Page 63 of Queen of Anarchy (Dirty Broken Savages 2)

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River

It feelslike there’s a heavy weight on my chest as I watch Hannah turn and walk to the little boy, who’s hovering in the doorway that leads to the stairs out of the basement. She kneels down to look him in the eye, brushing hair back from his face. It’s the same sandy blonde as hers, as our father’s, and it hurts even more to see it.

He looks up at her and reaches for her shirt, getting a handful of it like he wants to hold on to her like a lifeline.

I know the feeling.

He can’t be more than three or four years old, and realizing that puts a bad taste in my mouth—even more than there was already.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” Hannah says to him, her voice soft and steady.

The kid mumbles something that sounds like “had a bad dream,” and Hannah pulls him closer. She whispers something in his ear, too low for me to catch, and he clings to her.

His eyes are still sleepy and wary, and she blocks his view of me with her body. Finally, the kid nods, and Hannah kisses his forehead and then sends him toddling away.

She stays crouched down for a long second with her back still facing me, like she’s gathering herself. Then finally stands up and turns back toward me. I can see pain and shame in her eyes, like she doesn’t know how to face me.

When she reaches up to brush that same sandy hair out of her face, I notice the ring on her finger, glimmering in the scant light.

It’s like a kick in the stomach when I realize she must be married to Julian.

“Hannah,” I breathe, not sure what to say. Julian? After everything his father put us through? Why him? Why would she, if she’s been alive this whole time?

There are so many questions swirling in my head, threatening to drag me under again and drown me in that same fierce panic from before. It feels like my heart is breaking, and I’m still numb with the shock of everything I’ve just learned. When I woke up here, I didn’t expect any of this.

Trying to wrestle my mind back under control, I pick a single question, probably the most important one of the bunch, and manage to choke it out.

“How?”

Hannah turns her face away, and I watch as she drags in a deep breath. She looks down at the concrete floor for a second and then finally back up at me. Her eyes are haunted, and now that the kid is gone—her kid, I keep reminding myself—she has that hunched-in-on-herself posture all over again. Like she’s expecting to be hit or screamed at or something.

It fits with the way she looked when I last saw her, but that’s about the only thing that does.

“I… didn’t die that day. When we were captive.”

That much is obvious, but I don’t say so. I just keep watching her, silently urging her to explain. Part of me is afraid that if I look away she’ll disappear, as if she’s some hallucination brought on because Julian’s thug hit me in the head too hard.

She takes another deep breath. “I didn’t die. Lorenzo managed to get a doctor to look at me, and they kept me from giving in to my injuries. They just never told you or Dad that I was still alive.”

I curl my fingers into fists at the thought of that. All this time. All this time my sister was alive, and no one fucking told me.

“It took a long time for me to get my strength back. I was pretty messed up. Broken bones, a bad concussion. They had to do a lot to keep me alive. In that time, they took you back to Dad, but they kept me captive for longer.”

“Why?” There’s another question I manage, even though I’m honestly not sure I want to know the answer.

Hannah glances up at my face and then away again. “Lorenzo said… he said I owed him since he saved my life. For the expense of the doctor and all the treatments and pain killers and whatever else. He had a whole list, but I don’t really remember. I just wanted to go home and be done with all of it, but then Julian showed up—”

Her voice falters at that, and I reach out like I can touch her, comfort her somehow. But the chains bring me up short, rattling while the shackles dig into my bloody wrists. Frustration bubbles in my gut that even this close, I can’t do anything to help her.

“What the fuck did he want?” I ask her.

“Me,” Hannah says, and her voice sounds almost hollow. “Lorenzo had all these demands. He needed Julian to have an heir, to carry on the family name. He’d been pressuring him for a while, and… and I was right there. And I owed him, so. So that was that.”

“So Julian… married you.” The words feel like ashes in my mouth, bitter and terrible. I can’t even believe what I’m hearing, even though the proof of it is right in front of me.

Hannah just nods, and then looks down at the floor again.

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