Darkest Before Dawn Page 18

  As much as Hancock wanted to be the one to kill the bastard and not quickly or mercifully, his focus had to be on Honor or she would die by her own hand. Fear seized him because Honor was completely naked and covered with bruises, bite marks, scratches. Had the son of a bitch raped her? Had he driven her to this? Was she was so traumatized that her only escape was to take her own life?

  “Honor?”

  His voice was pitched low, seeking to know just how far gone she was and whether she had any awareness of her surroundings at all.

  She didn’t so much as blink, and he panicked when the blade pressed a centimeter farther over her carotid artery.

  He didn’t dare approach her. She could very well perceive it as another attack. He cursed himself for not taking Bristow out the first time, and he cursed himself for leaving her unprotected for thirty goddamn minutes because Bristow was going out. He’d seen the man leave, and that was the only reason he’d held the brief meeting with his men.

  The son of a bitch had obviously staged the entire thing, wanting to use Honor before he passed the leftovers to Maksimov. He hoped to hell that Conrad took his damn time killing the asshole. Judging by the rage in his man’s voice, he felt confident that Conrad would derive great pleasure in making Bristow’s death drawn out and very painful.

  “Honor, sweetheart, it’s me, Hancock. Bristow is gone. He’s a dead man. He will never hurt you again.”

  His words were fierce, despite his attempt to keep his pitch even and soothing.

  She did blink then, and she cautiously lifted her gaze to Hancock. Something deep inside him settled, and he allowed himself to breathe for the first time since he’d taken in her appearance. Recognition flickered but then vanished as anguish swamped her beautiful eyes.

  What worried him now was the fact that her grip on the knife hadn’t loosened at all. Her wrists were bleeding freely, more so than the shallow cut at her neck. He had to act fast and stop the blood loss before he lost her.

  “Is he really dead?” she whispered.

  “He’s dead,” Hancock said savagely.

  She crumbled before his very eyes, the knife shaking, inflicting more damage, and it was imperative that he get it away from her now.

  He took a chance and slowly moved toward her, his steps measured and nonthreatening.

  He knelt in front of her, swearing violently under his breath as he took in the extent of the attack on her. She’d been brutalized. Mauled like an animal.

  “Honey, give me the knife,” he coaxed. “You’re bleeding and I need to get it stopped before it’s too late.”

  There was so much sorrow in her eyes that his heart seized.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger,” she whispered. “I know you need me to get to Maksimov. But I couldn’t . . . Oh God, Hancock, I couldn’t let him . . .”

  “Shhh, baby. It’s okay.”

  He wanted to weep that once again she was apologizing for not being strong when she was the strongest person he’d ever known.

  Her hands shaking, she extended the knife, and he took it, folding it back so it no longer posed a threat.

  “I’m going to pick you up and take you to the bed so I can treat your wounds,” he said gently.

  At that, she went crazy, backing even farther into the corner, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms protectively around her legs, hugging herself, rocking back and forth, her eyes wild.

  She shuddered violently, shaking her head adamantly. “No. Never. Not in that bed. No. I won’t stay there.”

  “Then I’ll take you to my room,” he said soothingly. “But baby, you’re losing a lot of blood. I have to stop the bleeding now.”

  “You promise?” she asked hoarsely.

  He knew what she asked. That he promised he wouldn’t put her back in the bed where Bristow had attacked her. Where he might have raped her and had damn sure tried if he hadn’t succeeded.

  He curled his arms underneath her slight body and lifted, cradling her tenderly against his chest.

  “I promise. You’ll stay with me. I’m not leaving you even for a minute. I swear it.”

  She nodded and then turned her face into his neck and burst into tears.

  He bristled with rage, every muscle in his body going rigid as the need for Bristow’s blood filled his soul. He held her tightly, hurrying down the corridor to the wing where he and his men were housed.

  Conrad was waiting, his expression grim.

  “What did that son of a bitch do to her?” Conrad snarled.

  “Not now,” Hancock snapped. “Get me a med kit and a suture kit. We’ve got to get her wrists stitched and the bleeding stopped. She’s lost too much blood as it is. The cut on her throat isn’t as bad and won’t require sutures. And get her pain medication and a sedative. She’s never going to sleep after this.”

  Conrad swore but hurried away to get the necessary supplies.

  Hancock carefully laid her on the bed, and she immediately curled into a protective ball.

  “I’m just going to get you one of my shirts,” he said so as not to alarm her.

  She glanced down, horror reflected in her gaze as if only just remembering that she was completely exposed. Mortification swept over her delicate features and she began silently weeping all over again.

  He took a T-shirt, one that would allow Conrad easy access to the areas that needed attention, and dressed her like a child unable to do the task herself. He brought damp washcloths and several large bandages so he could apply pressure to her wrists until Conrad could control the bleeding and stitch the cuts.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked quietly. “What did that son of a bitch do to you?”

  “He touched me,” she said, shuddering in revulsion.

  “Did he rape you?” he asked bluntly.

  She flinched and looked away. His heart was in his throat because she had the look of a woman who’d been brutalized, who had been driven to the very edge of hell. He was perilously close to losing his shit and that was the last thing she needed right now.

  She needed tenderness. Gentleness. Things he had never thought he possessed until he met her.

  “No,” she finally said in barely above a whisper. “But he wanted to. He tried. I fought him and it made him angry. He hit me. He touched me. I grabbed his knife and told him I’d kill myself and his deal with Maksimov would go straight to hell and he’d be a dead man for promising Maksimov something he could no longer deliver.”

  Amid his terrible rage, pride rose at her ferocity. And her quick thinking.

  “He didn’t believe me so I cut my wrist. And then I realized that if I waited too long, I wouldn’t have the strength to cut the other one. And then I went for my carotid artery because I knew I’d bleed out in seconds. Only then did he back off.”

  For a moment Hancock couldn’t breathe. It was the height of hypocrisy that he was gutted over the fact that Honor had been terrified enough to kill herself when it would be the kinder of her two possible fates.

  But he was a coward. He would witness Honor’s death here. He wouldn’t see what happened to her after she left his protection. And he’d promised that as long as she was under his protection, he wouldn’t allow her to come to any harm. Twice he’d broken his promise. Twice Bristow had gotten to her when she was at her most vulnerable.

  Conrad strode in without a word—he was tight-lipped—and fury emanated from him in tangible waves.

  He began to cleanse the wounds at her wrists with brisk efficiency, and Honor looked anxiously up at Conrad, her nervousness and unease broadcasting through the entire room.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, including both men in her apology. “I could have ruined your mission. I could have messed everything up. I wasn’t thinking rationally. He . . . hurt me.”

  She broke off as though she were embarrassed to admit that he’d hurt her and that she’d been terrified, and now she sought what, their forgiveness?

  Conrad paused and visibly sucked in a steadyi
ng breath. Then he looked her directly in the eye, pinning her with his steely gaze.

  “You do not apologize to me, to anyone. Ever. It is we who owe you an apology for leaving you in a vulnerable position even for the small amount of time we did. You’re an incredible woman, Honor Cambridge, and I can honestly say I am privileged to have known you. You will never be forgotten by me.”

  Tears sparkled like diamonds on her lashes as she stared at the terse man in bewilderment.

  “I was a coward,” she said in disgust.

  “Now you’re just pissing me off,” Conrad said in a surly voice. “Shut up and let me do my job.”

  She went silent, and Hancock smiled to himself. Conrad had no idea what to make of Honor. She baffled him. She was a puzzle he had yet to solve, and it ate at him. In the world Titan lived in, there weren’t people like Honor. Selfless. Courageous. Brave. Putting others before herself.

  “He’s giving you pain medication and a sedative,” Hancock said in a tone that brooked no argument. “You need to rest.”

  It was a testament to just how exhausted and beaten down she was that she didn’t so much as utter a single protest.

  She was silent while he stitched the cuts to her wrists. Though they’d bled quite a bit, they weren’t nearly as deep as Hancock had feared, and the cut at her neck was so shallow that all it required was a butterfly bandage.

  When it was done, Conrad gathered his stuff and he and Hancock walked toward the door.

  “Hancock?”

  There was fear in her voice that stopped him in his tracks. He turned and Conrad continued out as Hancock made his way back to where Honor lay in his bed.

  “I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered. “Will you stay with me, please? I won’t be a bother. I’ll try not to be a nuisance,” she hastily amended. “I promise.”

  He leaned down and brushed his lips feather light over hers. Then he laced his fingers through hers and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

  His tone was infinitely gentle as if he feared breaking her. She was as fragile as he’d ever seen her, when before all he’d ever witnessed was her unwavering strength and stubbornness.

  “I wasn’t leaving you, Honor. I’m not going anywhere. I was just giving Conrad team leadership for the time being so I can stay with you. He’s going to be my eyes and ears temporarily while I’m here. With you,” he added for emphasis.

  The relief in her eyes was nearly his undoing. She sagged against the pillows, looking small and defeated. Tears shone brightly, catching on her long lashes.

  “If you thank me, so help me God, I’m going to shake you,” he warned.

  A ghost of a smile hovered on her lips.

  “Promise you’ll stay even when the sedative takes effect?” she asked in a small voice.

  He could tell it was already working. Her responses were slower and her speech slightly off balance, and it wasn’t entirely due to the trauma she’d undergone.

  “I’ll be right here, next to you, the entire night,” he said solemnly. “And if you have a bad dream, I’ll hold you and kick its ass for you.”

  She smiled again, and he went weak to his knees. He realized a man would do a hell of lot to make a woman like Honor smile for him.

  She opened her mouth and he shot her a warning glare.

  “Don’t you say a single word unless it’s not an apology or a thank-you.”

  She laughed softly but closed her lips, but the gratitude was there in her eyes for him to see even if it went unspoken.

  “And by the way, you’re very welcome,” he whispered, leaning in to brush his lips over her brow.

  CHAPTER 26

  EVEN under the effects of the sedative, Honor was restless and agitated in sleep. Hancock never left her side. He lay on his side next to her, cradling her small body with his much larger frame. When she trembled and made small guttural sounds in her throat that reminded him of those made by a trapped animal, he seethed in silence and rubbed his hand up and down her back, stroking and massaging.

  His touch seemed to quiet her. When she became upset, she would relax and rest easy once more when he stroked her skin.

  To his surprise, she fully awakened just a few hours after Conrad had given her pain medication and a sedative, but then he and Conrad had discovered the drug-laden cloth that Bristow had forced into Honor’s mouth to force her compliance, and so Conrad had only administered a light dose, more to calm than to render her unconscious. Neither man wanted to be accused of doing the same to her as Bristow had done.

  “Hancock?” she whispered, stirring against him.

  His hold automatically tightened as he gathered her more fully into his arms.

  “Yes, Honor, it’s me.”

  She relaxed, seeming to wilt with relief. For a long moment, her hand rested over his heart, her bandaged wrist reminding him of just how close to death she’d come. How desperately she must have fallen in those dark moments when Hancock hadn’t been there as he’d promised to be.

  Just one more sin to add to his endless list.

  She seemed to be pondering something. He sensed her hesitancy and . . . fear. As though she wanted to ask him something but wouldn’t. Or simply couldn’t.

  He slid his hand between them to cup his palm over the top of her hand.

  “What is it, Honor? Is there something you need? Are you hurting?”

  She inhaled sharply. “I know I said I wouldn’t ask for anything more . . .”

  “But,” Hancock prompted gently. He knew damn well he’d give her the moon if she asked. The only thing he couldn’t give her was what they both wanted most. Her freedom. Pain slashed in relentless waves through his heart for what he knew must be done. She was more accepting of her fate than he was, and that pissed him off all the more. She should hate him. She should be railing against him, calling him every vile name she could muster. He deserved them all.

  She turned imploring eyes on him and he was lost. It was dangerous because if she asked it of him right now, he would let her walk away and fuck the mission and he’d never get another opportunity to take Maksimov down.

  She lifted her free hand to her temple and massaged, but he didn’t sense she was in pain. Just grappling with something difficult for her to talk about. So he simply waited, giving her the time she needed, and he didn’t rush her.

  His gaze brushed over her wrapped wrist, and helpless rage filled him all over again. For a woman like Honor, so valiant and courageous, never the coward she called herself, to have been so desperate as to attempt to kill herself, he knew it had been bad. God, what had that bastard done to her?

  “He would have raped me,” she whispered. “He wanted to. He t-touched me. And it hurt.”

  Hancock’s chest tightened and his teeth ground together as he fought to keep his composure. He stroked his hand through her silky hair, gently massaging her scalp with soothing touches.

  She glanced away, obviously embarrassed. Why? Because Bristow had attacked her? Because he would have raped her? Was she ashamed?

  “I’m a virgin,” she blurted. “I’ve never had sex with anyone.”

  Hancock went still, unsure of what to say. What to do. He was frozen to the bone, glad that she wasn’t looking at him at the moment. Because God help him, he was turning over a virgin to Maksimov, who would delight in the discovery and make her initiation that much worse. He’d thrive on just how much pain he could cause an innocent.

  But then she turned those pained eyes on him, eyes that pleaded with him.

  “I know what will happen to me,” she choked out. “I do. But I want to know if there is something you would do for me. It would mean . . .” She sucked in a deep breath. “It would mean everything to me.”

  He cupped her chin and rubbed his thumb over the bruise Bristow had inflicted.

  “Ask me, Honor,” he said quietly. “What is it you’re having such a hard time asking me?”

  “Would you . . . Would you make love to me? Now? Before you have to give me to Maks
imov? Will you show me just once what it should be like so that I’ll know? So that I’ll have that one memory of something beautiful, something that no one else can ever touch. That can never be tainted no matter what else is done to me. So that when another man . . . hurts me, I can retreat to this moment and hold on. Shut out everything but this one perfect night. Will you do this for me?”

  Hancock’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest. He couldn’t breathe. His torment was a tangible ache that no amount of wishing could make go away. She was begging him. Every inflection of her tone was pleading.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a low, embarrassed voice. “I shouldn’t have asked. Please forgive me. I’ll never mention it again. I swear. You can go now. I’m okay.”

  There must have been something of the terrible anguish in his expression because her eyes became shadowed and ashamed, her gaze dropping away after her embarrassed apology. She pulled the covers up to her chin and then buried her face against her drawn-up knees, wrapping her arms around them as she rocked slightly in agitation. She drew away, huddling as far away from him as she could at his perceived rejection of such a precious gift.

  A gift he in no way deserved.

  But what about what she deserved?

  He had no experience with virgins. Innocents. He didn’t partake in sex much. It was a distraction he couldn’t afford. He took care of his needs when necessary but sex, like so much else in his life, was mechanical. No feeling, no heart. Just physical release.

  And he knew, he knew, that with Honor there would be no hiding behind his iron facade. She had a way of stripping away the layers until he was raw and vulnerable and completely bare, with none of the protection he always surrounded himself with.

  “Honor.”

  It was a whisper of a sound. He could barely form her name much less voice it aloud.

  “Look at me,” he pleaded.

  At first she refused, staring stoically ahead into nothingness. He recognized it immediately. She was becoming more adept at retreating deep into herself, steeling herself for what lay in store for her. Pain. Humiliation. Degradation and finally death.

  But goddamn it, she didn’t need to retreat into herself with him. Never him.

  “Honor, please look at me.”

  Reluctantly, she swung her gaze to meet his, and the hurt in her eyes knotted his throat. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t massage away the pain in his chest. The kind so deep that nothing could take it away. It would be permanently etched into his heart for all time.

  “I was not rejecting you, baby. Never you. I was stunned. Humbled. And I was afraid,” he admitted.

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Afraid? Why?” She was clearly confused. She didn’t think he feared anything at all. That he was invincible. And for the most part she was right. But she had no idea that his one weakness lay before him asking him to do what every part of his heart, mind and body screamed to do. Touch her with tenderness. Make love to her when he’d never made love to another woman in his life. Sex was sex. But sex with Honor? It would be the first time he ever offered more than simply his dick and his mouth to pleasure a woman. With Honor, he’d share everything that he was and everything he wasn’t. And it scared the hell out of him.

  “Because you deserve so much better than me,” he said honestly. “I don’t know if I can be what you need. You deserve to be treated gently, like the treasure you are. You deserve for that gift to be cherished and respected, and I’m not a good man. I’m selfish. I have no experience with virgins. And I would hate myself if I hurt you. I would despise myself. It would kill me if I hurt you, Honor.”

  He closed his eyes at the absurdity of such a statement. He had hurt her. And he would hurt her again. He would give her to a man who would hurt her endlessly. Who would then give her to men who would degrade and torture her until she prayed with every painful breath for mercy and for death. Never had he hated himself more than he did in this moment. He despised who and what he was, when before he’d merely accepted it as a necessary evil in order to do his job. To try and make the world a better place. Sacrificing Honor in no way made anything goddamn better.

  “You’re wrong,” she said, lifting her chin, daring him to defy her. “You wouldn’t hurt me. You would be gentle and sweet. And you’re also wrong about this being a gift from me. It would be a gift from you to me. This time, I’ll not ask for another thing from you. I swear it. I won’t make you feel even worse for what you must do when we both know you have no choice. But tonight . . . Tonight is ours to do what we want. No rules. No mission. No saving the world. That’s for another day. But tonight I want to feel something other than fear and hate and