Aequitas - Hope Anika (i like reading books txt) 📗

ends.

Not that she regretted it…but revenge wasn’t the upshot she’d hoped. It had left her hollow and angry, and so cold, she’d feared turning to ice. So she’d moved on to other monsters, beginning with the men Dragunov had done business with, men who profited from the screams of children. One after another after another; an endless vat of human debauchery and greed.

It barely made a dent. And yet, what else could she do?

Because it was never enough, not any of it.

The sole consolation was the lives she saved; she knew she made a difference. And while she made that difference, she looked for Hannah.

Hannah, who was the only reason she’d reached out to Cian. Why she’d come here.

Hannah, who was finally within arm’s reach.

They hadn’t gotten around to discussing a plan for this evening’s benefit, but Honor was confident they would come up with something.

No doubt Cian could be quite underhanded when necessary. A thought that should not have drawn her, but did.

Her stomach growled loudly. She hadn’t eaten much yesterday. She’d been too nervous, and then Cian’s tale had stolen the spotlight, and the last thing she’d been thinking about was food. Once he’d left her, all she could do was think about what he’d revealed.

Akachi. Dragunov.

I want you.

“For shit’s sake,” she told the ceiling. “Stop thinking about it.”

But she couldn’t. She’d tried.

And Cian wouldn’t let her hide from those words; she might not know him well, but she knew that. It should’ve been simple: thanks, but no thanks. Because that was best. She had no business getting involved with anyone; she didn’t live that life. She never would. And even if she was that….brave—stupid—whatever—Cian was the last man on earth she would choose. Arrogant, high-handed, far too used to getting his own way. So what if he was also charming and intelligent and—allegedly—honorable? So what if she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame?

So what if she wanted him back?

She wasn’t stupid. She knew better.

Which meant this ridiculous back-and-forth inside her head could just damn well stop.

But something about him touched her—deeply, insistently, inescapably. And that had never, ever happened before. For someone who lived shrouded in darkness, her experiences only ever lived vicariously, that inexplicable feeling of connection was dangerously seductive.

So fucking fucked.

Her stomach rumbled in demand again, and Honor rolled from the bed and stood up to stare out at the glittering, blue-green sheen of the gulf. Stupid, gorgeous place. It wasn’t fair. This beautiful but warm and oddly welcoming house. The smell of the sea. The echo of the foghorns; the lush green of the surrounding pine forest.

She was…comfortable here. When she was rarely comfortable anywhere.

“Shut up,” she told herself, and left the room. She descended the stairs and approached the kitchen on quiet feet, wondering if Akachi was around.

She hoped not. The large Sudanese didn’t like her. No, he watched her like one watched a snake, wary, untrusting, prepared for a strike at any moment. Honor didn’t understand why—and, seriously, who cared?—but she did care, and that irritated the hell out of her.

The kitchen was empty. A bowl containing a collection of fruit sat on the gleaming granite counter, and something sweet and decadent scented the air. The room could have been a professional kitchen, all sleek stainless steel and broad, long stone countertops. Cherry wood cabinets lined the walls, and a large, rectangular island sat in the center of the room, surrounded by sturdy stools padded with thick brown leather.

She wandered over to the refrigerator and looked inside, astounded by the amount of food that greeted her. Just how much staff did the man have?

“Hoser,” she muttered.

She wasn’t much of a cook, so mostly everything she spotted was out. But if she could find some peanut butter and jelly—

“You are hungry.”

A small, startled screech escaped her, and she whirled around to see Akachi standing behind her, his eyes dark and watchful.

“No,” she said, embarrassed, but her stomach growled loudly in defiance.

One of his brows rose. He was a younger man than she’d realized, and a handsome one, with striking features, broad bones and a wide, unsmiling mouth. Skin like the darkest pitch, hair shorn close to his skull. But those eyes…as cutting as any blade.

“Well, maybe,” she conceded. “A little.”

“Sit,” he replied succinctly. “I will feed you.”

“Oh, no,” she protested. “That’s not necessary. I can—”

“Sit,” he repeated and turned away.

Honor didn’t move. “I was just going to scrounge up a PB&J. If you could just—”

“Sit,” he ordered.

Nonplussed, Honor sat.

“What is a PB&J?” he asked, opening a cupboard and pulling out a handful of items.

“A peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” she replied.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “This is what you eat?”

“Sometimes.” All the time. “It’s good. You should try it.”

He snorted and bent down to retrieve a small sauce pan. “I do not think so.”

“Your loss,” she told him with a shrug.

She watched him gather ingredients: eggs, cheese, onions, peppers, fresh spices.

Her stomach growled again.

“You should have eaten your dinner,” Akachi said, breaking the eggs into a bowl and whisking them.

“Ya think?” she retorted, annoyed.

“Yes. Or I would not have said so.”

Great. A literalist. Just what she needed.

“Look,” she said. “I know you’re not happy I’m here, and I promise I won’t stick around. I’m just here to get my sister. As soon as that’s done, I’m a memory.”

He looked up from his whisking. “Cian does not want you to leave.”

Her heart fluttered painfully. “He’ll get over it.”

“You underestimate him.” A long stare from that obsidian gaze. “You should not.”

Honor shook her head. “I’m not here for him.”

“But you will use him, just the same.”

“That’s not fair,” she said quietly. Even though it was. He was right. She was using Cian, and he knew it.

He was allowing it.

I’m doing this for you.

Goddamn it.

“I’m not….” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t be good for him. I’m not….her.”

Akachi put the pan on the stove and threw a pad of butter into it. “Her who?”

“Her.” Honor waved a hand. “Whoever. The one.”

Another arched brow. “Why not?”

A sharp, painful laugh escaped her. “So many reasons.” She shrugged. “I’m best alone.”

“No one is best alone.”

The words were sober, and they echoed with the same aching loneliness that often gripped her, as though her flame could flicker and die without notice. But she said nothing, because alone was all she knew. Alone was safe. And what Cian wanted…was she even capable of such a thing?

“And what of your sister?” Akachi asked. “What if she does not want to be found?”

“She does.”

That piercing black stare found her again. “You are certain of this?”

Yes, I damn well am. Unfortunately, something Cian had said continued to prod her: I don’t know if she’s with him willingly or under duress.

But Honor refused to accept that Hanna might be with Andrei Petrov willingly. The man was a gangster. A criminal; the same ilk as the men who’d taken her. She wouldn’t stay with a man like that of her own free will. Would she?

No.

That was insane. Surely Hanna was a prisoner—as she’d always been a prisoner—and there was no question she would welcome rescue. Especially when it was family who’d come for her.

Family she no doubt thought dead.

“I’m certain,” Honor said.

Akachi began to chop onion. “I was certain, as well. I was wrong.”

“It’s not the same.”

“For your sake, and for hers, I hope not.”

She watched him chop the onion, his movements precise, fluid, often practiced. The knife gleamed in the bright afternoon light. “He holds himself responsible, you know.”

“Yes.” Akachi moved onto the peppers. “But he is not.”

Honor propped her elbow on the island and put chin in hand. “No?”

“No.”

The butter sizzled. The peppers smelled fresh and sweet.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I asked of him the impossible.” Akachi’s gaze met hers. “Be careful you do not ask the