Hot and Badgered (Honey Badger Chronicles, #1)

by Shelly Laurenston

“I hear you girls have had a bad time of it lately, huh?” The girls stared at him, but said nothing. But the middle one, she suddenly waved at him. As if in greeting. Surprisingly—and just downright annoying—Billy winked back and pointed his finger at the girl. A move he considered “sexy.” Yuck. He went on. “Look, I’m sorry to hear about Carlie. I always liked her. A weird wolf but fun. Ya know?” Of course they didn’t know! They were kids! Idiot! Billy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands in front of him. His “sincere” look. “I know this will be hard for you guys to understand but . . . you can stay,” he told the

oldest, an adorable brown-skinned girl with lots of curly hair and a pretty face. “But you two can’t. I know,” he continued, “I know this is hard to hear. But you might as well learn now how the real world works.” Something told Betsey these girls already knew how the real world worked. While Billy blathered on, the middle girl sat her younger half-sister down on the bench beside Billy and abruptly walked off. She moved over to the bushes and flowers that had been planted around the yard wall, head down, like she was searching for something. And while she looked, Billy talked to Charles’s granddaughter. Just like her grandfather, her face revealed nothing. It was blank. Impassive. The middle sister, a very tiny Asian girl with black hair that had a white streak through it, picked something up and returned to her sister’s side. Together they gazed at Billy until

he noticed that the middle girl was holding something in her hand. His smirk turned into a full-blown smile. Betsey had never met someone who enjoyed bringing out the worst in everyone like Billy did. Even desperate children who’d just lost their mother! “Is that for me, sweetheart? You going to hit the big, bad wolf with that little rock?” He leaned in and his voice became so hard. Harder than Betsey had ever heard it. “You swing that thing at me, little girl, and you’ll be on the first bus to the closest foster agency. Maybe, after a few years, you’ll meet up with your loser mom in prison. You can have a mother-daughter reunion behind bars.” If Billy was hoping to ma...

Charles’s granddaughter nodded once and the middle girl pulled her arm back and with some mighty force for a kid, she swung her fist with the rock in it. Knuckles made contact and Betsey blinked in shock when she heard something break in the oldest girl’s face just before she hit the ground. The youngest glanced up at the sound, but her expression was passive as well. Billy, on the other hand, reared back in shock. “What in holy—” While he was busy trying to figure out what was going on, the middle girl grabbed his left hand—and now Betsey understood the weirdly timed wave earlier—and placed it on the bench. She raised the rock and brought it down hard—onto Billy’s knuckles...

The kind of sobbing that would get the attention of any She-wolf in a twenty-mile radius. All the adults at home appeared in the backyard. And what did they see? Two little girls sobbing hysterically. Another little girl nursing her bleeding, broken cheek while bravely attempting to hold back tears, and Billy . . . with busted knuckles. The middle girl’s knuckles were also bruised and bloody, but she held her baby sister close and had her hand curled into a fist and pressed against the child’s side, ensuring that none of the adults could see it. Charles moved through the adults until he stood front and center. Betsey had never seen the older wolf like that. He’d always been the calm o...

But now . . . Charles was beyond angry. His brown eyes narrow, his breathing heavy, his entire body stiff, a slight tremor running through him every few seconds. And all while he gazed down at Billy. Searching the crowd and seeing no friends, Billy shook his head and raised his hands, palms out. “Wait a second, I didn’t . . . it wasn’t me!” But with his hands raised like that, all anyone could see was the blood dripping between his fingers and slowly pouring down his wrist. Desperate, Billy pointed at the middle girl. “It was her!” As one, the adults all looked at the little Asian girl holding onto her baby sister. And, for a split second, Betsey saw the middle girl’s face harden in a way that was a little too adult for a kid so young. The adults never saw it, though, because the youngest girl placed her sobbing face right in front of her sister’s. Done on purpose? Betsey wouldn’t have thought so. She seemed too young, but after everything that had happened . . . “It was!” Billy insisted. “It was her! I would never hit a kid! I wouldn’t!” With a nasty snarl from the back of his throat, Charles reached down, grabbed Billy by his leather jacket, and yanked him off the bench. The a...

at them as was his way. Betsey was sure he had no idea how he must look to people who didn’t know what was going on in his head. But the three sisters gazed back at him without flinching. Sighing, he started to turn away, and Betsey knew he was trying to figure out what to do next. What to do about the two girls who were not his blood. Not related to him in any way except that his daughter had made them her own. But before he could walk away, the youngest girl reached out and gripped his forefinger with her hand, small fingers squeezing tight. And like that . . . Charles suddenly had three granddaughters instead of one. He reached down and picked up the youngest in his arms. “Let’s get you a room and something to eat,” he suggested, although it sounded like the orders from a drill sergeant. The eldest grabbed her grandfather’s forearm and the middle girl, not as tall as her elder sister yet, grabbed the chain that attached his wallet to his jeans. Together, in silence, they headed back to the house. Betsey waited a few minutes before she crept down the tree trunk and shifted back to human. She put on her clothes and went around the side of the house, so she could enter through t...

AP classes so she could get into college even earlier than she’d planned. ...

What had she been thinking? Using the “Ride of the Valkyries” as a ringtone? Because that shit waking a person up at six in the morning was just cruel. Really cruel.

He was calmer now. He could be rational. But when the man again faced him, Berg felt a little twinge in his side. He slowly looked down . . . and found a combat blade sticking out. First he’d been shot. Now stabbed. His grizzly rage soared once again and, as the intruder—quickly recognizing his error—attempted to fight his way out of Berg’s grasp, desperately begging for his life, Berg grabbed each side of his attacker’s face and squeezed with both hands . . . until the man’s head popped like a zit. It was the blood and bone hitting him in the face that snapped Berg back into the moment, and he gazed down at his brain-covered hands. “Oh, shit,” he muttered. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“You’re bleeding.” “Yes. And please stop playing with the

knife.” Coop pulled his hand away from the blade handle and attempted to look contrite. “Sorry. Does it hurt?”

Slowly, Berg faced Coop and noted, “You’re not used to real life, are you?” “Not really. Why?” “This is going to be big.” When Coop’s head tipped to the side like a confused schnauzer, he added, “The hotel room of some big-time penis was just violently invaded.” “It’s pianist.” “Yeah. I said that.” No. He hadn’t.

Max MacKilligan asked, “Miss me?” “Can you just drive?” Charlie got into the passenger seat. “But be careful. You still have human stuck to the grill.” “I should let him shoot you? What kind of sister would I be?” “One I don’t have to visit in an Italian prison.” Chuckling, Max put the car in reverse and Charlie worked hard to ignore the short-lived begging and too-long crunching sounds coming from under the car as she pulled out. Charlie knew her sister was taking her time

driving back over the gunman. Max “Kill It Again” MacKilligan was known for being vengeful.

She looked at Max and immediately cringed at the sight. “Oh, wow. They really beat the shit out of you.” “Excuse me,” Max replied, indignant. “These lacerations and bruises are not because of the men who came to kill me. With my usual aplomb, I have dealt with those scumbags.” “Uh-huh. Then what did happen?” “Why do we have to discuss that? Our lives are in danger.” Charlie gazed at her sister for a few moments before guessing, “Squirrels again?” “They started it!”

“How hard is it to keep an eye on one woman? I take six months. And you take six months. That was our agreement.” “Why is she still our responsibility?” “Because she’s our sister and we love her and if we don’t watch out for her, she will get involved with the wrong people, and destroy the world. Is that what you want?” “You always ask me that question, and you’re always disappointed with my answer.” Charlie sighed. “Well, we need to find her.” “I know.” “She’s in as much danger as we are.” “I know.” “They sent trained military after us.” “I know.” “And I know this car is stolen.”

“Of course it’s stolen.” “Well, that seems like kind of a problem since we have cops behind us.” “Buckle up.” “Oh, God.” Charlie put on the seat belt. “We’re going to die before we even get to her.” “Stop whining. You know how hard we are to kill.” “Hard to kill doesn’t mean we can’t lose body parts in tragic car accidents. And we can’t exactly save our little sister if we’re both in prison . . . and legless.” “What is your obsession with losing your legs?” “It could happen!”

“If you lose your legs, I’ll get you a wheelchair with a Ferrari motor that goes from zero to sixty in four seconds. Wouldn’t that be great?” Hands pressed against the dashboard, Charlie admitted, “I’d rather have my legs still attached to my body.” “That’s such a narrow view. What about bionic legs?” “Schoolchildren,” Charlie warned. “Bionic legs would be so cool.” “Schoolchildren!” “I see them. Calm yourself.” The car stopped—somehow—and Max patiently waited for the children and their teachers to get across the street. Out of nowhere, she began to whistle “H.R. Pufnstuf.”

it’s a mental hospital! Not a resort!” “To her, all mental hospitals are resorts. Besides, it could be worse,” Max said happily. “This could all be so much worse!” Charlie shook her head. “Dude, I seriously don’t know how.”

“All right,” Charlie began, “you know the drill.” Max nodded and flatly replied, “Go in. Kill everybody. Get Stevie out.” Charlie briefly closed her eyes, took a moment to breathe and try to relax her shoulders. When she felt she wouldn’t yell, she said, “That is not the drill.” “It could be.” “Could be, but it isn’t. The drill is we go in, I do all the talking, you don’t pick on Stevie.” “She’s too sensitive.” “But because you already know that, you’re not going to pick on her.” Max smiled. “What if I really want to?” “Then I’ll let her take your eye out this time. And you’ll wear an eyepatch . . . and we’ll call you One-Eye McGee.”

“I know you’re working hard to be a sociopath, but stop it.” “Sociopath is in the eye of the—” “—forensic psychologist working for the prosecution?”

Something was really wrong if her sisters had come here to get her. Because they’d come to protect her. And this idiot doctor had sent them away. Had they really left, though? Had they really gone away? Maybe they were still around. Maybe she had time to catch up to them. Stevie turned to Dr. Gaertner and calmly explained how she needed to find her sisters before it was too late and that she would, unfortunately, be forced to leave the clinic much

sooner than she’d originally planned . . . Oh, wait. That’s how Stevie had planned to handle it in her head. With logic and reason and a calm, rational demeanor. But when she faced Gaertner, just seeing his face made her angry. Angry that she was now alone and frightened because—without speaking to her—he’d sent her sisters away. He should have spoken to her first. He should have said something! And her fear led to panic, which led to her hissing and throwing herself at Gaertner, knocking him to the ground, and wrapping her hands around his throat. Sitting on his chest, she hissed again, this time right into his face, and she had a feeling her eyes had shifted color because his own eyes widened and she suddenly smelled urine, meaning the man had pissed on himself. Huh. Maybe not just her eyes. Maybe her fangs had made an appearance too. That happened when she lost control. That’s why she went to places like this. To get control of her panic disorder with the help of talk therapy and medications. To learn how to manage it and to fully understand it so that she didn’t have what her coworkers fondly called “a MacKilligan episode.” And Gaertner had been right. Stevie had been doing well! She had been feeling better. More in control without any additional meds. But her sisters had come here, and they didn’t bother her lightly. Her sisters never got in the way of her work or her mental health. They worried about her, and they sometimes babied her, but they never would have just ...

“Fucked up now.” She would have made that clear to Gaertner if she’d thought about it, but it never occurred to her that he’d stop her sisters from visiting. That he thought they were somehow the reason behind her panic disorder. If anything, her sisters were the reason Stevie hadn’t spent most of her life in a straitjacket at Bellevue. Their pesky ways and less-than-stellar educations allowed Stevie some much-needed distraction from the cacophony of sights, sounds, and information that packed her brain each and every day. The truth was, her sisters kept her sane, which was more than this damn doctor was doing! Big, strong hands gripped Stevie and yanked her off the doctor, and someone shoved a needle in her arm. A strong drug was injected into her veins and she felt a brief moment of euphoria. A moment that allowed those holding her to think she’d been controlled. But Stevie wasn’t completely human and, even worse for the staff, she was half honey badger. And thanks to her father’s confused genes, her body didn’t process drugs and poison the way an ordinary full-human or shifter did. Even the medications she took to manage her panic disorder had to be tested and retested contin...

panic now—other people’s screaming always freaked her out—Stevie screamed along with him as she ...

Charlie placed her hands on the hood and asked, “What’s it like to be you, Max? Not to care? Ever?” Max shrugged. “It’s awesome.”

“I’m not going to argue with you today,” Charlie announced. More for her own benefit than for Max’s because Max didn’t give a shit. “We have too much going on.” “So, do you want me to look intensely at the map like it’s still 1982?” Max asked. “You know, rather than just using my fucking phone to take us anywhere we need to go in any part of the world?” Charlie briefly wondered if slamming her sister’s head against the SUV’s hood would be considered “arguing” when the front doors of the clinic burst open and her baby sister came rushing through.

An orderly instinctively reached out and grabbed the hysterical Stevie, but that was not a good move. Not a good move at all. Stevie spun and slammed the palm of her hand up, ramming the orderly’s nose and crushing it. He released her and, even though the others hadn’t moved, Stevie kicked one orderly in the groin, another in the leg, breaking the fibula with a cracking sound that echoed around the quiet area. Another got a punch to the face that seemed to break his jaw and cheekbone, and the last was punched in the throat. The orderly that had followed her outside had spun back around and returned to the safety of the center in order to get reinforcements. That’s when, screaming like she was on fire, Stevie ran for her life, so oblivious to everything around her, she didn’t even see Charlie and Max standing there, watching her. She just took off running. And, with the tiger

blood flowing through her veins, she hit forty miles per hour pretty damn quickly. Max watched their panic-riddled sister tear off across the front lawn and hit the road that would lead out to the main highway. “Guess the doc told her we’d been here.” Then she laughed because, well . . . it...

Both sisters screamed and ducked down, hands over their heads; the entire SUV bucked from the explosion. They waited a few seconds before sitting up and staring out the front window with their mouths open, as the remains of the chopper landed all around their vehicle. And with the chopper were the remains of several men, their charred bodies—and pieces from those bodies—banging against the vehicle and ground with nauseating thuds. Charlie heard Max humming and turned to see that she had the back door open and was returning the weapon she held to its case. “A rocket launcher?” Charlie exploded. “Oh, my God!” Stevie gasped. “Have you lost your mind?” Max shrugged. “What? I wasn’t about to get into a shoot-out with them. That’s a military

chopper. Did you see the Gatling guns on the sides?” “I don’t care, you idiot! What are we supposed to tell the Swiss authorities?” Frowning, Max asked, “Why would we talk to anybody about this?” She closed the back door, went around the SUV, and got into the driver’s side. She stared out the front window for a moment, got back out of the SUV, and walked around the front, kicking bodies and big, burning chunks of the helicopter out of the way to make a path through the debris. When Max returned to the vehicle, she buckled her seat belt and glanced back at Charlie and Stevie. “Ready to go?” she asked, smiling. Chipper even. In fact, extremely chipper. Like they were going to brunch.

“Stop smiling,” Charlie ordered her sister. And, of course, Max’s smile grew until it took up most of her face. Charlie nearly had her hands around Max’s throat but Stevie wrapped her arms around her and dragged her back against the seat. “What are you mad at me for?” Max asked, oblivious as always. “Just go,” Stevie ordered. “And shut up.” “Both of you are so moody.”

“Get out. I have to set this thing on fire.” Charlie stared at her sister. “Are you just on a rampage? What are you doing?” “Don’t worry. We have another car waiting right there. We’re totally covered.” With another pleasant smile, Max walked off.

As Charlie walked, she smelled smoke from behind her just before Max ran up to them. Another bag was hanging from her shoulder. And the . . . Charlie stopped and her sisters stopped with her. “You brought the rocket launcher?” “You expect me to leave it? Do you know how much these things cost? Especially these really compact ones? Are you nuts?” she scoffed before heading off again.

Stevie could go from zero to hysterical in six seconds. She was the Ferrari of panic.

“It’s Dad . . .” Charlie briefly closed her eyes. “Let me guess. He’s in jail. He wants bail. Well, fuck him! I’m a thousand percent positive that

we’re on the run because of him. So he can stay in jail until he rots.” “He’s dead,” Maxie abruptly announced. “They need someone to identify the body.” Stevie put her hand to her chest and turned away from them, her head bowed, shoulders beginning to shake, her pain and grief clear to anyone who might be near. Charlie and Max, however, didn’t hesitate to silently bop around each other, performing dance moves they really shouldn’t because they just didn’t have the talent for it. However, it wasn’t a dance of skill, but of excitement. Of relief. Of downright giddiness. Neither sister spoke as they boogied around each other because words weren’t necessary. But despite their silence . . . Stevie slapped her hand against the Range Rover and snarled, “I know what you two are doing back there and stop it! He’s still our father!”

“The never-ending, battling sisters,” was what the Pack had called Max and Stevie. And it was true. The pair of them could and would go at it until someone separated them or an ambulance had to be called. The thing was, an ambulance rarely had to be called for either Max or Stevie. If there was one thing that was true about all MacKilligan females . . . they could take a beating. But teachers, coaches, strangers on the street, anyone who thought it was a good idea to get between the sisters to stop them from fighting always found out the hard way that it was not. But Charlie wasn’t some stranger on the street. She knew how to handle her sisters. It was the first thing her mother had taught her when she realized how poorly the two got along. Going behind both women, Charlie grabbed

Max by the tough skin of her back and swung her one way, then the other. Poor Stevie forced to go with her. And while Charlie swung, she kept chanting, “Let her go, let her go, let her go.” Until Max did what she was told to do.

the key in the lock but she hadn’t opened the door. Instead, she stood frozen to the spot, her ears twitching right along with her nose. Then her eyes narrowed. “Livy?” She yanked the keys out of the lock and her lips pulled back over her honey badger fangs. Then, her dark eyes growing even darker, Livy growled out, “Badger.” “Livy, wait—” “Badger!” Livy stepped back and kicked the door open, even though she had the keys in her hand and it was a thousand-dollar lockset on the door. Vic grabbed for her, but she jerked away and charged into their apartment, throwing her entire body at the female honey badger standing by Livy’s much-beloved armchair. Her favorite chair in the whole apartment. Nope. This would not end well.

And that’s when he saw her. She’d been sitting silently on the couch, but when he locked eyes on her, she suddenly seemed to . . . panic. Like a house cat. Yeah. That was it. She panicked like a house cat! The woman scrambled onto all fours, her back arched. She bared her fangs, her hiss of warning skittering across the room violently. So violently that the sound alone made the furniture move. So much so that both the badgers were briefly distracted. Blinking at each other and turning toward the female on the couch. And when they did . . . she really freaked out. Jumping straight up, she flipped in midair

until she hit the high ceiling, her claws digging into the drywall . . . And that’s where she stayed, hissing at them all with a rage that shook the windows. The shaking becoming worse when she suddenly roared. “What the fuck is happening?” a voice bellowed from the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

“Don’t you see, Charlie?” Stevie leaned in, the scent of panic beginning to come off her in big, booming waves. “Bears kill. Bears kill,

Charlie! And they’re going to kill all of us!” Charlie quickly walked to the couch and grabbed a backpack from the floor. She pulled out a bottle of prescription pills, glanced at the label, then held it out for the other woman. “Take this,” she ordered Stevie before focusing on Vic and demanding, “Glass of water.” Vic moved. Rushing out of the room and returning in seconds. He handed the glass to Stevie, and Charlie placed several tablets into the woman’s hand. “Take them.” “But—” Stevie tried. “Take them.” Stevie did as ordered.

“We’re all going to die here,” Stevie insisted, pointing at Max. “And it’ll be all your—” Stevie’s rant abruptly stopped and her head dropped forward. After a few seconds, she began to drool. Max looked at Charlie. “What the fuck did you give her?” “Her Xanax. To deal with her panic.” “Are you sure that’s what you gave her? Because you’re not wearing your glasses and she seems to be having a very . . . intense reaction.” Charlie reached down and grabbed the bottle of pills out of her sister’s bag again. She brought the bottle so close, her eyes narrowing into thin slits, that Berg knew Max hadn’t been lying. This was a shifter, who was not ninety years old, yet actually needed glasses because she couldn’t see. She was nearsighted. A shifter? Nearsighted? That was so . . . weird. “Uh-oh,” Charlie said, the pill bottle practically touching her nose. Max stared at her sister. “What?” She cringed and held the bottle up. “It’s lithium.” “Dude!” Max burst out along with a loud laugh. “I know! I know.” She dropped the bottle and grabbed a seemingly unconscious Stevie. She shook her sister. Then she slapped her. “Stevie! Stevie!” When her sister didn’t respond, Charlie released her and threw up her hands. “I’ve killed her. Of course I’ve killed her. I knew one day I’d kill you all.”

Still yelling at her mother, Livy paced back into the living room from the hallway. Without making a sound, Max charged her cousin. Livy was so busy being angry, she didn’t even see her. But taking a step out, Charlie swung her arm in front of Max. Max’s neck ran right into Charlie’s forearm—and it was like she hit a stone wall. Legs coming up while her head didn’t move. Then she was flung backward. The badger hit the floor hard . . . laughing and coughing. Livy missed all of it. Swinging around suddenly and pacing back the other way, still yelling at her mother.

“Who’s going to behave in her cousin’s house?” she asked. “Oh, come on!” Max said, still laughing. Charlie leaned down and clapped her hands three times. “Maxie!” “I promise! I promise! I won’t start anything!’ “Or finish.” Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Arguments begun at family dinners when you’re nine years old do not need to be avenged when you’re twenty-seven. Do we understand each other?” “I told her I’d kill her one day. And I meant it.” “You were nine.” “I still meant it.”

Berg headed deep into the apartment until he found the bathroom Charlie was in. She’d put on jeans and was bent over at the waist, finger-combing her wet hair. Not wanting to startle her, he quietly waited. But Berg was having a hard time not staring. She looked really good in those jeans. Then Charlie abruptly stood and Berg realized she wasn’t wearing a shirt. Just a sheer, lacy bra. He was so surprised, he tried to turn away but rammed into the doorway instead, nearly knocking himself out.

“Just look at her out there,” Livy said, pointing at her cousin, who was standing in the living room by the younger sister. “What do you see?” “A woman quietly standing by her still-unconscious sister?” Shen asked. “Vic, do you see what’s wrong with her?” “Yes,” he said with an eye roll. “But it’s