And it was equally clear she was grateful to her team leader for not singling her out and drawing attention to her past.

“I’m in,” she said firmly. “I will never allow another woman to endure what I had to endure if I can stop it.”

Her team—and the others—looked at her in surprise. Pride shone in her husband’s eyes. Cole. For so long, she never spoke of it. It was an unspoken rule. It was there. Always there. But never acknowledged aloud. Until now. Cole squeezed her hand and whispered softly in her ear so only she could hear.

“I’m so damn proud of you, P.J. I thank God every day that you chose me. That you love me. And that I’m married to the strongest damn woman I’ve ever known.”

Faint color dusted her cheeks, but over time she’d grown accustomed to him displaying his love and affection and admiration for her in front of others, though it had taken a lot of adjustment on her part.

“No one should ever have to suffer such degradation and humiliation. No one should ever feel so ashamed that they literally want to end their ceaseless suffering by taking their life. And yet she apologized for almost fucking up the mission,” P.J. said, terrible rage blazing in her eyes. “She apologized for being weak, for fuck’s sake, and not being able to save all those people because for that one moment she only wanted to die so the pain would finally end. No wonder Hancock can’t and won’t hand her over to Maksimov. Swear to God if he did, there wouldn’t be a safe place on this earth for him because I’d hunt him down and I’d repay in kind every hurt done to her.”

“Singing to the choir, sistah,” Skylar said, anger dulling her usually sparkling and infectious smile and gaze.

Nathan and Joe exchanged glances, then looked to their team, where Swanny stood tall and rigid. Before the twins could say anything, Swanny stepped forward, defying the precedent set by Rio and Steele’s team of waiting for their team leader’s decision before falling in behind him.

“I’m in,” Swanny said in a determined voice.

“So are we,” P.J. said, as she and Cole stepped forward, P.J.’s hand clasped tightly in Cole’s. There were flickers of surprise at P.J.’s lack of hesitation. It wasn’t a secret that she’d love to get Hancock between the crosshairs of her scope for one of her team members being shot by Hancock’s team when the mission to save Grace went all to hell. She’d sworn to kick his ass if she ever met up with him in a dark alley somewhere.

Zane and Skylar stepped up on either side of Swanny, not even voicing what their action implied. There was no need. Their actions did all the talking for them.

“I think we have mutiny on our hands,” Joe said with a wry smile.

Nathan shook his head. “Like our team is going anywhere without us?”

All attention turned to Sam and Garrett, the only two who hadn’t spoken up.

“Fine. I’m in,” Garrett said, throwing up his hands amid more muttered F-bombs.

Sam sighed. “Do you all honestly think I’m letting you infants go off on your own? Fuck that. I’m in. If only to save your goddamn asses.”

A round of flipping the bird erupted, breaking the strain so evident in the room. Then Sam issued the order for them to load and go. Hancock didn’t have much time, judging by the grim lines marring Maren’s delicate, feminine features.

“And just so you know, I’m in,” Maren said in a voice that rivaled her husband’s demanding tone. “Olivia can stay with Marlene.”

You could have broken a stone on Steele’s face as he grappled with the knowledge that he’d be putting his wife—his entire life—in harm’s way. But he also knew that Maren was Hancock’s only chance at survival. With a resigned sigh that said he didn’t like it one bit, he gave a clipped nod and was rewarded with a loving smile that melted the big man to his toes.

Sam gave the motion to move out. He planned to call Resnick when they got in the air and ferret out as much information as possible. Resnick would cream himself if he thought he had a shot at taking down Maksimov and ANE. Sam wasn’t above calling on the two black ops teams at Resnick’s disposal either, because they were going to need all the manpower they could muster if they had any chance of recovering Honor. Whether she still lived was a huge question mark, but if she was already dead, Hancock wasn’t going to be any more alive than she was, if Conrad could be believed.

Maren still had an open line to Conrad, patiently instructing him as his frustration mounted at the helpless fury he felt over being unable to do more to stabilize Hancock. But Maren assured him that once the chest tube was properly inserted, Hancock’s breathing would become easier and less labored; he would be stable for the few hours the flight would take them, and then she could fully assess the damage. And then sorrow filled her heart, tears threatening, which she immediately hid from Steele because he panicked if she cried.

And then, because he had seen them, she hastened to give the reason—sympathy—that had prompted her horror that this could have been Steele not returning from a mission. Or any of the other KGI members.

“I’m sorry about the loss of your teammate,” she said to Conrad, her sorrow genuine. “I will do everything in my power to save Hancock.”

“Thank you,” he said gruffly.

“Honey,” Steele said, sliding his big hand gently over her leg and squeezing. “It won’t be one of us. I need you to believe that.”

She looked up at him and then at them all, tears glistening on her eyelashes. “But it could be,” she whispered. “There’s always the chance that I’ll get a phone call like this one and it will be about one of you, and I love you all dearly. I can’t lose any of you, even as I know this is what you have to do. What we have to do. Just promise me you’ll be careful. And promise me you’ll get that poor woman out of the hell she’s enduring. Hancock protected me from that, but he can’t protect her now.”

CHAPTER 33

HONOR came sluggishly to awareness, confusion and alarm vying for equal control of her state of mind. Her head ached vilely and she tried to lift a hand to massage her temple but found herself unable to.

As her vision cleared, horrific pain—a keen sense of betrayal—sliced her into tiny ribbons until there was simply nothing left of her. Just a vague nebulous being that hovered somewhere between life and death in the spirit world. Purgatory.

Hancock had promised her he wouldn’t give her to Maksimov. Hancock had drugged her. Hancock had handed her over to Maksimov in a simple business transaction. Hancock was nowhere near this place, wherever it was.

She wondered just how gullible she’d been. All that crap about being sacrificed for the greater good. That because of her sacrifice, Maksimov—and ANE—would be taken down, no longer a threat to hundreds of thousands of innocent lives. It seemed to her that this was merely a mercenary exchange. For money. Hancock had never denied being a mercenary.

But why be so . . . cruel? So inhuman? Why even pretend kindness and caring when he possessed neither? It wasn’t as though she could have escaped him anyway. So why all the bullshit? Why even make the effort to comfort her at all? She would have preferred brutality, rape even, over what she thought to be something beautiful and . . . genuine.