“Back to Maksimov?” she prompted.
“Killing is second nature to him. To him killing is as normal as breathing. As eating or drinking. If it gets him what he wants, he does it. He thrives on pain, torment.” He winced again. “Torture. Rape. You can’t imagine the twisted, sadistic things he does to the women he rapes. He’s into every imaginable crime. He has no loyalty except to himself. He deals drugs, guns, bombs. Human trafficking. He’s a fucking pedophile and he indulges himself even as he sells children to people who are as perverted and twisted as he is.”
Hancock vibrated with rage. He simmered, like a volcano about to erupt. His eyes were icier than she’d ever seen them, and she’d been witness to that flat, emotionless coldness before, but never this degree of utter frigidity. These were the eyes of a killer. Eyes that evoked terror in whoever was his target.
“Money, making money, is a game to him. And no matter how much he has, he craves more. Because to him, money is power, and power, ultimate power, is what he wants most. He sees himself as a god. He’ll never stop, and so someone has to take him down.”
“You,” she whispered.
He gave a clipped nod. “I’m the best chance anyone has of taking him out because unlike others, I don’t have a heart, a conscience. I’m more machine than man. A programmed killing machine, willing to do whatever it takes to take him down. Even become the very thing he is. I am what he is. I’m no better than what he is.”
“You are not a heartless killing machine,” she snapped, angry all over again. “Tell me something, Hancock. Do you go out and find some innocent woman to rape and torture, prolonging her agony until she can finally take no more and then dispose her like trash? Do you prey on children? Are you a depraved pedophile who enjoys inflicting pain and terror on innocent children?”
His eyes were shocked, and he shuddered, revulsion swamping his eyes. “No! Never! God, no.”
She smiled her satisfaction, and he didn’t look pleased that she’d pushed his button and had gotten the reaction she obviously wanted from him.
“There is a difference between becoming like someone in order infiltrate his ranks in order to kill him and save thousands of lives and becoming that monster when you aren’t on the hunt for one,” she said in a soft voice. “You can tell yourself all manner of lies, Hancock. You can try to convince yourself that you’re no better than Maksimov, but you and I both know the truth. Even though you’ll never admit it to yourself. You do what you have to do in order to save countless innocents, but you hate it and you hate yourself. But that’s not who you are. It’s not who you will ever be. The world is a better place for having you in it,” she said, even quieter than before. “Don’t let evil win and let it convince you that you are evil. That you’re some unfeeling bastard who craves killing, torturing and shedding blood. Because when you truly start believing that of yourself, then you will become the very thing you hate the most.”
“Fuck me. Swear to God I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Honor,” he said, his agitation obvious.