not letting them have that ultimate victory of seeing and enjoying her torture. She’d go as silently and as peacefully as one ever went to their death.
That was her promise to herself. And to her family.
• • •
“THE problem, as I’m sure you know, Hancock, is that gaining access to one of Maksimov’s holdings isn’t the problem. He’s a cagey, paranoid bastard with hidden nooks and crannies that can easily be overlooked when they’re right under your nose,” Resnick said.
Hancock nodded, moving slower than he’d like. He still labored for breath, but his absolute focus was on finding Honor, and this was their third search. They were running out of time and he was choking on his despair.
“I’ve got movement in the north wing.”
There was uncharacteristic excitement in P.J.’s voice when it came over the com. She, Cole, Skylar and two of Resnick’s snipers surrounded the holding while the others had fanned out, taking position at every possible entry point.
Explosives had been set on two concrete walls to blow a hole, giving them additional entry points. All they waited for now was go time.
“South too,” Cole said, checking in. “Looks like guards.”
Hope curled in Hancock’s gut despite his best attempt not to set himself up for disappointment. Again. But the other holdings they’d scouted were deserted. This was the first that showed any signs of life.
“We need a count of heat signatures,” Hancock broke in.
Yeah, he was down, but he wasn’t out, and he wasn’t taking a backseat in this. This was his mission. His fuckup. He was getting Honor back no matter what it took.
“I got three here,” P.J. reported in.
“Two here,” Cole said.
“There’s movement in the courtyard,” Edge said quietly. “Looks to me like they’re getting ready to move out.”
Hancock’s heart accelerated as did his breathing, and he paid for it when his lung expanded too rapidly and pain speared through his chest. But he ignored it because if there was movement, it meant that Honor was likely here and Maksimov was preparing to turn her over to ANE. He wasn’t too late.
Sorrow ate at his gut. Not too late to save her from the clutches of ANE but days too late to save her from whatever Maksimov had done to her.
Turn it off. Steele had told him to turn it off, and the man had experience in having to do just that. He’d nearly lost Maren and with it his iron control. Hancock did Honor no good by losing it. He was of no use to her mad with grief. He could get her and the others killed.
“Hold your positions,” Sam ordered. “Vehicle coming in the front gate. As soon as I give the all clear, we go in hot. We need to make it fast. Don’t give a shit how clean. Just make damn sure Honor isn’t caught in the crossfire.”
Everyone had their orders, so radio silence ensued. The snipers would take out their targets as soon as they could be sure Honor wasn’t in the way.
“I’ve got one heat signature completely still and seemingly suspended in midair,” Skylar said quietly.
Hancock knew she wouldn’t break radio silence unless she was sure this was Honor.
“Give me a minute to get a better sight line,” she said. Then she swore, and Hancock’s blood froze.
“It’s
below the house. And the signature is faint. I’m betting on a basement secure room. Reinforced walls. Just the kind of place a prisoner would be kept.”
It was the fact that Skylar had said the heat source was completely still that panicked Hancock. And that it was faint. But no. Heat meant life. And if Skylar was right and it was a subroom with reinforced walls, that would explain the faintness of the signal. But not the stillness.
But she was alive, and that was all he could focus on or he’d lose his mind.
“Give me cover,” Hancock said quietly. “The subfloor is mine.”
Rio swore. “Not without backup. Don’t even argue with me.”
Hancock smiled faintly. “You don’t lead me anymore, Rio.”
“That doesn’t mean you still aren’t goddamn mine,” Rio said in a savage tone.
“Rio and I will have your six while the others clear a path,” Conrad said, siding with Rio.
“Vehicle is stopped. Three men. No one else. They’re all inside. We need to move now,” Nathan said.
“Go,” Sam barked.
And all hell broke loose.
Gunfire erupted. Explosions rocked the earth, nearly knocking Hancock to his knees, but Rio and Conrad were there to anchor him as they rushed inside the house, looking for the way down below the main floor.
Resnick’s teams flooded the rooms, taking down every target in their way. Hancock’s only focus was on finding the way down. Rio and Conrad flanked him, but he didn’t slow or wait for their cover. He carried an assault rifle in one hand and a pistol in the hand on the side where he’d taken a bullet to his shoulder.
An initial sweep of the downstairs brought them exactly nothing and Hancock swore viciously. What were they overlooking?
“Calm down and focus,” Rio said quietly. Then he said into the com, “Sky, can you give us a position of the heat signature in the sublevel? We aren’t coming up with shit. We need your eyes.”
