Darkest Before Dawn
Page 27
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 canister 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.
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 canister 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.
