He’d long ago made peace with the fact that he wasn’t a good man. He’d never be a good man. But for his family, he could and would be that man even if it was all a lie. Big Eddie, his foster father. And his brothers—Raid, a policeman, and Ryker, a former military man who went into personal security after his discharge. He’d heard from Eden that KGI was considering taking Ryker on. But he’d last spoken to her months before and only then to let her know he’d be out of touch for an indefinite period of time.
Eden. His baby sister who meant the world to him. She was everything good. Everything he wasn’t. He wasn’t a man who scared easily, or at all for that matter. He was calm in the face of adversity, his mind always calculating like a computer his options and possibilities. And he kept all his missions impersonal. Never forming any attachment or bond with anyone.
But nearly losing Eden—losing her for several hours when she endured horrific torture—had unhinged him. He’d been terrified. Out of control. Shaking. Emotional. All the things he considered weaknesses in his work.
Even as he considered that if he had no family he’d never face those very uncomfortable emotions and reactions, he knew that he loved the Sinclairs when he loved no one else. They were his only anchor in the dark world he was being absorbed into more and more with every passing day.
Shaking himself back to the task at hand, he glanced up at Honor to see if she was still conscious. She was, but her eyes were glazed with pain, though not a single sound passed her tightly closed lips. No betraying quiver in her body. The only evidence of her strain was her tightly curled fists on either side of her.
“I’ll be careful,” he said in an attempt to reassure her.
And then he didn’t understand why he felt the need to say anything at all. If she hadn’t put herself in the line of fire, she wouldn’t be hurt and bleeding. He ought to still be pissed, but lying to himself did no good. He hadn’t been pissed because she hadn’t followed orders. He’d been pissed because when he’d witnessed what she did, his heart had plummeted into his stomach and unholy . . . fear . . . assailed him that she would be killed. And it had nothing to do with the fact that if she died his mission would be FUBAR.
Shut it off. All of it. His stupid thoughts and feelings. He began to roll the heavy material of her burka up her legs. When he got to her thighs he gave silent thanks that she’d worn athletic shorts and a sports bra underneath. The last thing he needed was to start fantasizing about what had to be a gorgeous naked body. He had enough issues to deal with without adding completely inappropriate lustful thoughts. He already had too many recently discovered weaknesses, and he had no wish to add to that list. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt lust or experienced sexual urges. His missions were his mistress, the only thing he gave unwavering fidelity to. Getting off was something he had neither the time nor the desire for when so many lives depended on him.
There was blood smeared down her right side even past her hip, but he hadn’t yet gotten to the source of the blood.
Finally he simply tugged the burka all the way over her head and tossed it aside. When he looked back, he sucked in his breath. Beside him, Conrad swore viciously again.
Right between her bottom rib and her hip was a still-bleeding crease at least six inches long.
“At least it’s just a graze,” Conrad muttered, but anger was still vibrating in his voice.
Hancock carefully palpated the area, forcing himself not to jerk away when she flinched.
“No sign of a bullet lodged in the muscle or tissue. It bled a lot, but it’s not serious.”
He glanced up at Honor to gauge her reaction to his assessment and saw relief simmering in her deep brown eyes.
“It needs stitches,” Conrad said with a frown.
Hancock stifled a smile at how concerned he was for Honor’s well-being despite the image he projected of being an angry, ungrateful asshole.
“Yeah, she does. I can get it done, but I’m not as good at it as you are, and you have far more medic training.”
“I’ll do it,” Conrad said, pushing past Hancock, a med kit in his hand.
Alarm instantly registered in Honor’s eyes, the first sign of fear in this entire fucked-up situation that she’d allowed anyone to see. Then she glanced at Conrad, who was crawling into the back with her, and unease billowed off her in tangible waves.
“I’ll be right here,” Hancock said in a soothing tone.
She didn’t look at all relieved. Her eyes never once left Conrad, and every time he pulled something from the med kit and placed it beside her, her panic intensified.
Fuck. She was scared shitless of his man and was even more wary after Conrad had yelled at her and given her a scorching dressing-down.
“Can’t you or Mojo do it?” Honor asked with quivering lips.
CHAPTER 13
TO Honor’s astonishment, Conrad grimaced and actual regret flickered in his eyes. She was even more shocked when he curled his rough hand around her much smaller one and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“You aren’t wrong about me,” Conrad said. “I’m an unfeeling asshole. But you deserved more than what you got from us all when you saved my life. I was pissed, yes. But not for the reason you likely believe. I was pissed because it was my job to protect you. Not the other way around. And if I’d done my job right, you would have never taken a bullet for me.”
Honor opened her mouth to argue, but Conrad silenced her with a black look.