Page 62 of Queen of Anarchy (Dirty Broken Savages 2)

Maybe he knows I killed his father. Maybe this will be his revenge.

But when the person opens the door and steps into the basement room, my heart stops.

It’s not Julian.

It’s Hannah.

Everything seems to freeze in place, like time has stopped, and all I can do is stare at her. For a second, I can’t believe my eyes. I blink, expecting the ghost of my sister to vanish, or for it to be someone else instead. For my eyes to have been playing tricks on me the way they have so many times before.

But no matter how much I blink and stare and blink and stare, it’s still Hannah. I’d know her face anywhere. Know those eyes.

She’s older, just like I am, and dressed in nicer clothes than I’ve seen her wear before, but still recognizable.

Hannah is alive.

Seeing her standing there, seeing her face, just brings back even more memories. They wash over me like a fucking tsunami, and I’m thrown back into the last time I saw her. How I watched her be beaten and abused so badly that she died. How I was held down andmadeto watch, begging her to get back up when she fell, and feeling something break inside me when she didn’t. I remember all those times I tried to protect her. Tried to keep them interested in me so they’d leave her alone. I remember listening to her cry at night, listening to those assholes laugh about how weak she was. I remember failing her, and leaving that hellhole alone, knowing I’d never see my sister again.

I start struggling all over again, and I don’t know if I’m trying to get away from the memories or get to Hannah, but I can’t be still. I’m wild, like a caged animal, trying to break free however I can. My wrists throb as they get cut up even more by the shackles, but I don’t care.

There’s too much pain and rage and shock, and I need to be out of these chains.

Hannah rushes over to me, hands held out like she wants to touch me but isn’t sure she should. “River,” she hisses, and even just hearing her voice is like a shock to the system. How many times has she said my name like that? Begging me to be careful, to calm down. To help her.

A sob forces its way out of my throat, and I yank harder on the chains, this time sure I want to get to her.

“No,” she says firmly. “You have to calm down. You have to be quiet. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. Just a sound like a wounded animal, desperate and full of pain.

It’s my sister. My fucking sister is right there in front of me. She’s Hannah in all the ways that matter. Her face, her eyes, her voice. The last time I saw her, she was thin and frail, but now she looks healthier. Like she’s been eating and taking care of herself.

But there’s still something in the way she holds herself while she’s trying to get me to be quiet. Something battered and haunted about her, as if the scars she bears on the inside are so deep that they manifest in her outward appearance as well.

She opens her mouth to speak again, then snaps it shut, her gaze jerking toward the door as a quiet sound filters down from the stairway.

But once again, it’s not Julian coming down the steps.

Instead, a child steps into the doorway. A little boy with sleepy eyes and a look of confusion on his face.

“Mommy?” he asks, voice soft and tired.

Hannah stiffens and steps back from me, turning to look over her shoulder. “Go back to bed, sweetheart,” she says to him.

My eyes go wide, and that gets me to stop struggling faster than anything else could have. This new shock overrides everything, even the appearance of Hannah after all this time. I go still and rigid, staring at my sister’s back as she looks down at the kid.

Herkid.

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