Hannah Teller was a beautiful woman. She had a stunning mass of thick, dark curls that highlighted her silvery eyes. That, as well as her caramel skin, only grew richer and more stunning as her pregnancy progressed. And Lucius couldn't stop thinking of her. The taste of her lips lingered on his as he sat, patiently waiting.

More than an hour had passed since he'd received the phone call that ripped him from Hannah's intoxicating scent, her soft, supple skin, her newly curvaceous frame. He sat in a massive study, unsure of what to do next. This wasn't his home; it was no one's home—just an over-opulent, over-priced exercise in futility. It had been leased when this stupid charade began. Back then, in the beginning, Lucius had been completely on board. As Jack Petty's puppet, he wanted to exact revenge on the Tellers, on SAMCRO, even though the details as to why there was so much hatred remained to be seen.

Anxiety racked his bones as he stood and looked out the lawn. It stretched for what seemed like forever, its lush, green grass like a Rembrandt landscape, so vivid and alive, it just didn't seem real. Nothing seems real anymore, Lucius thought sadly. When the plan began, and Lucius gave them all the intel on Jax and Tara's small family unit, there was promise of greater things. Jack constantly assured him that he'd get word to the Irish.

"Yer doin an amazing job, Lucius," he'd said just two nights ago. "You've managed to carry out what the Kings want, without attracting attention to yerself. Ye've laid low, stayed out of Silver Spring, kept a close eye on Hannah and Ophelia—"

"But when is it going to end, Jack?" Lucius carefully asked. He didn't want Jack to think him ungrateful, but Lucius also knew that he couldn't keep up appearances much longer. He was just as much a prisoner as the girls were—he just hadn't realized it. Lucius didn't know how or when he'd come to that realization, but now that he had, it ate at him.

"Soon, ma boy," the older man answered, the Gaelic brogue thick with intention. "Soon. I just have to get word that we are ready to go to war, and to war we'll go."

Lucius thought the moment had come. With the urgent rushed phone call, he thought war was eminent. Now, as minutes bled into an hour—he wondered what the truth was. As thoughts of Hannah intermingled with thoughts of Jack and of Ophelia, he was now more confused than ever.

Just above the study, he thought Ophelia lay alone, drugged into oblivion. What he didn't realize is the tolerance his one-time girlfriend had built. She was just as awake as he, staring at the ceiling, contemplating what to do next. Ophelia couldn't believe there had ever been a time where she loved the thin, obviously unstable young man. She cursed herself an idiot, but her pale gray eyes rested on the firmly lodged IV key. It dangled in the case that housed her blessing and her curse—morphine.

Memories washed over her. The sounds of Lucius' fists slamming into her flesh haunted her dreams. Her cries for mercy haunted her waking thoughts. Still, true to the Gemma Teller genetics that raged through her, she kept quiet, played stupid, and soundly manipulated Lucius. She realized now that the bastard wasn't bright. She was just amazed at how a hot body and beautiful face could cloud one's judgement.

Thank God for Jack Petty. Ophelia remembered the officer as one of her father's friends. That first moment, the second she woke up, she knew she was in trouble. Lucius delivering her meds, explaining her pain and her supposed automobile accident—none of it added up, even in the midst of her drug-induced haze. That first night, she feigned sleep in the hopes Lucius would leave her alone. Had Jack not walked in just after she closed her eyes, Ophelia might have been inclined to believe some of the ridiculous nonsense Lucius spouted. The conversation between Jack and Lucius told her everything she needed to know: she was trapped, and Hannah was somewhere within the same walls.

She sat up slowly. Like her twin before her, she'd managed to figure out when Lucius would arrive—the timing all rested in the morphine pump. Lucius had become quite the good nurse during Ophelia's tenure in her pretty cell. He knew when her morphine levels would lessen, and he came in at specific times of the day for that reason. It was all very calculated. Lucius paid attention to the important details.

Too bad the small details didn't fucking matter, Ophelia thought with a sick smile. He didn't count on her memories, just like he didn't count on her to fight the sick fog that surrounded her. Just after Jack and Lucius cleared her room, her eyes gradually opened. At first, tears flowed from them. She was unable to help it. She couldn't get over how stupid she felt.

The key. Her tired eyes stared at it now, and she was amazed at her good fortune. A smart man would have removed the key from the lockbox. After timing Lucius' visits, and with the key left behind, Ophelia would, in Lucius' absence, reach for the key, open the pump, and dial down the opiate. She'd found a way to empty the remaining morphine, and her dependence eventually lessened. She was almost completely drug free during the day. She would change the settings back to what Lucius deemed normal—just in time for Lucius to come in. She would fake a stupor, and now, more often than not, he came in, saw her sleeping, checked the pump and left. Any time between visits was spent plotting her escape. She still didn't know how it was going to happen.

Lucius was completely unaware of the turmoil that raged in Ophelia's soul. He had his own demons to fight as he grabbed his vibrating phone.

I'm running late. Unexpected visitors. Don't expect me any time soon. I'll text when I leave.

"Goddamnit." Lucius fought the urge to throw his phone across the room. Instead, his fingers clenched around it as his jaw tightened. An anxious lump lodged in his throat. He closed his eyes, at war with himself.

Hannah. As soon as the aggravation filled him, it dissipated. All it took was her name. With his impromptu meeting postponed, he could make the best of the time and finish what he started with her. Giddiness flowed through his veins as he practically ran out of the study and ascended the stairs to her room. Normally, he'd stop by Ophelia's room. She's fucking sleeping, he thought absentmindedly, bypassing the door, and rushing towards Hannah's.

Hannah barely had time to register the sound of the key within the lock. She'd been reading, waiting for him, but she never thought it would be so soon. Immediately, her heart slammed into her sternum, and blood rushed through her veins. She could hear both pounding as she tried to appear calm. The door opened slowly, carefully. Lucius entered the room with ease. Hannah, terrified, didn't even look up as he closed the door behind him.

"God, you're lovely," he murmured low. Hannah had to look up then. He crossed over to the table, flinging the room key onto it. For a brief moment, Hannah saw why Ophelia lusted after him, despite all common sense. He was incredibly handsome, but that didn't make a difference to her. There was no attraction whatsoever.

"Thank you," she whispered shyly. "I was wondering when you were going to come back."

"Missed me that much, eh?" he returned. Hannah's stomach roiled in protest, but she prayed the stain of blush that covered her cheeks would lie for her.

"As ashamed as I am to admit it, yes," she replied. She stood slowly. Clad in black leggings and a black top, she was enchanting. Lucius' mouth was dry as she approached him.

Forgive me, Abel, she thought as she walked to him. She didn't hesitate; to do so would show weakness, and that was something Hannah couldn't afford now. No words were spoken as she laced her arms around his neck and planted a soft kiss on his lips. Before she could grow accustomed to the situation, he gripped her waist and returned the kiss. It was all Hannah could do not to vomit in his mouth. When his tongue darted between her teeth and covered hers, she broke away, disgusted.

"What's wrong?" Lucius questioned, confused. She placed a shaky hand on her chest as she glanced at him.

"I just didn't expect this," she stated.

"Expect what?"

"This—this-passion," she stated. "I've only been with Abel. I don't know what someone else is like. It's insane—but I love it." The last words were said with a perfectly false smile.

"Abel's your only—" he asked. Hannah nodded. A self-satisfied smile crept across his lips. Like a virgin, without the effort. He could feel the beginnings of a hard-on in his jeans. Just you wait, Hannah.

He bent and kissed her. She noticeably shivered as he continued his assault on her body.

I hope he believes this, she though as she faked an excited moan. Unable to resist her, his hands ran up her shirt, reveling in the sensation of her soft, perfect skin. Fear knifed through Hannah's soul as she forced herself closer to him. He broke away for a moment, and his eyes caught hers.

"Too bad you're knocked up already," he whispered. "We'd make beautiful babies together."

My husband and I make better ones, she thought as his lips crushed hers again. This time, she felt his hands climb further beneath the shirt. His rough, callused fingertips grazed her breast, gently at first, then as she made the sounds he wanted to her, he advanced his crazed kneading. She cursed her body and her hormones, because she was physically reacting. Her nipples hardened beneath his surprisingly eager touch, and she hated herself for it.

She knew she had to reciprocate. With trembling hands, she began to unbutton his shirt. He didn't stop her; in fact, the only time he ceased kissing her was to take a quick breath. She pulled back for a moment, breathless, and slid his shirt back. She gasped at what was beneath.

"It's only a gun," he said calmly, stepping away from her. Housed in a tightly fitted holster, the 9 mm was both a surprise and a fear. Lucius divested himself of the holster, and after walking across the room, he placed it on the table.

"Now, where were we?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled her legs out from beneath her and cradling her, he laid her carefully on the bed. Before she could rise and regain the upper hand, he was atop her, kissing her neck. Hannah was sure he could feel her racing pulse beneath her skin; she just prayed that he thought it was nervousness. As panic set in, she closed her eyes, wondering just what she'd gotten herself into. She could feel his hands pulling her shirt up. A low sigh of desire rumbled from his throat.

"Fuck, I want to be inside you," he growled.

You will never be inside me, motherfucker, she thought. Her eyes flew open. I have to get control. Or he's going to win. I can't let that fucking happen.

Hannah pushed on his chest. For a moment, he paused and gazed into her eyes.

"I want you to fuck me." Hannah knew the words were spewing from her mouth, but she tried not to hear them.

"I plan on it," he declared. He lowered himself to kiss her again, but she stopped him once more. With a devilish grin and a silent prayer, she twisted and used her full weight to roll him beneath her. Her belly screamed in protest as shards of fire raced down either side of her belly. She tried not wince as the pain soaked her muscles. Instead, she seductively smiled. Running her hands over her breasts and down to the hem of her shirt. She yanked it over her head. Looking down at him, a self-satisfied grin spread across her lips.

"Fuck, Hannah," his breath was guttural and jagged as he struggled to regain control. He stared at her, and desire ate at him as he took in the view. Her breasts, now large and swollen with pregnancy, mocked him from the confines of her almost too-small black lace bra. Her waist was still small and almost perfect; only her lower abdomen had rounded, and even that wasn't significant.

"You like it on top?" he brazenly asked. She grinned in response, even as her cheeks reddened.

"I do," she replied. She bent over and pushed his shirt up. Sheer electricity shot through him as she yanked it over his head. He tried sitting up, but Hannah pushed him back.

"Let me do the work," she stated. It was then she reached into the bedside table and produced the knee socks.

"You're gonna wear those?" he asked, confused.

"No—I'm gonna do better than that," she confessed with a giggle. He grew hard thinking of her in just those knew socks. Maybe next time, he thought. Quickly, before he could object, she took each knee sock and tied him to the bedposts.

"Whoa," he mumbled as she tightly and efficiently bound him. "You're a big tease, aren't you, baby?" He sounded impressed.

She nodded as she checked that her knots were skin tight and secure. There was no slack, no give between Lucius' skin and the socks. Satisfied with the predicament, she smiled and traced a long index finger down his abdomen.

"I'm the biggest fucking tease you'll ever fucking encounter," her voice was firm and angry as she moved off of him.

"Wait—what the-?" Lucius knew then he'd made a fatal mistake. Aware of his error, he began kicking and pulling at the restraints. His face was beet red as fought to get up. Hannah busied herself by throwing her shirt on and grabbing the room key. She found her shoes, slipped them on, and readied herself to go.

"You fucking bitch! Fuck you!" he bucked wildly , but the knee socks only tightened further. Lucius' hands were already turning a wicked purple shade as she reached over and grabbed his gun. "I fucking hope you and your bastard family rot in fucking hell!"

Hannah turned and pointed the gun at her warden.

"Shut the fuck up, Lucius," she stated, pointing the 9mm at him. "I will fucking shoot you."

Lucius laughed.

"Go ahead, I'm as good as dead anyway," he challenged. "You and Ophelia are nothing more than collateral for my goddamned head. It doesn't matter that-"

"Ophelia?" she repeated. She wasn't sure she had heard that right. She kept the gun raised. Lucius cursed himself again. This is why I was never meant for this life, he thought sadly. I suck at keeping secrets. He laughed bitterly but chocked it off. "She's here?"

Lucius knew he was a dead man. There was nothing to gain from his new status—but there was nothing to lose either.

"Yes, she's here," he answered. "I'll tell you where, if you just set me free."

Lowering her gun slightly, Hannah walked to Lucius. She ran a slow hand across his leg, and for a split second, he thought she'd change her mind. Her eyes were calm and contemplative as she looked at him. A sad smile crossed her features as he felt her hand travel near his hips. Her hand reached into his empty left pocket. The same hand drifted to the right and pushed in, giving her what she sought.

Car keys. Her fingers wrapped around them and pulled them free. Lucius groaned.

"You're too fucking predictable," Hannah whispered with a cold grin. "Fucking keys to the goddamned kingdom—you have them all—and you're giving them all away." Before Lucius could speak, he felt the barrel of the gun push into his kneecap. Without a second glance, Hannah pulled the trigger, safely wedging the bullet into hard bone. His unearthly scream boomed off the dark walls. She moved to the second knee and repeated the process. This time, instead of screaming, he fell unconscious from the pain.

There was no noise, no tremble. Hannah thought she'd feel differently, especially since she'd not shot anyone before. After all, that part of it was never a piece of her original plan, but it was a welcome one. There was no fear as she looked down at the bloodied and broken sonofabitch. He'd lied to Ophelia, to her, to the whole family. A debate rose within her conscience as she struggled to keep him alive or kill him. Keeping him alive was the better option. Let someone else do the dirty work, Hannah thought.

"Don't worry, I'll find Ophelia," she triumphantly whispered. She couldn't wait any longer. Gun and keys in hand, she raced out the door, not caring if anyone was on the other side. I'll kill anyone that gets in my way. As she walked down the unfamiliar hallway, she was overcome by silence and a sense of peace. Her gut told her that she, Lucius, and Opie were the only ones there.

"Ophelia!" She threw caution to the wind, screaming her sister-in-law's name. Nothing. She continued down the hallway, crying out her name. As approached the stairs, she called out once more.

"Opie! Please!" Hannah called. "It's Hannah! Please, don't be scared! I'm here to help you! Please!" Terrified sobs escaped her. What if I don't find her? She couldn't stay much longer, in case anyone showed. She prayed that she could find her sister-in-law.

"Hannah!" The call was faint, but she could hear it. She stopped and called Ophelia's name once more. Another reply. I'm getting close. Another scream for Ophelia. One more reply. Hannah's heart was full to exploding as she found the door. Please, she thought. She grabbed the key and stuck it into its slot. She almost bellowed in relief as she heard the lock click open.

A skeleton key. She smiled in disbelief. You have to be kidding me. All the planning, all the insanity and secrecy—it was unraveled because of Lucius' idiocy. Who the fuck put this dumbass in charge? His loss was their gain, but she knew that Lucius would pay with his life for his series of amateur mistakes.

There wasn't time to think of that as Hannah pushed the door open. Her mouth was slack with shock as she laid eyes on Ophelia for the first time in what seemed like years. The younger Teller was noticeably thinner, and her facial features were slightly swollen, with yellow and green bruises offering brutal decoration to her usually lovely face.

"Oh. My. God," Ophelia whispered. Her gray eyes lit up as her face dissolved into tears. "Hannah Banana!" She tried to stand, but she was dizzy. Immediately, Hannah crossed to her, her eyes filled with relieved tears. She gathered Opie into her arms, only to notice the IV.

"What's this?" Hannah asked.

"Morphine," Ophelia replied with fearful, tired eyes. Hannah's brows knitted in confusion. "Long story."

"I can see that," Hannah returned, then, "We're gonna have to pull it."

Ophelia didn't have to be told twice. "Gauze is in the nightstand. I'll hold it on."

"Do you think you can help me find his car?"

"Lucius' car?" Ophelia asked. Hannah nodded as she opened the drawer and found the gauze. Ophelia was a step ahead, peeling the IV tape from her hand. Quickly, she pulled the IV catheter from her hand, and a spot of bright red blood replaced it. Hannah quickly handed her the gauze, which Opie used to wrap her hand. Hannah searched the room for clothes, for shoes. She glanced at Ophelia's clothes—a long, short sleeved, navy cotton nightgown was all the girl had on.

"Found em," Hannah said, producing a pair of sandals from the bathroom. She bent down and placed the shoes on Ophelia's feet.

"You ready?" Hannah asked. Ophelia, still spinning from morphine residuals, nodded.

"You hold this," Hannah instructed. Hannah wielded the gun. Ophelia's free hand held the car keys.

Hannah took her hand and led her from the room. Together, they descended the staircase and ran towards the front door. Soon, they were outside, the hot August air greeting them. A long, gravel driveway stretched before them.

"Push the buttons," Hannah coolly instructed. Immediately, a car alarm split the silence. Both girls ran as fast as they could in the direction of the sound. Towards the end of the driveway sat Lucius' sleek black car.

"Gimme the keys," Hannah gently demanded. She released Ophelia's hand and took them. Ophelia went to the passenger side as Hannah entered the driver side. Once safely in the car, Hannah cranked it to life. The sound of gravel peeling away beneath the tires filled the silence. Neither really dared to breathe as they sped away from the strange house they'd been captive in.

"If I'd known it was that easy, I would've done it long ago," Ophelia stated, only half-joking. It did seem too easy. Way too fucking easy, Hannah thought. With one hand, she fiddled with the car's internal GPS. As she tapped the words Silver Spring Police Department into the device, she marveled at how deeply Lucius had ingrained himself into her psyche. Words, mannerisms, questions—they were all part of Lucius' supreme mindfuck. He obviously lacked confidence in his kidnapping skills, so he made escape appear impossible. Closed in and vulnerable, both girls believed him—at least in the beginning. Those mind games almost ended with both she and Ophelia being killed. I'll never allow someone to get at me like that again, she thought.

"You are on the fastest route. You should arrive at your destination in one hour, twenty-one minutes," the GPS intoned into the car. The girls said nothing; they simply linked hands and drove on, exhilarated. They were alive. Completely alive and completely free.

######################################################################################################

Lucius slowly opened his eyes. Scorching pain took his breath away as his eyes adjusted to the dim overhead light. How long have I been out? It felt like hours, maybe even a day, had passed. Am I at the hospital? Do they know?

"They got away." Lucius heard the words, but he couldn't make out the voice. The pain was too strong, too powerful, but his eyes adjusted just enough for him to know that he was still in Hannah's room. He pulled at the restraints. He was still bound.

"What-?" His question died in the air. He was not met with an answer; instead, he was met with a crushing blow to his already shattered knee-caps. He screamed and cried in agony as another blow was delivered.

"We trusted you!" The voice had to be loud to be heard amongst his screams. "We gave you the simple jobs, and you managed to fuck it up—eighteen years of work. Fucking gone! In the blink of an eye—all the plans—the late night meetings-time away from-"

"I—I—I-" Lucius interrupted, but he couldn't quite get the words out. "I-I-I'm s—s-sss-orry." His eyes were closed in reaction to his pain.

"Open your eyes." It was a demand, not a request. Lucius, unable to do anything else, complied. As his eyes focused, he saw his punisher. "I already know what happened. The girls arrived at Silver Springs PD an hour or so ago—Jack was good enough to call me on that." Brittle laughter filled the air.

"Where's J—Ja—Jack?" Lucius asked. It almost sounded like begging.

"He knows you can't be saved." It was a matter-of-fact statement. "He didn't even try to help your cause, trust me."

"Please—I'll do anything," Lucius replied.

"You should have done your job," was the reply. He closed his eyes once more as the barrel of a Glock pressed firmly against his forehead. His fate was sealed.

"Open your eyes. I want you to see my face as you die."

Cautiously, his eyes blinked open. As the room came into focus, he turned his head towards his would-be murderer. At first, his vision was so blurry that all he could make out was blonde hair; then, as the haze began to clear, he could see everything.

"Please, Sarah," he begged. "You're a mother. Please. Show me mercy-"

The last syllable died with Lucius. Sarah Sinclair was as merciful as she could be—she emptied the ammunition into his skull, satisfied with the instant kill. She hadn't expected the news of Hannah and Ophelia's escape, but she knew it didn't matter. This mission was set into motion years ago, the plan too intricate to stop, just because the kid fucked it up. It was too far gone to give up now.

SAMCRO will pay for what they have done, she thought. As will the Tellers. She laid eyes on Lucius one last time, ambivalent. It sucked having to kill such a young kid, but there was no room for sloppy now. This wasn't a corporate world—their world was a constant run of checks and balances.

"Damned shame," she murmured, shutting his eyes. Just another casualty of war. It had to be done. As she walked out she knew it was inevitable—in fact, she was surprised he'd lasted that long.

"Goodbye, Lucius." Her voice was frozen as she turned away, only looking back long enough to ensure the door shut behind her.