When someone hurt one of their own, they retaliated and carried out swift justice. And it wasn’t the justice most people considered. They hadn’t used the legal system. No, they’d carried out their own brand of justice, crossing lines Hancock had long ago crossed. From them he hadn’t expected it, though. They were too rigidly set in good. Captain Americas, he’d always sneered at them and about them.
But some of the things they’d done in the name of justice were no better than Hancock had done himself on many occasions. He felt a stirring of admiration for P.J. Coletrane. The woman had been brutalized. The details still set his teeth on edge because he was furious at her team for leaving her vulnerable. For not covering her better. She deserved better than what they’d given her, and she’d paid the ultimate price.
And then she’d walked away from her team, not wanting to drag them into the muck of revenge. No justice. Cold-blooded revenge. She’d hunted down every single man responsible for the vicious attack on her, and she’d killed them all. And in the end, her team had caught up to her and they’d stood side by side with her, not allowing her to bear the brunt of the repercussions.
The Kellys were a different breed of people. The kind of people that Hancock once could have been more like had he chosen a different path. The right path. They were fierce protectors. The good guys. The ones you called on when you needed help. They were good, maybe as good as Hancock was himself, but where he stood out, having the distinct advantage, was that he was far more willing to delve into those twisted gray—no, not even gray . . . black areas. A line none of the Kellys would ever cross unless it concerned someone they loved. One of their wives. Their teammates. Any other mission would be run by the book.
None of them. Not a single member of the KGI group would ever stoop to Hancock’s level. They’d never rescue a beaten-down woman who then took a bullet meant for one of their men and then repay her with treachery. All in the name of the greater good.
P.J. Coletrane’s face came into his vision, her snarling features giving him an inward smile. He could hear her words as if she’d said them herself.
Fuck the greater good.
Yes, it was absolutely something she—and the rest of her team—would say. Especially Steele. The team leader reputed to be much like Hancock himself. Ice running in his veins. A machine incapable of feeling anything. Able to do a mission without emotion clouding his judgment and weighing him down.
But now? The ice man had been taken down by one small blond woman and a baby girl who looked just like her mama. Hancock was no longer sure Steele was the same man he’d been before. Except . . . except if his wife or daughter was in danger. Then there would be no controlling the man. He would become a ruthless killing machine unlike any the world had ever seen before. Hancock wasn’t even sure that he could take on an enraged Steele if his wife’s and child’s lives were at stake.
Realizing his men were still silent and edgy, waiting for him to answer Conrad’s question, Hancock jerked his thoughts to the present, swearing violently under his breath. He was off his game and his team knew it. Just like they were growing edgier by the day as they drew closer to . . . betrayal. The day when they’d hand Honor over to Maksimov, hopefully enabling them to take out the man once and for all. But it would likely be too late for Honor. They’d already resigned themselves to her death and there wasn’t a damn thing they could do about it. But it didn’t mean that every time he looked in his team’s eyes he didn’t see helpless rage burning in their depths. He was sure it was mirrored in his own, despite his best attempt to keep them from seeing just how tormented he was over what they must do.
“Soon,” Hancock said in a low voice. “She’s recovering more every day. I’ve been able to keep Bristow off her. He’s afraid of me. But he’s terrified of Maksimov and I’ve told him that Maksimov would not be pleased to be presented with a hurt and damaged Honor because it would lessen her value to ANE. He doesn’t like it, but he fears us both too much to disobey me on this. And I’ve had one of you stationed outside her door at all times, even when I’m inside with her bullying her to eat and giving her pain medication when she overexerts herself.”
“Except now,” Copeland said mildly.
“Bad mojo,” Mojo growled.
A prickle of unease chased up Hancock’s spine. His men were right. He’d summoned them outside where he could speak freely to them. The walls had ears in Bristow’s home. Nothing went unobserved. It was why he and his men were so careful not to be oversolicitous when it came to Honor. They treated her as a prisoner they didn’t want damaged. Damaged goods didn’t make for good trades.
But they had left her alone. For an hour now. What if Bristow had seized the opportunity to look in on his “guest”? He wasn’t a patient man and he clearly hadn’t liked being kept apart from her. All the work Hancock had done could be unraveled in just a few minutes’ time in Bristow’s presence.
He’d been too arrogant, too certain of his hold on Bristow, when he should have known better. Bristow believed himself invincible, and though he was afraid of and intimidated by Hancock, he wasn’t afraid that Hancock would kill him. And that was where he was wrong. Hancock would take Bristow apart with his bare hands if he hurt Honor.
“Get back,” Hancock said hoarsely. “Get back now. Find Bristow’s men and make sure they are under control. Kill anyone who resists. I’ll take care of Bristow.”