Page 95 of Honey Bee Hearts

“Shit,” I rasp. “Shit, shit, shit. They’re fucking drug lords. Or. . . something.”

I don’t know what they are. I didn’t ask. Does it matter when they have millions of dollars of cocaine just sitting in their fucking barn?

I leap to my feet. “I gotta call. . . someone. The cops?”

I pull out my phone and stare at the screen. I flick open the call app and hit 9-1-1. My finger hovers over the send button, hesitates.

“For fuck’s sake,” I grunt. “They’re keeping you prisoner, Fable. Just do it.” When I still can’t bring myself to hit the button, I growl in frustration and throw my phone on the bed.

Jinx appears, her eyes on me as I start to pace back and forth, my breathing growing more and more erratic as panic really starts to set in. I’m fucked! This whole situation is fucked! I should have just minded my own business like they told me. I should have let it go.

“What a conundrum,” Jinx says from her place on the bed. She sighs as I start hyperventilating. “You’re going to pass out if you keep doing that, Everhart.”

I whirl on her, my chest tight, the corners of my vision growing fuzzy. I point my finger at her as tears start to drip over my lashes at a faster rate. The panic attack sets in so thoroughly, I get angry at it, at her.

“This is all your fault!” I scream. I grab the vase from the mantle and throw it, watching as it shatters against the wall behind Jinx. “You should be here with me! You should be here right now!” I cry, picking up something else and throwing it, gasping for air through my anger and my fear.

Her eyes grow sad as she looks at me. “I know, Everhart,” she whispers. “I know.”

I collapse to my knees, my chest so tight, I can’t draw in air. I curl into a ball and hug my knees, the world descending into static so badly, I barely feel when Jethro lays beside me.

“Breathe, Everhart,” Jinx’s voice whispers in my mind.

But I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. . .

Chapter 51

Rhett

“Look, Fable. It’s not what you think,” I practice as I walk across the yard. “We’re not drug lords. We’re just drug traffickers. Big difference.” I groan at my words. “No. That sounds fucking bad. I can’t say that shit.”

I run a hand through my hair in frustration. I don’t know how to approach this situation, but it’s better to be me tell the story rather than the others. Colt is likely to make things worse than he already has. Trent will gloss over too many details. And Gunnar, Gunnar doesn’t know the whole story, not like I do. Because really, this is all my fault. We’re here because of me, not because of anyone else. I was a stupid kid, a desperate one, and part of me thought I wouldn’t live to see this day come where Circle Bee was sustaining itself without the drugs, but here we are.

And now there’s no way out.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” I tell myself.

Not even just because of the drug stuff, but because of Fable. I thought I could just fuck her out of my system and walk away like I’ve always done, but there’s something about the woman that threads its way through you when you spend time with her.I’d started these thirty days looking for fun and entertainment. Now, I don’t care whether this is all fate or not. If it’s not, I’ll wrap my own red thread around her pinky and tie it so tight she ain’t ever gonna escape it.

Part of me wants to whoop Colt’s ass for doing this. But another part of me, a darker part of me, wants to thank him. Because if I can find a way to keep Fable here, I’m going to. I may have a hard time saying it out loud, but I’ve decided she belongs here. Apparently, we all have, but this may have been the wrong way to go about it. Surely, we could have just asked her to stay.

But. . .

There’s no way she wouldn’t have found out eventually. She’s a smart woman, and she was already suspicious. We barely kept it a secret as long as we have.

I growl and leap up onto the cabin porch. I make quick work of the padlock Trent had slapped on the outside and go to grab the knob, but I hesitate. Wincing, I reach up and knock on the door instead, figuring that’s probably a better approach than just barging in. Plus, she may be prepared with something heavy. I really don’t want to get brained by a sewing machine.

When she doesn’t answer, I frown and knock again. “Fable? Can we talk?”

Nothing.

“I’m coming in,” I say. “Please don’t hit me over the head with a frying pan or something.”

I turn the knob and slowly ease the door open. Nothing comes flying through the air to hit me, so I push it open the rest of the way. My eyes immediately go to the center of the room. Fable is lying in the fetal position on the floor, Jethro whining beside her. She’s shaking, damn near convulsing, her breathing so erratic, I wonder how she’s getting any air.

“Fuck,” I groan, rushing inside. “Hey, Fable. Look at me. Shh, I’ve got you.”

She doesn’t respond, too lost to her panic attack, and I curse myself for letting her get thrown in here. Of course she’d panic. Of course she’d think we were about to fucking kill her or something. My chest tightens as I drop to my ass and pull her into my lap. She doesn’t react to me, but she starts to gasp out words between her breaths.

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