Page 79 of The Hive Queen

He draws me into a hug. “Get our boy patched up and tucked into bed at home.”

I nod against his chest. “Yes, sir.”

His cheek presses against the side of my head. “I have a meeting with Chief Lynch in the morning, and then we’ll meet in the conference room at headquarters to come up with a game plan.”

“Try to get some rest somewhere in there.” I step back. “There’s coffee in the van, if you need it. We brought your soup, too, but Paul drank that.”

His lips twitch. “I’ll have to have a word with him about that.”

“See that you do.” I back away before I give in to temptation and demand he hold me again. “We’ll see you in a few hours.”

He nods. “Be safe.”

“You, too.” Turning on my heel, I head back down to the street to collect my partners.

It will still be several hours before any of us rest.

short tempers

- Marc -

Just before noon,I pull into a parking spot in the underground garage at the Woo Woo Squad.

Before I even turn off the engine, Flint opens the passenger door and falls out of the van. He catches his balance and limps toward the elevator, Anny at his side.

Not even an hour in the healing waters at the Conservatory last night, followed by a sedative to put him to sleep, could repair the damage Amalia’s little bomb had dealt.

Pretty boy had been hiding severe road rash and deep bruising under his clothes that hadn’t come to light until we stripped him down. That he hadn’t made a single joke during the process was another sign of how much he hurt.

“Hey, where’s the fire?” I yell as I shut off the engine. “The meeting doesn’t start for another five minutes!”

He ignores me, his focus on the elevator.

Pen rubs the bags under her eyes and gives her empty coffee cup a mournful stare before scooting across the bench seat to the door Flint left open.

No one had gotten enough sleep last night. The few hours I had managed were filled with nightmares of peeling skin that woke me up retching, phantom pain burning over my entire body. I can still feel the moment my flesh became too thin to hold me together, and my intestines spilled out.

Shaking off the memory of the dream, I slide out of the driver’s door and stride around to walk beside Pen. “Flint’s in no condition to fight.”

Pen fiddles with the baton clipped to her belt. “It’s just a strategy meeting.”

Despite the words, worry emanates from her as we close the lead Flint had on us.

The next time I see Amalia, it won’t be such a happy reunion. We raised that kid like she was our own, and she could have killed Flint with that stunt she pulled.

Before we left the scene last night, I went up to see the roof to check out the scene for myself. While I was up there, I saw the dent left by the explosion. Just as we taught her, Amalia hadn’t pulled any punches, but those skills were never meant to be turned on us.

We catch up as Flint reaches the elevator, and his arm trembles when he stretches it out to press the button.

He should have stayed home, but when Pen and I got ready to leave for the meeting earlier, Flint had shuffled out of his room, dressed to the nines as if a crisp button-up and a fitted vest could compensate for the pain that tightened his face with every movement.

It’s bad enough that it affects his ability to maintain his glamour, his missing eye and twisted scars flickering in and out of view beneath the usual perfection of his face.

He won’t like revealing his true self to the people upstairs, but there’s nothing we can do about it if he refuses to stay home.

When the elevator arrives, we step on in silence, and I lean over to press the button for the main floor to spare Flint the pain of moving his arm more than necessary. He should really wear a sling, but he flat-out refused when Pen pulled one out last night.

Anny presses against Flint’s leg as we head up to the main floor, her tail tucked between her legs. She doesn’t like Flint’s injuries any more than the rest of us do.

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