But Hancock knew better. There was something. There was always something. He himself would have sworn he had no weaknesses. Nothing that could be used against him. But he also knew he was wrong. He had Big Eddie. Raid and Ryker. And Eden. Precious, innocent and good Eden.
He’d been careful never to expose them, never to allow anyone to know of their existence because they would most certainly be in danger every day of their lives. He even kept his distance from the fucking Kellys because anyone with eyes could tell that he respected them. He might not like them, their methods or their ethics. The things he considered their weaknesses. But over the years he’d grown to realize that they weren’t so different from him. They just controlled their impulses better than Hancock did.
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.