Page 49 of Queen of Anarchy (Dirty Broken Savages 2)

17

River

My stomach feelslike it’s turning itself inside out over and over again as we drive through the streets of Detroit.

I feel like shit, shaky and nauseated. Seeing Julian was fucking horrible. It brought back so many memories. Even though I’ve never seen him before, he looks enough like his dad that my head is swimming with thoughts of my onetime captor. I remember Lorenzo’s facetoofucking well. He was always there, always touching me, always grinning that stupid smug grin. Just like the one on Julian’s face while Gage was talking to him.

And then, when we were leaving, I was so sure I saw Hannah. Just from the side, in partial profile, I was certain that it was my sister.

But I was wrong.

It was just some random woman, minding her own business, who probably thinks I’m a crazy person.

And maybe I am. I definitely feel like I’m going crazy. I killed the last name on my list, but it doesn’t feel like it’s over. It’s like Hannah’s ghost is haunting me, like the demons in my mind will never let me go.

I keep thinking I see Hannah, but it’s not her. She’s dead, and I’m never going to see her again. That was the whole point of the list in the first fucking place, and now that our onetime captors have all breathed their last breath, it’s supposed to be as though Hannah is laid to rest.

But I feel as if I’m going to see her face on every woman who even vaguely resembles her. I’m going to walk through the world constantly reminded of my past, of my loss. Of how I fucked up and couldn’t protect my own damn sister.

I’ve killed six evil, vicious men—either with my own hands or through someone else—over the past several years. But it was too late to save Hannah’s life.

I always told myself that going after them was about revenge. It was about making them suffer for what they did to us, what they did toher, but maybe that wasn’t it. Or at least, not all of it. I wanted to feel like she was at peace, like maybe she’d know, wherever she is now, that I’d done it and her death was avenged.

But there was a part of me that was probably trying to bring Hannah back, too. As if killing all those men would somehow undo everything that had happened, and we could be together again.

But that’s not how it works.

No amount of death will bring back a life.

The car lurches slightly as Gage pulls to a stop in the driveway, and I realize with a start that we’ve made it back to the house. I can’t even remember most of the drive. I get out of the car with the others, feeling dazed and off balance. My head is fucked up. I’m vaguely aware of everything happening around me, but I’m not focused on any of it. I hear Knox say something to Gage, and Gage’s mouth moves as he responds, but I can’t really make out the words. They sound hollow and tinny, like they’re coming from a long way away.

“River?”

The sound of my name jerks me out of my stupor enough that I can look over at Priest.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

The others are gazing at me with concern too, having realized how fucking weird I probably look, but I just shake my head. “It’s fine.”

They don’t push it, so I move past them as we walk into the house, then head upstairs to my room.

My hands are shaking by the time I close the door, and when I sit down on the bed, I immediately know I won’t be getting any peace that way. I’m too agitated. It’s crawling under my skin—everything that’s happened all piling up too fast for me to fight it.

Ivan’s body.

Seeing Hannah—ornotseeing her and being so sure I did.

Seeing Julian.

Thinking about Lorenzo over and over again.

I feel like a thousand different emotions are filling me up, pressing against my skin like they’re going to rip me apart from the inside.

Desperate to make the torrent stop, I go to my nightstand and find my blades, right where I tucked them when I moved in here for the second time. The metal is cool between my fingers as I shuck my pants and settle back on the bed, and that soothes me enough that I can take a deep breath and press the razor blade to my thigh. I make a cut, smooth and straight, and it takes a second for the pain to kick in and the blood to well to the surface. It’s bright and stark against my skin, almost pretty. I focus on it, trying to will everything else out of my head.

It kind of works, but not well enough. So I cut again, making another line parallel to the first.

My thigh burns with the pain of it, and I sink into that feeling, adding a third cut with the first two.

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