Aequitas by Hope Anika (best classic books of all time .txt) 📕

fragments of what was once a strong and vibrant people; one of the oldest civilizations on earth. The experience changed my life, and I knew I must do more to help. Thus, I created Helping Hands. We are a small charity which will focus our aid on women and children; they are by far the majority of refugees seeking asylum. Because so few countries are willing to give them refuge, they need all manner of aid: food, clothing, medical care. Education and shelter. We will focus on those things in the immediacy, with the hope that we can secure a better future long term. It will not be easy, but it is necessary. We are all responsible to each other; we all belong to each other. It is up to those of us who have the means to act, and I hope you will join me tonight in doing so. Thank you.”

Honor swallowed once, twice, her chest aching, her heart beating with painful intensity. She pulled against Cian’s hold, but his arms only tightened.

“You had to see this for yourself, lass,” he murmured in her ear, his tone quiet with apology.

“Says you,” she replied bitterly. “Thanks for the head’s up.”

“Honor.”

“So much for never lying to me.” She jerked in his arms. “Asshole. Let me go. Right fucking now.”

But his grip didn’t falter, his breath warm against her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“Bullshit,” she snarled. She felt…shattered. Angry. Betrayed. Which was useless and stupid and only proved that she’d allowed herself to believe in something that had never been real to begin with.

Fool.

“If I’d told you, you’d have come in guns blazing,” he growled, and she stiffened, because hell yes, she would have. So what? “And what do you think her reaction to that would have been?”

The question made Honor go still, in spite of the anger spilling from her like molten lava. She looked at Hannah—this unknown woman who’d become Anna Petrov, who was self-possessed, genuine, and articulate—and was astounded all over again by not only the disclosure that Petrov had claimed her as his, but by Anna herself. A woman with a good heart—courageous and brave and kind—and a woman who traveled the world into ridiculously dangerous places and photographed its people, risking herself to share their stories. This woman…she was no victim. Captured, held against her will. Controlled or manipulated. No, she was…strong. Willful and resolute, her spirit and determination an unwavering light within her.

Honor recognized that light, because she carried it herself.

“Shit,” she muttered, and a sharp sigh escaped her.

Hannah stepped from the podium and begin to circulate the room, stopping and talking to anyone who reached out. Honor watched her, nearly vibrating in Cian’s hold.

“Patience, lass,” he murmured. “You’ll get your chance.”

But Honor wasn’t sure what she would do with it. Everything she’d expected to find had been upended, and she wasn’t certain where that left her. And the one she’d relied on to be beside her, to help her, had lied to her, and no matter his intentions, it wasn’t something she would forget.

“She’s been brainwashed,” Honor muttered, her eyes glued to her sister’s back as she worked the large room. “It’s the only answer.”

“Look at her photos,” Cian chided. “Really look, a rứnsearc.”

Honor didn’t want to. She had no desire to acknowledge those powerful, piercing photographs, to face the obvious reality that Hannah was a woman with purpose. However she’d come to be here, whatever her identity now, she’d clearly found her calling. And like Honor, she acted upon that objective, no matter the difficulty or danger.

“Shit,” Honor said again, her hands clenched into tight fists, her body rigid. She turned in Cian’s hold and glared up at him. “Let me go.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his gaze intent, and the emotion glittering in his eyes—whatever it was—made the ache in her chest sharper, tighter, until her breath was like a dagger beneath her breastbone. “I promised I’d not lie to you, and I failed you in that. It’ll not happen again.”

“Promise?” she asked sarcastically.

“Aye,” he replied seriously.

She snorted. “It doesn’t matter. I always knew better.”

Cian stared at her, his arms turning to iron bands around her. “What does that mean?”

“Everyone’s an asshole, that’s what it means.” She bristled in his arms. “Let go, goddamn it. I need to go de-program her.”

Cian shook his head sharply. “No. You need to think about this.”

“It’s all I think about,” she told him, grief and fury thick in her throat.

“Aye, I ken that.” His hand swept a stray tendril of her hair behind her ear, his fingertips brushing its delicate shell, and Honor shivered unwillingly, suddenly remembering their kiss. His lips on hers, his breath filling her mouth. The sweet, tempting hunger to which he’d given life. Asshole. “But you’ll not get this opportunity again, Honor. This reunion will happen only once; one chance is all you will get. You must tread carefully here, a rứnsearc.”

Everything within her rejected his words, no matter their truth. She’d been waiting years for this moment; Hannah was all she had left. The thought of walking away—even only temporarily—was abhorrent, and not something she was capable of doing. No matter what she’d discovered.

No, it was too late. There was only one direction to go.

“I have to do this,” she whispered. “Here, now. I can’t walk away. I won’t.”

“Are you sure?”

Cian’s words were gentle, careful, and part of her hated him for it. He’d lied to her. Which meant that there was no room for the bright, seductive flare of hunger between them, no place for his concern or compassion or—God help her—his kisses. There was only Hannah.

Only Hannah.

“Yes,” she said.

“Then get ready,” he replied grimly. “She’s just stepped into the ladies, and it’s likely going to be the only chance you get.”