Darkest Before Dawn (KGI #10)(83)

She was nearly asleep when he eased her down on her uninjured side and simply wrapped himself around her, tucking her head beneath her chin, and held her.

But neither slept, and neither spoke. What was there to say anyway? They both knew what had to be done. What would be done. And she had only one regret. Just one. Not the attack on the clinic, not her running in constant fear, not Hancock’s initial betrayal, not even Bristow’s attack. Because it had all led to this one beautiful night. No, her only regret was that she only had this one night.

He’d given her the most beautiful night of her life, but he’d also shown her what she would never have, and she craved it as she’d never craved anything in her life. Being with Hancock? Having his dominance, his caring, protection, his utter devotion to doing whatever it took to make her happy?

She wanted to weep because as much as she’d wanted this night, she almost wished she’d never gotten a taste of what was now forbidden fruit. You couldn’t mourn what you never had.

Hancock was tense, agitated. She could feel his body vibrating, how tightly he held her. His grip was almost bruising and it was painful at times, but she never said a word, not wanting to lose his touch. If he thought he was hurting her, he would immediately put distance between them, and that she couldn’t bear. A little pain was a small price to pay to lie in his arms for the few short hours they had left together.

She’d asked him for tonight. Only tonight. But would he make love to her again tomorrow night? Knowing that it truly would be their last night together? That the following morning they’d leave for him to turn her over to Maksimov?

Or would he spend that night hardening himself, turning back into the Hancock everyone but her saw? The machine. The emotionless mercenary who thought nothing of turning a woman over to a man if it accomplished his goal.

Yes, that was the more likely possibility. He would distance himself from her. He’d wake her with those cold eyes and implacable features. He’d treat her as the prisoner she was. Oh, he wouldn’t hurt her physically. But he would treat her as a thing. Dispassionately and as though she were of no importance whatsoever. Because it was the only way he would be able to withstand what he had to do. And she knew it hurt him. No one else would know. But she did and would.

That didn’t hurt her, that he would harden himself and become a shell of his true self. She knew it was the way he endured—had endured—all these years of loneliness. What hurt her was that she’d never see him again. Nothing Maksimov or ANE would do to her could possibly compare to the agony of knowing love for such a short time, of tasting passion that couldn’t possibly be common, of sharing an intimate bond with the real Hancock. The Hancock that only she saw. And would never see again.

Whatever Maksimov and ANE did, she could take. She’d even welcome it because it would give her respite from the very real pain of losing Hancock. And when death came for her, she would welcome it, because then she wouldn’t feel at all.

She closed her eyes, a sense of peace enveloping her. Her life hadn’t been for nothing. For one magical night, she’d experienced love. She’d loved and been loved in return. This night was worth everything that had come before and all that would come after. Because it gave her this. And this was worth dying for.

“I can’t let you go.”

Hancock’s words, guttural with agony and despair, startled her, breaking the heavy silence and the thoughts she’d been lost in.

His hold on her tightened until she could no longer contain the wince. He didn’t even notice.

“I can’t do it, Honor. I can’t. I won’t. Goddamn it, I won’t do it!”

He was seething, his entire body tense, his muscles rippling with rage. His face, if she didn’t know the man beneath, would terrify her. He looked like what he’d been labeled his entire life. A ruthless, merciless killer.

She gently pried herself away from him, just enough that she could lean up and face him fully, her puzzlement not disguised.

“Hancock?” she whispered tentatively.

She had no idea what he meant. What he was saying. She was utterly confused.

His face was a wreath of torment. Agony blazed in his eyes and he looked as though he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. Had this been what he’d been thinking of so intently the last hours as they’d lain in silence, him holding on to her as if afraid she’d simply disappear? Had he been planning this all the while, or had he simply made an impulse decision? An irrational bid to hold on to the night as much as she wanted to hold on.

He reached up to touch her cheek and she couldn’t help herself. She nuzzled into his palm and turned to kiss it but then returned her gaze to his, questioning. Not understanding what was happening here. Whatever it was . . . it was huge. And it made her very afraid. Not for herself. But for him.

“I need you to listen to me, Honor. And I need you to understand. I will not give you up,” he said fiercely. “There isn’t a force strong enough in this world to ever make me give you up. Do you understand?”

Her brow furrowed. “But Maksimov . . .”

“Fuck Maksimov,” he said savagely. “And f*ck the goddamn greater good. I’ve been an instrument for the greater good my entire life and I’ve never, never asked for one goddamn thing for myself. I’ve never expected something for myself. I’ve never had one thing that’s all my own. Only mine. But I have you, Honor. And I will not give you up. Ever.”