Darkest Before Dawn (KGI series)

by Maya Banks

  Soft, nearly soundless weeping.

  Fuck.

  His heart clenched despite his having already hardened it toward this woman. She didn’t sob noisily or wail her distress. In fact he wasn’t entirely certain she was cognizant of the fact that she was crying.

  Before he could think better of it, he pushed himself upward so he was on eye level with her and peered even closer, trying to discern her level of consciousness in the dark. Softly he reached out to touch her cheek to see if his supposition was correct, and his chest tightened further when his fingers came away wet with her tears.

  She was crying in her sleep. God only knew what nightmares tortured her sleep. She’d seen and been through hell over the last week. Grudging admiration for her resiliency rose within him. She was perhaps the strongest woman he’d ever encountered. No, she wasn’t a woman warrior like those who worked for KGI who could easily kick a man’s ass twice their size.

  She was strong despite her lack of fighting skills, her lack of knowledge in defending herself. She was resourceful and determined in the face of impossible odds and she didn’t know the meaning of quit. When many would have already given up and resigned themselves to their fate or even taken their own life to spare themselves certain torture and degradation, she’d stubbornly clung to and fought for her life.

  Carefully, so as not to awaken her, he slid his arms beneath her slight body, hoping she was still out from the pain medication he’d given her. He’d purposely given her a large dose so she’d sleep like the dead and gain much-needed rest and strength.

  He lowered her to the bedroll beside him, telling himself that he merely didn’t want her to awaken his men. When he was certain she was still sleeping, he settled back down beside her and drew her into the warmth of his body, wrapping his arms around her to offer her the simple gift of being held and comforted. It was the least he could do when he planned to betray her in the worst possible way.

  With tenderness he didn’t think he possessed, he pushed away the tendrils of hair obscuring her face and smoothed away the lines marring her face from the dream she was having. Fear radiated from her in tangible waves, and something deep inside him twisted and turned uncomfortably as he took in the fact that her entire body shook with those silent sobs.

  In a whisper, so his men couldn’t hear, he brushed his lips over the shell of her ear.

  “You’re safe, Honor. I’ve got you. Nothing will hurt you tonight.”

  Tonight was all he could give her. He had no idea what tomorrow would bring, though if he was successful in his mission, he knew what the immediate future would bring. He closed his eyes to ward off the images of Honor hurting. Damaged.

  Dead.

  It was doubtful that she would escape Maksimov unscathed, but even if that unlikely event occurred, she would then be turned over to the very group Hancock was fighting so hard to protect her from now. The irony burned. And she’d certainly not be escaping them unscathed—or at all. Whatever Maksimov dished out to her, it would be a mere fraction of what A New Era would give her.

  He risked his life, the lives of his men. All to wrest Honor from the grasp of A New Era simply so Maksimov could use her as a bargaining tool. And hand her over to . . . A New Era.

  Her fate was inevitable. Because the right thing to do was to turn her over to Maksimov, giving Hancock unfettered access to the man he’d made his sole mission to take down. But doing the right thing didn’t always feel right.

  Sometimes, doing the right thing was ten different kinds of fucked up.

  CHAPTER 10

  HONOR woke and stretched, her body immediately protesting her forcing her muscles into action. She blinked, bringing her surroundings into focus, and then glanced over the room to see some of Hancock’s men still sleeping. There were four present, minus Hancock and one other, but she imagined they’d taken turns on watch through the night.

  For that matter, she had no idea where they were or where they’d sought refuge. It felt like a cave. Stifling and claustrophobic. No windows or light, the air stale without the renewal of a breeze.

  She took the few stolen moments of quiet and solitude to ascertain her condition without Hancock’s close scrutiny through eyes that saw too much. She flexed her knee, relieved to find that it wasn’t as stiff or swollen, though it was still painful and resistant to movement. Her head didn’t ache as vilely as it had the day before, but that could be due to the remnants of the pain medication that had made her oblivious to all else.

  She took several long seconds to do a self-evaluation, time she hadn’t had the luxury of before in her desperate need to keep moving. There was no doubt she was bruised and had suffered cuts and lacerations in dozens of places on her ravaged body, but the only two injuries that stood to hinder them in any way were her head injury and the injury to her knee. Everything else was manageable, and for that matter, she wasn’t about to allow herself to be an obstacle to the thing she wanted most.

  Her ultimate escape. Freedom.

  For that she could endure anything. She had endured everything over the last several days, pushing her body beyond its limits in her desperate effort to survive.

  But now she had help and despite Hancock’s taunt about looking a gift horse in the mouth, she wasn’t about to make things harder by not cooperating fully. She might not like the man, and he might make her teeth grind in irritation, but if he got her out of this mess she’d bite her tongue and not do anything to make him regret rescuing her. Liking him was purely optional, though if he did manage to get her out in one piece, it made her nothing more than a petty, sulky child for holding a grudge over his less-than-congenial personality.

  She decided then to stop acting like a petulant twit and keep her mouth shut from here on out. He wouldn’t hear a single argument or complaint from her if it killed her.

  She started when she heard a noise and glanced rapidly in the direction of the sound to see Hancock and one of the other men descend the steps into the tiny room that housed the rest of the sleeping men.

  For a moment their gazes locked and even in the dim lighting, there was something . . . She shook her head as a fleeting memory chased through her mind, continuing before she could grab on. She frowned because there was something she was missing. Something nagging at her.

  “Time to move out.”

  He didn’t speak loudly, but then he didn’t have to. Evidently his men were trained to wake on command and be alert and ready to roll out. The room became a flurry of activity. She pushed herself upright on the cot, recoiling at the nausea that formed in the pit of her belly. She recovered quickly—or so she thought—not wanting to give them pause for concern. Over her dead body would she delay them when she wanted to get the hell out of here worse than they did.

  Hancock, damn him for never missing a single detail, immediately crossed the room and hunkered down next to her cot.

  “Are you ill?” he asked in a low enough voice that it didn’t carry to his men.

  She was absurdly grateful that he hadn’t embarrassed her or made her appear weak in front of the others. Her pride was important to her. It was all she had left. That and hope. Those two things would be all that saw her through the coming days.

  “No. I just moved too quickly. I’m all right. Really.”

  “When was the last time you ate anything?” he asked, that piercing gaze raking over her bones as if he could see all things.

  “Day before yesterday,” she said with a grimace, remembering the tasteless, bland MRE she’d eaten on autopilot, chasing it with the last of her water reserves.

  Hancock turned and called out to one of his men, who instantly dug out a packet and tossed it Hancock’s way. Another came forward with a vacuum-sealed packet and canteen. He tore open both packs and dumped them onto the bed next to her.

  A variety of dried items, some fruit and some that looked like meat, lay next to her, and it was all she could do not to fall on them like a starving wolf.

  He leaned the canist
er against her thigh and then rose to his full height once more.

  “You scarf down what you can while we get the vehicle out and packed. One pack is vitamin based and the other is protein. Get as much of both down as you can without making yourself sick.”

  She nodded, already making a grab for the food. To her surprise, it was good. It wasn’t remotely appetizing-looking and it had no smell whatsoever, but flavor burst onto her tongue the minute it made contact.

  She savored the first bite, enjoying it and wanting it to last, but then it sank in that he’d told her to get down what she could and they were readying to go. Which meant if she didn’t pick up the pace, she wasn’t going to get much to eat at all.

  While she stuffed her face and drank from the canteen like an automaton, she curiously surveyed the preparation going on around her, marveling at how fluidly graceful this team was. They worked in silent unison, not needing to communicate. They simply knew what to do and the most adept way of doing it. It was like watching a well-oiled machine.

  A few moments later, Hancock approached carrying what looked to be an entire bolt of black fabric over his arm. She grimaced, knowing instantly it was for her.

  “We are fortunate in that we are entering regions where burkas are the most common manner of dress for women. If you had worn one before, you would have drawn unwanted attention to yourself. You did well by not trying to hide completely.”

  There was a hint of praise that brought heat crawling up her neck and into her cheeks.

  “This will keep you completely covered, and no one will question a woman wearing such a garment where we will be traveling the next two days.”

  Though the burka would be stifling and the height of uncomfortable, Honor was extremely grateful that it would cover her from head to toe. Even her eyes wouldn’t be visible and she’d blend seamlessly with any other women if they were forced into a public setting.

  Now the rest of Hancock’s group was another matter. It wasn’t as though a lone woman went around escorted by six burly warrior Westerners. Male chaperones for unmarried—and married—family members were common enough, but this group didn’t have a chance of blending in or of being considered native.

  Wanting to remove as many layers of clothing underneath the burka as possible, Honor quickly stripped down to the bare minimum, careful to keep the garment shielding her body, though none of the men looked her way.

  She stuffed the discarded clothing into her pack and then crammed the last of the rations into her mouth, washing it all down with several long swallows of water.

  When all the men were once more assembled inside, prepared to depart, Hancock performed quick introductions of his men and she committed each name to memory. She mentally rolled her eyes when he got to Mojo. Appropriate since the only words that had passed the man’s lips within her hearing had been either “Good mojo” or “Bad mojo.”

  Mere minutes later, she was hustled into the waiting vehicle, Hancock hovering at her elbow but not interfering as she hauled herself into the elevated backseat. Perhaps he was testing her range of motion, but she’d already vowed to herself that no matter how much her body screamed at her, none of these men would think she was incapable of carrying her own weight. Literally.

  The only tell was her tightly clenched jaw as she settled into position next to Conrad, easily the next scariest man in the group after Hancock. She’d prefer Mojo, as ridiculous as it sounded, because Mojo was one mean-looking son of a bitch, but he hadn’t been anything but gentle and patient with her. Conrad’s features were . . . cold. His eyes were empty and soulless, as though the life had long been sucked from him and he was more machine than man, acting on orders like a robot.

  She shivered involuntarily, once again wondering if her salvation was scarier than the alternative. Being sandwiched between two men who looked as though they were well acquainted with death and destruction should comfort her frayed nerves and ease some of the paralyzing terror that seemed permanently injected into her veins. They certainly looked capable of taking on—and defeating—anyone or anything. These were precisely the kind of men she needed if she hoped to escape the desperate clutches of A New Era. And yet she was nervous. Fear, her constant companion over the last week, clung tenaciously to her, deeply entrenched and refusing to surrender its choke hold on her.

  Maybe she’d never feel safe again. Maybe even after she got home—she refused to say if she got home because unless she believed it, truly believed in it and Hancock’s ability to get her there, she was doomed before they ever forged on. She could well see the nightmare of the attack and her friends and coworkers so savagely murdered and dismembered hovering in her conscious and subconscious for all time.

  One didn’t simply “get over” something like this. She had a much better understanding now of the horrors that enlisted military endured. Over and over. And why so many suffered so horribly on their return home. Why so many were diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. How could anyone possibly lead a normal life completely free of their demons when hell was ever-present in the back of their minds? In their memories?

  She unconsciously shifted closer to Hancock, seeking the warmth of his body, some of the rapidly coiling tension in her stomach loosening as his heat bled into her skin.

  Then she stiffened, blinking as a vague recollection taunted her, licking at the fringes of her memory. She frowned, straining to call it forward. She’d been in Hancock’s arms, her cheeks wet, chest tight with grief and fear. He’d held her. When?

  Last night.

  She must have been crying in her sleep. Hancock had lifted her from the cot where she slept and lowered her to his bedroll beside him and he’d wrapped his arms around her, anchoring her, rocking and soothing her, murmuring gentle words the entire while.

  It took all her discipline not to yank her gaze to the side and stare at him as if she could somehow decipher the puzzle by looking into his eyes.

  She wasn’t imagining it. She hadn’t dreamed it. She’d lain in his arms until some point when she’d drifted into sleep solidly enough that he transferred her back to the cot without her ever remembering. Until now.

  Struggling to keep the betraying frown of puzzlement from deepening, she bit into her bottom lip and pondered why she was even making a big deal out of it. He was human, after all, despite her doubts to the contrary. Last night just proved he wasn’t a complete dick and that he did have compassion. He obviously kept it under wraps for reasons unknown, but then she supposed that if he did this all the time, unselfishly put his life on the line for others, it didn’t pay to get emotionally involved in any capacity.

  She could understand why he’d view her and the countless others he’d helped as . . . things. Not human beings with feelings or emotions. Because then if things went wrong he would feel that much more. Maybe it was the way he stayed sane. Whatever his methodology, she was grateful, because it was working. And whatever got her out of this hellhole and back on U.S. soil, she was one hundred ten percent behind.

  Still she couldn’t help but glance up at Hancock when he wasn’t looking, studying the firm outline of his jaw and his chiseled features that seemed set in stone. She wondered what his story was. What he and his men officially did or if they even officially existed.

  What a terrible half-life that must be, to live and yet be nothing to the world, nobody to anyone. To continually put their lives at risk for strangers they didn’t know and would never see again. Did anyone ever thank them? Truly thank them? She made a mental vow that whenever they got to wherever they were going, she was going to thank each and every one of them by name. They would know that she wouldn’t forget that they gave her a chance at life. That they saved her from certain torture and death.

  And at the same time, as incongruous as it might sound, it only reaffirmed her commitment to her relief efforts. No one would blame her if she never took another assignment. If she stayed safely inside the confines of the United States and enjoyed the protection and
freedoms of living within its borders. Living in the ignorant bliss that so many Americans enjoyed—embraced. Most people would think her insane to wade back into the fray after such a close brush with the unthinkable.

  But there were people in need. People without others to fight for them. To help them do something her countrymen took for granted. Survive. Be free. Hancock and his men were people who took up that fight. She’d devoted her life to the cause of helping others. Just because she’d faced adversity—and overcome it—didn’t give her justification to simply step aside and quit. Allow others to assume the risk in her stead.

  If anything it only made her that much more determined not to allow these assholes to silence her efforts. Her family wouldn’t like it. They wouldn’t go down without one hell of a fight, as they had the first time she’d come to this war-torn, embattled region. They would need time with her—time she’d gladly grant them—so they could ensure that she was well and truly safe. Alive. Unhurt.

  But then she’d pick up the banner again and nothing would deter her from her calling. It wasn’t something she could ignore, opting for a safe nine-to-five job. It was who and what she was, and to walk away was not only a betrayal of the people so desperately in need but a betrayal of herself, her ideals and her beliefs.

  “Whatever it is that has you so deep in thought, it better not be a plan I’m not privy to.”

  Hancock’s drawl broke through her thought process, startling her into lifting her gaze to see him studying her intently. What, did he think she was planning to run from him and escape on her own? Not likely. He was her best and only hope of getting home alive and she knew it.

  So deeply entrenched in her fierce thought process was she that she spoke before censoring her words.

  “I was merely making a vow not to let these assholes make me quit,” she blurted out.

  Embarrassed by her impassioned outburst, she ducked her head, her voice more of a mumble now.

  “Most people would run home and never leave again,” she said quietly. “I’m not most people and I’m needed here. And other places. Places most people won’t go. But those are the places where the need is the greatest. And just as you have all risked your lives to save me—one person—then so too will I risk my life to help countless others. Your risk won’t be in vain. My life means something. It has purpose. I won’t go quietly, nor will I let those bastards frighten me into sticking my head into the sand and staying at home with Mommy and Daddy like a coward.”