Aequitas - Hope Anika (i like reading books txt) 📗
- Author: Hope Anika
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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.”
Death by stiletto.
As Honor slid across the marble floor in pursuit of Hannah, she thought such a demise was a distinct possibility. She had no tread and all the balance of an inebriated elephant; imagining herself doing a face-plant into the stone tile and cracking open her skull was not a stretch.
And considering her luck tonight, it would only be par for the course.
Somehow she made it, sliding over the threshold just behind her sister, turning, shutting and locking the door behind them before anyone else could enter. Because the small room contained only a sink and toilet, Hannah turned to look at her in confusion.
“Surprise,” Honor muttered and sagged back against the door. She stared at her sister in expectation, her heart beating so hard she felt sick. Nerves twisted in her belly, and in her ear, where the comm link nestled, she heard Cian’s rough voice say, “Good luck, a rứnsearc. I’ll be here if you need me.”
Which shouldn’t have made her feel any better, damn him. But did.
The woman who stood across from her—who smelled like roses and bore a presence and charisma her “father” did not—only stared at Honor, a nonplussed expression on her face.
“Seriously,” Honor growled. “Hannah.”
A violent jerk and a step back. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“Bullshit,” Honor cut in. Her throat swelled so suddenly and so painfully, she could barely speak. “Don’t lie. I know you know who I am. I know it.”
But Hannah only stared at her, no flicker of recognition, no reaction whatsoever. Nothing.
“No,” Honor whispered. “You have to remember.”
“I—”
“Mama looked like us.” Desperation gripped Honor, and the words simply fell out, like coins spilling from a slot. “She had red hair and soft hands, and she always smelled like honeysuckle. When she died, you cried for three days. Daddy was tall and handsome and always laughing. He took us to the drive-in and let us eat ice cream in bed. Jonas was tall like daddy, and he would carry you on his shoulders and pretend to be a T-Rex, and you would scream with laughter. When you were eleven, we got into a fight over Malibu Barbie, and I pushed you down, and you cut your lip on the bed. That’s where you got that scar on your lip. From me.”
Tears burned in her eyes, but Hannah only stared at her, cold. Nothing—no outrage or fear or denial or distrust. Just…empty.
Honor grabbed her arms and shook her. “Don’t you recognize me? How can you not remember?”
She didn’t expect Hannah to step closer, to lean toward her and say coldly, “Why should I wish to remember?”
Honor’s breath caught sharply. “You do.”
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