Page 31 of The Hive Queen

Trent grabs his wife out from under Savannah’s arm. “What if I want to spend time alone with my wife tonight?”

“Then you should have been faster on the invite.” Savannah leans over to whisper in Elizabeth’s ear, causing the older woman to blush and giggle.

“You three have more energy than I do. I’m beat and heading back to my hotel.” I push my chair in and turn toward the door. “I need my beauty sleep before my flight tomorrow.”

“Wait up.” Trent returns his wife to Savannah’s arms. “Don’t run off without me, you two. I just need a second.”

Standing, he stumbles to his feet to chase after me through the crowded bar.

I wait for him by the door, and he motions for us to go outside.

As the bar door swings shut behind us, it cuts off the ruckus from inside, and the quiet of the night comes as a relief against my overstimulated senses.

I turn to Trent and arch a brow. “What’s up?”

He digs into his vest pocket and pulls out a thick brown envelope. “Here. Jerry wanted you to have his full cut, as thanks for saving Savannah’s stupid ass.”

I lift my hands and take a step back. “You already paid me what you promised. There’s no need for extra.”

“Just take it.” Trent slaps the envelope against my chest and releases it, leaving me no choice but to catch it or let it fall to the ground. “Use it to buy something nice for the people you left back in Clearhelm.”

Trent knows I don’t need money any more than he does. We do this business because we love it. But I appreciate the gesture and tuck the money away.

When he doesn’t go back inside the bar to join the others, though, I realize this was just a lead-in to what he really wanted to say. “Was there something else?”

“You’re always welcome on my team. Jobs run smoother with another level head around to offset those two.” He tips his head toward the entrance to the bar.

It feels like there’s more to the statement. “But?”

“Just don’t run here too often, you hear? This line of work we do, we’re lucky as hell to find people who want to stand by our sides and love us,” he says gruffly. “Take it from me, though. They’ll put up with a lot of shit, but there’s a breaking point when the bad times outweigh the good. Fix whatever’s going on in your head, because you don’t want to go home one day to an empty house.”

With a nod of farewell, Trent ducks back into the bar, leaving his words hanging heavy in the air.

I turn and head down the block. The hotel where I booked a room when I first arrived in town isn’t far from where they decided to celebrate.

As I walk, his words continue to circle in my head. I know I’ve been running. I just didn’t realize I was that obvious about it. But I don’t know if there’s a cure for what’s wrong with my head. Or rather, the voice that’s missing from it.

Darius had become a part of me, and now there’s a gaping, raw wound where he existed.

How am I supposed to sew that shut? How am I supposed to go home, be near Flint, and not think about how Darius’s death is on his hands? It’s his fault this happened, and I keep hoping that the feeling will go away. That distance will make it hurt less. But the pain refuses to stop.

If I run away from my people, it might break us. But when I’m there, I feel like a ticking timebomb with a clock I can’t stop. The explosion is going to happen, and there’s no way to know what the fallout will be when it does.

My hand lifts to the amulet that hides beneath my shirt. Focum’s Heart. The broken fire-amulet that came to life the second Darius stopped breathing. He went to great lengths to get it for me to prepare for him leaving my body, and his sacrifice made it work again.

Every pulse reminds me that my survival was bought at the cost of Darius’s heart.

My fingers clench around it, the desire to rip it off nearly overwhelming. Without its presence, the fires inside me would be free to rage, free to burn until I felt nothing at all. The hard edges dig into my palm, the warmth of the gem growing until it hurts to hold.

Burning wouldn’t solve anything, though. I’d just come back, and everything Darius did for me would be for nothing.

Slowly, I force my fist open and stare at the angry red burn on my palm. It hurts with a deep, throbbing pain that I welcome. Without Darius inside me, I heal at a normal speed, and this scar will be a reminder of how fragile I am now. At least until I die again, and then even the scar will vanish.

Maybe I should do that, too. Vanish until I can be sure I won’t lash out at the people I love.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. When I pull it out to see Pen’s name on the screen, thoughts of vanishing slip away. Despite my lack of responses, Pen has sent me a simple message every night reminding me of her love and that my family is there waiting for my return.

The homesickness comes back with a rush. I can’t abandon them. I need Pen’s soft embrace and quiet understanding, her fierce protectiveness and the joy we share in a good fight. I need Sharpe’s quick mind and steadfastness, and I need Flint’s laughter and refusal for me to linger too long in my own thoughts.

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