“We do what’s necessary,” Viper said, his tone quieter than normal.

“Good mojo,” Mojo said by way of agreement.

“You know it’s the only way,” Conrad said, but Hancock could see the other man’s equal dislike of the deception. And his guilt. He could read Hancock. Conrad had always had the uncanny knack of reading his team leader, and he knew just how much Hancock hated what had to be done just as he’d known how much he’d despised the initial mission of handing Honor over and walking away.

“Yes. It is,” Hancock said. “Now, we need to come up with a plan. A damn good plan. There is no margin for error. Maksimov has to be taken out, and Honor can not be harmed in any way. She, not Maksimov, is the primary goal. Yes, we’re using her as a way to get close enough to Maksimov to take him out. But Honor’s safety comes before all else. Even if it means Maksimov escapes us. Again.”

“We’re on it,” Cope said immediately.

And then, as a team, they all turned to face Hancock, at attention, something they hadn’t done since they’d left the military.

“You have our word. We will protect Honor Cambridge with our lives,” Conrad said formally.

In turn, each of the remaining men repeated Conrad’s vow, and Hancock’s heart swelled with pride. They were hated, reviled. Their own government, whose dirty work Titan had done for years, had turned on them and tried to execute them. When that hadn’t worked, the government had put a bounty on their heads.

His men were good men. Good men who’d done terrible things in the name of justice. And for the fucking good of the many. Had saved lives, even the lives of the very people who sought their death. They worked under no banner, no country. They had no true homeland. And they would always be hunted by the few remaining who even knew of their existence.

The very country they had fought so tirelessly to protect—and still protected—had denounced them all. Branded them with the worst insult they could have possibly levied given just how many acts of terrorism they’d prevented. Terrorists. Traitors to their country. The country they would have given their lives for. They were stripped of honor, already declared officially dead before becoming the black ops group Titan and they’d been robbed of their citizenship. They had no home, no place anywhere to call home. No loyalty to anyone save themselves. Their cause, their mission, was still the same. That much had never changed even when everything else had. Protect the innocent. Hunt the evil. Regardless of nationality.

And his men had never once wavered. They’d stayed true to Hancock and to the principles they’d set forth when they were forced to go out on their own. Rogue. Through it all, Hancock had never been able to summon hatred for the country he still considered his, even though she did not claim him as one of her own. He loved America. He loved her people. His hatred was reserved for the few who’d betrayed them and put into motion a decade of eluding assassins, all the while fighting the good fight.

Last night had shaken him on many levels. But perhaps the most profound of all was that for the first time since his country had rejected him, leaving him no place to call home, he’d finally found home in Honor’s arms. She was home. And nothing had ever felt so right—so peaceful and soul soothing—in his life.

“I have one more request,” Hancock said, as formal as his men had been. “If I go down. If something happens to me, get the hell out of there with Honor. Under no circumstances can she end up in Maksimov’s hands, even if it means abandoning the mission and letting the bastard go free. I know our creed has always been to never leave a fallen teammate. But I ask this of you because I would gladly trade my life for Honor’s. She deserves no less. She deserves to live. She serves a greater purpose and the world is a better place with her in it.”

“If we fail, it will only be because we all are dead,” Viper said by way of a vow.

The others nodded in agreement.

“We’ll get her home,” Conrad said softly. “One way or another. I’ll protect her with my last breath.”

CHAPTER 30

HANCOCK carefully balanced the tray in one hand while he opened the door to his bedroom with the other. He walked in to see Honor dressed as he’d requested in comfortable trousers and a T-shirt. Only her feet were bare and she was perched cross-legged on the bed and gifted him with a welcoming smile that was like a knife to the gut.

He had to remind himself that this was necessary to ensure her safety. To save her life and get her home as he’d promised her. A promise he had every intention of keeping.

He forced himself to return her smile and then carried the tray over to place it in front of her.

“Breakfast in bed?” she asked in mock surprise. “You know, I could get used to such royal treatment.”

She was radiant. Happy. Smiling. And her eyes were free of the shadows that had lingered there for so long. They were bright. Shining. And hopeful.

“I want you to eat and drink it all,” he said with mock severity, trying to adopt her playful mood.

He knew she’d eventually ask questions. She’d want to know what the plan was. She’d want to know every single detail because she would worry about him. So he wanted her to eat and drink before they got into things better left not discussed.

She glanced down at the plate and sighed, picking up her fork.

“Uh-uh,” he said with a frown he meant to amuse her.

He gestured toward the antibiotic pills on the tray. “Those first, and drink plenty of juice. Then you can eat.”

She rolled her eyes but complied with his request, washing down the pills with several gulps of the juice. Half the contents were gone. Good, but not enough.

He let her eat a few bites of her food, courtesy of Mojo, who was a wizard in the kitchen. He’d made crepes, whatever the hell those were. They looked too damn fancy for Hancock. There were beignets, which Hancock did know and liked. Who didn’t like beignets with strong black New Orleans coffee?

And there were fluffy scrambled eggs and breakfast ham along with bacon.

“What did he do, slaughter a pig?” she asked, laughter in her eyes.

He gestured toward the juice. “It’s fresh squeezed. Mojo will be offended if any is left.”

She nearly choked as she swallowed the food in her mouth. “Mojo cooked this?”

Hancock smiled at her reaction. “He’s a man of many hidden talents.”

“Obviously,” Honor murmured as she drained the juice.

She cut into one of the crepes and took a dainty bite, but she frowned and then quickly tried to cover it up. Hancock pretended not to notice, his heart already sinking.

She toyed with the eggs a moment, speared a forkful and lifted it toward her mouth, but then slipped her free hand over her stomach and let the fork drop with a loud clatter.

“Hancock, I feel sick. I haven’t eaten hardly anything. But I feel . . .”

She swayed, her face paling as she pressed her palm harder into her stomach. He saw her throat working as if she were trying not to vomit. He immediately reached forward to rub her back in an effort to soothe her and hopefully settle her stomach.

She flinched and then looked up at him with so much horror and hurt in her eyes that it was like a knife to the heart.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in a stricken voice. “What did you do to me?”