Chapter Three
River
—Nine years ago—
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Kenna kicked a rock, following its course over the cracked sidewalk. River lugged a full backpack two yards behind her sister. She wasn't going to let Kenna drag her feet anymore.
"Mrs. Hostin will ground us both if we don't arrive before Mr. Hostin gets home from work." She walked faster, pushing Kenna to keep going.
"I don't care." Kenna jumped off the curb and tried to kick the rock back up on the sidewalk. "We're not going to be there long. Margie will move us just like she did the last time. Nobody wants older kids. They all want a baby."
It was true. She grabbed Kenna's sleeve and tugged her along. She'd even heard her last foster mom tell a neighbor that taking in babies gave her more money each month than taking in older kids.
"We don't even need a stupid foster family." Kenna forgot about the rock and grabbed River's hand. "We could take the bus and go back home."
"Someone else probably lives in our house." She sniffed.
First, her mom got killed as she went to visit her dad at work, and then her dad died a few months later while she and Kenna were at school. Since then, they've already moved three times in the foster care system.
Their mom was an only child. Grandma had died when they were four years old. Their dad never talked about having a family. They had no idea if they had grandparents or aunts and uncles.
For a while, she was sure Ms. Breo, her old teacher, or Shirley, the lady at the library in her old town, would come to get her and her sister. They had always gone out of their way to help them at school after their mom died.
"We could try and find Ronald—remember Dad's friend?" Kenna walked backward. "We could find him and ask him about Dad."
"Dad's dead," she mumbled. "You know what Margie said. He died, and he's not coming back."
That's what the social worker said when they walked into the principal's office after recess on February 8th. She barely remembered the car trip home, where they were instructed to gather a sack of their belongings before going to live somewhere else with a new family.
"I don't think he's dead." Kenna turned around and walked forward with her. "I think Margie lied."
"I don't."
Kenna grabbed her, refusing to walk another foot. "Don't say that."
"Daddy wouldn't leave us on purpose." Tears blurred her vision. "After momma died, he promised never to leave us."
Kenna wrapped her arms around her. "Don't ever talk about dad to anyone else, okay?"
"Why?"
"Because he's ours," whispered Kenna. "He's not dead to us."
River held on to her sister and agreed, even though Kenna often lied when scared. She was scared, too.
"Come on." She grabbed Kenna's hand. "Let's go before we get in trouble."
At the end of the block, two men stood by motorcycles parked beside the sidewalk. River slowed and whispered, "They look scary."
The men had on black clothes and tattoos down each arm. One of them smoked a cigarette.
Kenna looked left and right, already forming a plan in case they had to run. Her sister was smart like that. River looked across the street to their new foster home in worry. They'd made it in time. Mr. Hostin's car wasn't in the driveway.
"Just keep walking and don't look at them," whispered Kenna.
At the corner, they waited for two cars to go by. River glanced at the men.
The closest man's tattoos drew her attention. She spotted a motorcycle, numbers, and the word "brotherhood." The man moved. She glanced up, and he nodded at her.
His brown eyes stared right at her. Her heart raced.
"Come on." Kenna stepped off the sidewalk, pulling her out onto the street.
River looked over her shoulder as she walked. The man raised his hand. She ran. With the adrenaline rush, she never felt the heavy backpack with all her belongings or how Kenna refused to run as fast as her.
From the safety of the front step of their foster home, she looked back at the bikers. They were still watching her and Kenna.
"Did you look at them?" she asked.
Kenna knocked on the door. "Yeah."
"What do you think they're doing?"
"I don't know."
The door opened. Behind them, the motorcycles roared to life, making her jump.
"You're both late." Mrs. Hostin grabbed the pack on River's back and pulled her into the house.
She stumbled inside, trying to keep her balance without losing her backpack. Kenna grabbed her before she fell.
"Get your things, Kenna. Margie will be here at quarter to four." Mrs. Hostin brushed her hands together.
"Why?" asked Kenna.
"You're going to another foster home."
She shared a look with her sister. They were moving again. Mrs. Hostin no longer wanted them.
Kenna grabbed River's hand, pulling her to the room, but before she could ask her sister any questions about where they'd be going, Mrs. Hostin stopped them.
"River, go to the kitchen and wash your hands," Mrs. Hostin said, pointing down the hallway to the back of the house.
"But I need to pack." That wasn't true. She carried everything in her backpack that she wanted.
"You're not going with Margie." Mrs. Hostin's beady eyes disappeared behind her false eyelashes. "Only Kenna is moving."
"No." She threw her arms around Kenna. "We're sisters. Margie can't take Kenna."
Kenna was always the loudest one, the one who spoke up for her. Why wasn't she saying anything?
Mrs. Hostin stepped toward her, and the doorbell rang. "Finally."
As her foster mother turned her back to them and walked toward the door, River whispered, "Don't leave me."
Kenna looked her in the eyes. "I'll run away and find you."
"I can't live here without you."
Margie pulled Kenna away from her. She shot forward, escaping through the door with Mrs. Hostin following her.
Kenna looked over her shoulder, tears rolling down her cheeks. River's chest hurt, and she screamed for her sister.
The car door slammed. Kenna stared out the side window. River cried for her, yelled for her, begged for her. She knew her sister would bottle everything up inside of her until she exploded, and she wouldn't be there to help Kenna when she fell apart.
Margie got in the driver's seat and pulled away from the sidewalk. River swung her arms out, breaking away from Mrs. Hostin. She ran down the sidewalk, yelling and begging Margie to stop and bring back her sister. In her blind panic, she crossed the street, tripped, and skidded on her hands and knees. A flash of pain seared through her skin as she watched the vehicle carrying her sister away turn and disappear out of sight. Curling in a ball, she squeezed her eyes shut.
They'd never been apart before. Even when they went to school, they were in the same building. How was she going to find Kenna?
A hand landed on her head, brushing her hair off her face. She kept her eyes closed, unwilling to face life without her sister. "I'll make sure nothing happens to your sister."
A man's voice startled her out of her panic, and she opened her eyes. He picked her up and carried her out of the street.
The tears wouldn't stop. She had no fight left in her.
Aware that the biker from the corner was carrying her, she cried harder. Looking over his shoulder, she expected to find Mrs. Hostin, but her foster mom hadn't followed. She hadn't cared if Kenna was taken or River ran away.
"My name's Zane. I'm not going to hurt you." He stopped in front of her foster family's house and put her on the curb before holding her wrists and looking at the palms of her hands. "I bet that stings."
He blew across her bloody palms. The cool air soothed the stinging.
The other biker jogged across the street toward her. She no longer cared if they were going to kidnap her. She had nobody left. Not her mom, not her dad, and not Kenna. She was all alone.
"You don't know me, but I'm here to make sure you're okay." Zane rolled the legs of her jeans up past her knees and blew air on the abrasions she'd gotten from the fall. "Do you know where your sister went?"
She sniffed. "With Margie."
"Who's Margie?"
"Social worker." She hiccupped. "She took my sister away, and she won't be back."
"She split you up?"
She nodded emphatically. "Will you find her for me?"
He tilted his head and studied her. "Which one are you, Kenna or River?"
"River." How had he known their names?
"I need to get out of here and look for your sister." Zane looked behind him. "That's my brother. His name is Kingsley. You can trust us."
"Do you live here?" Maybe they were neighbors of Mrs. Hostin.
"No." He reached into his vest. "We can't stay long, but I want you to know if you need anything. Let me know." He handed her a piece of paper. "Here's my phone number."
"I don't have a phone."
He glanced at his brother. "We'll bring you a cell phone the next time you see us, okay?"
"You're coming back?"
"I'm going to find your sister first." He hooked his finger under her chin and raised her gaze. "Go inside and clean your owies."
"But how am I supposed to stay here without my sister?"
"Be brave." He wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I'll come back and see you again."
He helped pull her to her feet, straightened her backpack, and set her in the direction of the house. She limped away, barely able to bend her knees. In her hand, she squeezed the piece of paper Zane had given her so that her foster mother wouldn't find it. She'd hide it in her backpack with the rest of her belongings.