“Fucking Bristow tried to rape her before passing along the used goods to Maksimov,” Conrad said in a brittle tone that in no way belied the fury laced in every word. “To save herself—or hell, maybe she really did want out—she slit one wrist and then the other and then she faced that motherfucker down holding the knife to her throat after he’d savaged her and told him if she died, then so would he, because Maksimov would kill him for not following through with his promise to deliver her to him.”
“Holy fuck,” P.J. breathed, her eyes darkening, shadowed by the past, likely not even realizing she trembled against Cole, whom she leaned into, again, likely without being cognizant of it. She was not a woman who ever showed vulnerability in front of others. Especially her team.
“Did you kill him?” Garrett asked calmly.
“Fuck yeah, I did, and I made damn sure it wasn’t quick and it sure as hell wasn’t merciful. Hancock would have done it himself. He wanted to take him apart with his bare hands, but he was the only one who had a prayer of talking Honor down, and he did. But if you could have seen him in that moment, if you could have seen him when he gave the order that the mission had changed, you would not question his—our—motives in the least bit. She means something to all of us, Kelly,” he said, using the common address for them all. “She’s ours and we are not giving her up to that sadistic piece of shit. All we wanted was to give the appearance that we were making the exchange and we were going to take him out. Fuck making it clean and tidy, building evidence, dismantling his empire and allowing countries to fight over who got what of his seized assets. We wanted his goddamn ass dead and that was all that mattered to us.
“He had more than one mole in Bristow’s organization. We knew of one. We killed Bristow because we no longer needed him and even if we had, after what he did, he was a dead man walking. But Maksimov still wasn’t quite sure and so he showed himself when they ambushed us. Hancock betrayed his emotions for Honor when he tried to keep Maksimov from taking her from his grasp. A sniper had already put a through-and-through in his left shoulder. This time Maksimov shot him in the chest with a cop killer at close range, and he’s not doing good. Not good at all. I’ve already lost a damn good man and goddamn it, I won’t lose Hancock. And I sure as fuck am not losing Honor Cambridge to that twisted asshole who thinks he’s a god.”
Maren burst in, her glasses askew, her hair in disarray as if she’d run the entire way. Steele immediately took Olivia from her arms and gently guided her toward the phone.
“Conrad, Maren Steele, our team doctor, is here and you’ll give her the rundown so she can see if there’s any hope for him.”
“I’m more interested in knowing if there’s hope for any of us. Especially Honor,” Conrad ground out.
“Cool your jets. We’ve got to think about this for more than three seconds. Talk to Maren. Let her help you help Hancock.”
At Hancock’s name, Maren’s head jerked up, her eyes widening in concern. Steele’s hand slipped comfortingly around his wife’s nape, his expression grim.
“They need you honey. Hancock needs you.” He sighed, knowing despite his misgivings over the man, he owed his wife’s and daughter’s lives to him, just as Rio did. “It doesn’t look good,” he added quietly. “You need to talk quick and help his man any way you can while we prepare to roll out.”
Maren briskly took the sat phone but turned off the speakerphone, much to Sam’s chagrin. She frowned at him and shook her head. “I need to think, damn it, Sam.”
She pushed away from the others, talking in urgent, hushed tones, her questions calm and efficient, not allowing Conrad to panic.