Without Remorse Tom Clancy Novels & Stories

I thought that Dad would kill him right then and there, but he just said, "You are just an illegitimate bastard. You have no right to claim Linnus Corporation." Then, he turned and signaled to someone outside the door, ignoring Yannis' cursing. A team of police officers swarmed in. The plot twist was so sudden that I could barely process it. I'd spent that night staring at the moon, lost in thought. I didn't know that he had done so many things. I had forgotten how calm and meticulous he could be when he wanted. He just never wanted to be meticulous when it came to me. He didn't want to admit that I was innocent when it came to Mom's death.

Eventually, his voice returned, and he responded curtly: “Don’t.” I wanted to scream at him, tell him that he was fighting for the wrong thing, but I’d be shooting the messenger. Kamran wanted this outcome for some reason. He preferred peace over Timothy’s innocence. “Thank you, Mr. Wilkes, for your time,” I said slowly, moving the phone away from my ear before he could respond. “My pleasure, Ms. Sinclair.” I refrained from slamming the phone down onto the receiver before running my hands through my hair with a frustrated huff.

he taunted, his words dripping with venom, each syllable laced with the satisfaction of a predator closing in on its prey. Clyde's silence spoke volumes. The weight of his actions settled heavily upon him, like an anchor dragging him into the depths of remorse. He had made a mistake, underestimating the depths of Carmine's depravity and the lengths he would go to achieve his twisted goals. Clyde's voice quivered, barely audible amidst the suffocating silence. "I... I'm sincere this time." His words hung in the air, fragile and vulnerable, like a fragile thread clinging to hope. His eyes darted nervously at Carmine, seeking any sign of mercy in his hardened gaze.

He cut me off. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Come here.” He pulled me into an embrace, perhaps he was happy about the fact that I shared something on my own accord. “He deserved to die; he wasn’t good.” He rubbed my back. “And you feeling remorse depicts you’re human, only humans have conscience, Grace.” His words didn’t soothe my storms down, because now, I realized, I just killed a man and don’t feel shit about it. Only humans have conscience, I'm not human.

The remaining questions felt unimportant. “When you authorized that payment,” she asked quietly, “did you feel anything? Did you understand how monstrous it was?” Tommy met her gaze. His eyes looked deeply tired. “I felt many things,” he said. “None strong enough to make me stop. Years of this work teach you to separate actions from emotions. You do not become a monster overnight. You learn to compartmentalize until terrible things feel manageable.” “That sounds like an excuse,” Elena said. “It’s an explanation,” Tommy replied. “Not a justification.”

He only stooped and took me by the shoulders, his callused hands steady and absolutely alive with something that could have been gratitude or fear or the raw, unspoken relief of having something he’d feared lost found again. “You okay?” he asked, his voice barely a rasp. I let a quiet laugh escape me, the sound rough. “Alive,” I said. The words were small, like stepping stones across a river. “You?” He nodded, then met my gaze. There were hollows under his eyes and dust in his hair and something like shame tucked into the lines of his mouth. “We bought time,” he said finally. “Not freedom.”

"Because oaths don't bring Hope home. Honor doesn't stop kidnappings. Restraint doesn't win against enemies who have none. I'd rather be alive and guilty than dead and righteous. I'd rather win and hate myself than lose and keep my soul. Call it terrorism if you want. I call it survival." "I won't be part of this," Thomas said, standing. His face was set, determined, moral. "I signed up to protect innocents. Not to become what threatens them. If this is what we're doing, count me out. I'm done." "Then leave," I said without emotion. My voice was flat, indifferent, cold. "No hard feelings. No judgment. You're following your conscience. I respect that. But I'm following necessity. And necessit

Perhaps, after decades, a kernel of remorse had sprouted, but I ended the call before they could rally. Levi slid behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist. His chin rested on my shoulder as he mumbled, "Did I stick my nose where it didn't belong? I figured mending fences with your folks would let you walk down the aisle without baggage. So, I visited them." Without his nudge, they'd have remained oblivious to their inflicted scars, but apologies couldn't mend what was shattered. I spun into his arms. He'd likely been rattled by my nightmare revelations.

“Try me.” She stepped closer, now barely a foot away. “I don’t need your protection,” she said. “And I sure as hell don’t want your charity.” “Good,” he murmured. “Because what I gave today wasn’t either.” “Then what was it?” His answer came too fast. Too raw. “Remorse.” She froze. He stepped closer, slowly, his voice lower now. “Because five years ago, I let a woman walk out of a room without her name. Without a number. Without a single goddamn question.”

Castle By morning, the compound reeked of piss, sweat, and blood. The sun hadn’t even risen yet when I got out of bed. Tomas met me at the bottom of the stairs, armed with a gun and blood drying on the cuff of his shirt. “They’re not coming clean,” he said, walking beside me through the hallway. “Two of them are playing mute, one is crying for his mother, and Derek, he’s just… staring.” Of course he was. The ex-mercenary had that kind of patience and tolerance: the kind you either beat out of a man or bury together with him.