Hot and Badgered (Honey Badger Chronicles, #1)

by Shelly Laurenston

stupid.” “Tell him,” Livy pushed. Vic sighed. “She’s smiling.” “Exactly. And what the fuck does she have to smile about?” Livy moved back into the center of the kitchen. “That’s not normal behavior.” Shen shrugged. “Maybe she’s just happy.” “What honey badger do you know who’s fucking happy?” “Well—” “None! That’s who. Not unless liquor and snake poison’s involved. But her . . . ?” Livy finally admitted what everyone in the Yang family already knew. “She’s completely sober right now, which tells me one thing.” Vic gazed down at her. “Which is?” “She’s a serial killer.” “Because she . . . smiles?” “Yes.” * * *

Max glanced over her shoulder, cringed

when a corpse hit the glass window, followed by a desperate scream of rage. “So,” the detective standing next to her said, “I’m guessing that was not your father?” Max ducked before the leg torn off another John Doe corpse could hit her in the head. “Yeah. That’s not our dad . . . unfortunately.” “Then you’d better get your sister out of here before I have to arrest her for desecration of a corpse. Or multiple corpses.”

Berg walked into the room, cell phone in hand, eyes on Charlie. She stood in the middle of Vic and Livy’s living room, staring blankly at the far wall. The three sisters had just returned to the apartment, but he honestly didn’t know what was going on. Stevie rushed in from the kitchen with a glass of what looked like scotch on the rocks in her hand. “Drink this, Charlie. It’ll help.” Charlie’s blank gaze focused on the glass of scotch and she locked on it for several long seconds. Everyone in the room watched her watching the scotch. Berg had remained at Livy’s place because he’d found the sisters a place to stay and needed to take them there. Coop, however, refused to return to his own New York apartment because he wanted to “see what happens next!” His exact words. Dag and Shen were still hanging around because neither had anywhere interesting to go anyway. And Vic and Livy lived here. They all watched Charlie, the room silent. Until she suddenly barked, “I need to bake.” Her sisters quickly moved out of her way and she disappeared into the kitchen. “There’s nothing in there,” Livy called out to Charlie, “that anyone can use to bake.” She glanced at the others. “What? I don’t shop a lot.” “This is bad,” Stevie said softly. “When she starts baking . . .” “So,” Coop guessed, “it was your dad? I’m so sorr—” “Oh, no,” Max cut him off, her arm swinging out toward the big picture windows. “He’s still out there somewhere. Alive. Fucking up our lives.”

“Your father’s not dead?” Vic asked. Max and Stevie shook their heads. “And your sister’s upset because . . .” “He’s not dead.” Vic leaned back in his couch. “Didn’t see that coming.” Charlie suddenly walked back out of the kitchen, a bag of unopened flour in her hands. “Do you all realize—” “Uh-oh,” Stevie said softly, her head dropping. “—that the only reason we’re all here is because of my father?” She pointed at Coop. “You had to cancel the rest of your world tour because of my father.” She pointed at Berg. “You were shot and stabbed because of my father.” “I’m not sure we can blame him specifically—” She pointed at Livy. “You got in a fight with your cousin because of my father.” Pointed at Vic. “Strangers in your apartment because

of my father.” She gestured between her and Max and Stevie. “Recent attempts on our lives, most likely because of our idiot father.” “We don’t know,” Stevie interrupted, “that Daddy had anything to do with any of this.” Her sisters suddenly turned to her and stared. For a really long time. Until Stevie finally admitted, “It was probably him, but we don’t know it was him. That’s all I’m saying.” Making a sound of disgust, Charlie turned on her heel and walked back into the kitchen. “Where did she find the flour?” Livy asked Vic. “We have flour? ” “I don’t know why you’re all mad at me!” Stevie argued. “He is still our father!” “I’m not angry at you,” Dag suddenly announced, thoughtfully gazing across the room. “But I ...

oven?” A moment later Charlie returned from the kitchen. Now she held a stainless steel mixing bowl in the crook of her left arm and a wooden spoon in her right hand. And whatever she had in that bowl was taking a hell of a beating from that spoon. “No one is angry at you, Stevie,” Charlie stated, still mixing. “I don’t blame you for how you feel about that idiot.” “I call him Dad,” Stevie said to the others. “But we have a serious problem here. We’re not safe while he’s alive.” “I could track him down,” Max said. “Kill him.” She glanced at Stevie. “Cry a little about doing that if it will make you feel better.” Stevie’s eyes narrowed. “It wouldn’t.” “No, no.” Charlie shook her head, still mixing. “I can’t ask you to do that. If there’s one thing our father knows how to do, it’s hide. You’ll never find him, and you’ll just get frustrated.” “Because her frustration is everyone’s main concern in this particular conversation,” Vic muttered. “We need a safe place to hide,” Charlie reasoned, her mixing arm never stopping. “With Dad still alive and the ones trying to kill us still out there, we have to find a safe house. We may have to leave New York.” “I don’t think they’re trying to...

makes sense . . .” “If they wanted Stevie.” Charlie began mixing again. “Unbelievable,” she snapped. “He sold her again.” Vic’s head snapped up. “Wait . . . what?” But the sisters ignored him. “We’ve got to get out of here,” Charlie told her sisters. “Wait,” Berg said before they could leave. “I have a place for you guys. A safe place.” Charlie gave him a very small smile. “I don’t feel right getting you involved. You know . . . again.” “It’s already set up. I promise, you can’t find a safer place.” Max snorted. “Like we haven’t heard that before.” “If my brother says it’s safe,” Dag cut in, “it’s safe.” “Okay.” Charlie smiled even while Max appeared not to believe a word Berg was saying. But Berg didn’t care if the honey badger believed him or not. “Just give me ten minutes to finish the cookies and we’ll go.” She disappeared back into the kitchen and Max pointed at Berg. “You better be right about this. Or I’m going to get cranky.” “You can’t find a safer place than this ...

After Charlie put a plate of the most amazing honey-lemon sugar cookies Berg had ever tasted in Livy’s hands—“Where in the unholy fuck did you find s...

Max, with a small smile on her lips, gazed at random people on the train until they got up and moved.

You’re the only person I’ve ever met who didn’t have time to notice the Eiffel Tower while in Paris.” “I was busy!

“You three the sisters?” a gruff voice asked from behind them. Max instantly went for one of the knives she kept on her body at all times, forcing Charlie to grab her hand before she could pull one free. A skill she’d taught herself very early in life so that she could keep her middle sister out of juvenile detention and then, when Max was older, prison. Stevie, also startled, screamed like she’d been stabbed, her back arching, before she flipped herself onto the nearest tree trunk, her claws digging in. With a warning hiss, she scrambled backward up into the branches, disappearing among the leaves. The gruff man who’d been standing behind them stared at the tree, wide eyes wider. “Uhhhhh . . .”

“All Tiny cares about is that you guys are honey badgers,” Berg went on. “That’s going to be a problem with my neighbors,” Tiny admitted. “Especially the ones with hives.” “Why would that matter?” Charlie asked. She was confused until she realized Max had taken that particular moment to return to her side. A dripping honeycomb was in her hand and hundreds of angry bees were hanging from her face like some bizarre tribal mask. “Jesus!” Charlie snapped, quickly stepping away from her sister and waving more angry bees from her own face. Max gazed blankly at her, ignoring the other bees that were still attacking her like the horde they were. “What?” Max asked.

“You said we’d clean this place?” Max asked. With an eye roll, Charlie snapped, “Don’t worry. I wasn’t including you. I know how much you hate to . . . you know . . . help.”

Dag wrapped his big hands around an oversized coffee mug. “I just find it fascinating what you’re doing for this woman. It’s so unlike you.” “I’m helpful,” Berg argued. “I help where I can. I’m beloved.” Dag and Britta quickly looked away from each other and Berg knew they were trying not to openly laugh in his face. Something he did appreciate.

“So, you cleaned this house by yourself?” Berg asked Charlie. “Well—” “But I told you we’d be back today to help. Why didn’t you wait?” “Uh . . .” “Yeah, Sis,” Max taunted. “Explain to him why you didn’t wait.” “Shut up,” Charlie told Max. She didn’t need to yell it. She knew Max understood without yelling. She focused on Berg. “It was just easier—” “To do it by yourself? Really?” “I could just get in there and get it done. Easy-peasy.” “I get it,” the woman said. “If you do it

yourself, you get it done the way you want without having to constantly explain or give direction.” “Yes! Thank you!” “Because you’re the only one who can do it perfectly. Everyone else is a fuckup.” “Yes! Wait . . . no.”

Max glanced out one of the windows; Berg walked by on the other side. “How long are we going to stay here anyway?” “Until we at least know what’s going on. Why? You don’t like it here?” Max shrugged. “I’d rather be in the city. This is . . . the ’burbs.” “It’ll be nice. We can live like normal people for once.” Stevie poked her head out. “Did you hear that? Chittering. There are squirrels in this neighborhood. Squirrels!” She went deeper

under the couch. Max licked the back of her spoon. “Yep. Just like normal people.”

Berg slapped at the hand rubbing his head from the tree limb above him. “Stop messing around and get back to work.” “I have been working. For hours! And now I’m tired,” Dag complained. “And hungry.” He patted Berg’s head again. Fed up, Berg grabbed his bro...

“Where’s Stevie?” Charlie asked. Max, reaching for a premade honey salmon sandwich, shrugged. Charlie forced a smile. “Excuse me a moment.” She went inside and, for a few seconds, there was nothing but silence. Then yelling. Lots of yelling. Three minutes later, Charlie returned. She had her arms around her sister’s waist and

was carrying her like a panicked cat she was trying to take to the vet. Stevie’s arms and legs stuck straight out. And there was hissing. “Put me down!” Stevie demanded. “You need to eat.” “It’s not my diet I’m worried about!” “You’re being overdramatic. Stop it.” “I will not stay out here!” Stevie screeched, legs and arms now swinging wildly. “I will not be eaten! My brain is too important for future societies to allow it to be eaten!” If Max noticed any of what was going on, she didn’t show it, focusing instead on her sandwich and the bag of honey barbecue chips she’d opened. But Berg and his siblings were fascinated. “Look,” Charlie ordered her sister, aiming the woman at the Dunns. “They already have food. There is no reason to eat you.” “Are you insane? They’re bears!” “J’accuse!” Max suddenly announced; then she laughed. Berg got the feeling she was having her own conversation in her head.

“But if you do like our sister, then you dig in there, Fido.” “I am not a dog.” “No,” Stevie noted, “but dogs and bears are very similar genetically.” Berg faced the badger-tiger mix, his arms crossed. He was tall enough that he didn’t even have to look up at her. He stared her right in the eyes. After a full minute, she reached out and grabbed the cabinet door and slowly closed it.

as soon as he stepped around the side of the house, Stevie jumped in front of him. He took a step back, startled by her sudden appearance. “Did . . .” She glanced at the house and back at Berg. “Did I just hear my sister . . . laugh?” “Yeah. A little one.” “Laugh? Now? After hearing what my father did? And knowing how bad this is going to be? And you made her laugh?” “It wasn’t a guffaw or anything. It was more a light chuckle, but . . . yeah. I guess. Why?” Stevie abruptly grabbed Berg’s T-shirt and brutally ordered, “You stray-dog this, Berg. You stray-dog this!” “Uhhhhh . . . okay.” Then she was gone . . . into a nearby tree. Because that was normal.

“So what’s up, Clark?” “Was wondering if this is yours?” “If what’s mine?” Clark turned around and showed them his back, where the quivering, sobbing mess that was Charlie’s baby sister had attached herself. She was still human, but claws on both her hands and feet were buried deep into poor Clark’s flesh. “Oh, shit!” Charlie immediately grabbed her sister around the waist. “Let him go!” “Safe bear,” Stevie said. “Safe bear. It petted dog. So he is safe bear.” Well . . . that was logic. Not necessarily good or sound logic though.

Stevie suddenly hit the ground, her ridiculously long claws covered in blood and gore. The poor girl was panting and sweating and completely freaked out. With her gaze locked on Clark, Charlie ordered the weasel, “Take her inside, Dutch.” “With the bears?” he asked. Charlie scrunched up her nose, annoyed. “Shit.” “No, no,” Stevie ground out. “I’ll be fine.” Pressing her fists against the ground, she forced herself up. “I can be around the bears.” Charlie sighed. “Sweetie—” “I can be around the bears!” That slightly hysterical bellow had both

Berg and Clark taking a big step back, away from the thin hybrid. Her sister, though, moved closer. And she laughed a little.

“I wouldn’t put it past her to become some hippy freak just to get under my skin.” Stevie said something but her mouth was full of banana split, so Max leaned forward and asked, “What?” She swallowed and said, “Fuck you.” Dutch laughed loud, causing the Ice Palace patrons to look over at them. “The best part,” Dutch explained while still laughing, “was that you leaned forward to get that.”

We went on a little vacation when I had a slight breakdown. I went after one of my colleagues with a fountain pen.” “Why?” Dutch asked. “I was under a lot of stress. And his tone, when he was telling me something about some tests we had run, bothered me. So, you know . . . fountain pen.” Dutch started to ask more questions about what Max knew he’d now call “the fountain pen incident,” but she bumped his elbow with her own.

“Why were you never afraid of me?” Dutch suddenly asked. “Pardon?” “You were completely freaked out by those bears—and we won’t discuss why you ladies are currently living in an all-bear neighborhood—but you’ve never been afraid of me or my family.” “Bears eat people,” she said plainly. “Their paws can crush heads like I can crush a cracker in my fist.” “But I’m a wolverine,” he announced, as if that explained . . . everything. Stevie reached across the table and pinched his cheek. “And such a cute little wolverine you are too!”

“But you like me, right?” “I tolerate you.” “Which for you is good.” “It’s very good. Although the guy I went after with a fountain pen . . . I tolerated him, too.”

We’re safer with the crazed wolverine.” Dutch winked at her. “See? You do like me.” “Nope,” Max corrected. “She tolerates you. And that does not stop her from hurting you with a fountain pen.” Stevie sneered, “I barely touched that whiny baby.” “I heard you nearly took his eye out.” “He shouldn’t have made me mad.” Dutch put his arm around Max’s shoulders, smiled at them both. “God, I missed you guys.”

Dee-Ann Smith, wearing a Tennessee Titans T-shirt and her daddy’s old trucker cap, sat on the floor and warded off the blows from the plastic knife with her bare hands.

“Good,” she encouraged. “Keep going.” Her mate walked into the kitchen. “Dee-Ann, we have comp—no!” He reached down and took the plastic knife from the small hand gripping it. “We have had this discussion,” he told Dee-Ann and the ball of energy glaring at him. He cleared his throat. “Knives are not toys or weapons. They are for cooking and eating.” “That’s not what granddaddy says.” Ulrich Van Holtz sighed and tossed the plastic blade into the recycle bin. “We’ve got to stop sending you to Tennessee every summer.” “Do that and I’ll walk there on my own.” Lizzy-Ann Van Holtz Smith stared up at her father a few seconds to get her point across before turning and walking away from him. Ric glared down at Dee-Ann. “What are you lookin’ at me like that for?” “You know why.” He pointed at their six-year-old daughter and whispered, “She’s

your fault.” “I was never that arrogant. That’s a Van Holtz trait.” “Did you forget we’re waiting?” a voice yelled from the front door of their Manhattan apartment. “That’s because you don’t matter,” Dee-Ann retorted while getting to her feet and ignoring another glare from her mate. Growling a little, he went to walk their guests into the kitchen. Why, she didn’t know. They’d been here enough. They knew the layout of the apartment. Did they really have to keep all these airs and graces for a cat and a bear? Dee-Ann looked over and saw that her daughter had put out plates, napkins, and ut...

few seconds later, her baby girl attempted to climb onto one of the stools while holding a platter with a sizable hunk of angel’s food cake on it. When Dee-Ann tried to assist her, she pulled her little arms away. “I’ve got it,” her daughter practically hissed at her. “Watch that tone, missy. I ain’t ya daddy.” “Obviously.” Unable to get her ass up on the seat of the stool, Lizzy braced her legs on one of the stool rungs and the base of the island. Using all her strength, she lifted the plate of cake. Cringing, Dee-Ann quickly placed her instep against the outside of the stool so it didn’t slip and, making sure her daughter didn’t see her, she placed one forefinger under the plate and kept it ba...

Dee-Ann flashed her fangs, accompanied with an appropriate growl of warning. Lizzy hissed back. There were no fangs but she got her point across. As had once been pointed out by Lizzy’s extremely frustrated teacher . . . until she’d looked up into Dee’s yellow-eyed gaze. After that, Ric went to all parent-teacher conferences. “Is that my favorite girl?” a voice rang out. Lizzy grinned and went around the island. “Auntie Cella!” Marcella Malone crouched low and opened her arms. “Come here, brat.” Lizzy-Ann ran into her godmother’s open arms, giggling when Cella kissed her on the ...

hand. “I have the table all set for you, ma’am.” Malone bit her lip to stop from laughing. “Why, thank you.” “This way.” Lizzy led her to the island and pointed at a specific chair. “You sit here.” Malone sat down as her mate and Ric came into the kitchen. “Uncle Crush.” She took Lou Crushek’s hand and led him to another stool before she climbed up on the island, resting on her knees. “Cake?” she asked, using her best “restaurant voice.” “Yes, please,” replied Crush, one of Lizzy’s many unofficial “uncles.” Already Dee-Ann feared for any boy who came sniffing around her little girl. It would not end well for hopeful suitors. Lizzy hel...

cut a cake.” Lizzy stared at the cake cutter and back at her father. “You don’t think I could use this as a weapon?” Ric went pale and Crush’s mouth dropped open, but Malone’s hand flew to her mouth, trying to stifle the laughter and failing. “Are you here for a reason, Malone?” Dee-Ann quickly asked in the hopes of preventing one of those long lectures Ric insisted on concerning their daughter. Because, honestly, it wasn’t like Dee-Ann hadn’t warned him before she’d gotten pregnant. Then Lizzy’s lineage had been confirmed when the first thing their daughter did, her second day on this earth, was to bite down on the doctor’s hand. The shifter doctor didn’t even try t...

before Dee-Ann could point that out to the feline in her home, her daughter said, “It’s whom.” Dee-Ann gazed at her daughter, carefully cutting big wedges of cake and placing each one on a plate for their “guests.” “What?” Dee-Ann asked. “It’s whom. ‘Report to whom?’ Not who.” It took Dee-Ann a few seconds to realize her six-year-old was correcting her grammar. She handled that with a smirk and a sharp, “Shut up.” “Dee!” Ric chastised, shocked.

Malone, however, burst out laughing, unable to hold it in anymore. And Crushek just ate his cake. “It’s all right, Daddy,” Lizzy replied, pushing a plate toward her father. “She just knows I’m right.” Dee-Ann reached over and took the plate of cake Lizzy had cut for her father, knowing full well it would annoy the hell out of her. “I still say we drop her off at the pound,” Dee-Ann told her mate after a few bites of her cake. Again, just to annoy her child. “She’s still small. Someone will take her.” “Yeah,” Crush said around his own cake, “but they’ll only bring her back.” Lizzy narrowed her blue eyes on Crush and, staring at him, reached over and placed one pudgy forefinger on his cake plate. Then, without breaking eye contact, pulled the plate away from him.

Thank you. And Britta.” “No problem. She loves helping migraine sufferers.” “We’re a very loyal group. Our suffering is kind of unique. It bonds us.”

Once a small pile of knives of varying sizes sat on a lab table, Dougie continued explaining the “lovely deal” his father and uncles had come up with for Freddy MacKilligan’s girls. “Now, we know you lot have no say in the shite your father does. And we also know that threatening any of you with death . . . well, to be honest . . .” “He’s not going to care,” Charlie reminded him. Dougie smiled. “Exactly. But, dear cousin Charlie, we know how persuasive you can be with your father. So this is the deal. These gentlemen will take your baby sister”—one of the men grabbed Stevie’s arm and pulled her close; all the men in the room ignoring how Stevie’s eyes widened and her body went

completely rigid—“but, and this is an important ‘but,’ they’re not going to kill you and they will never hurt her. In fact, you’ll even be able to get her back.” His eyes locked on Charlie’s. “Once me Da gets his money and she helps out our associate.” He spread his arms, palms up, smile wide. “That seems fair, don’t you think?” “You really think you can trust these men?” Charlie asked, a little disgusted by her cousin. “They want one thing. They want Stevie.” “Me?” Stevie demanded, her panicked voice hitting new notes that had the wolf in Charlie nearly howling. “What did I do? Why do you want to kill me?” she screamed hysterically. Dougie’s eyes crossed and he raised his hand toward Stevie. “No one wants to kill you! You are safe. You cooperate and your sisters cooperate, everyone will be fine.” “Do you really believe that?” Charlie asked her cousin. “Not everyone’s like your father. I made the

deal, it’s solid. Just don’t do anything stupid.” “But . . . we’re MacKilligans. All we do is stupid things. And I can’t let them take my sister.” The door leading to the lab suddenly closed and one of the men stood in front of it. Charlie smirked. “Do you really want to play it this way, gentlemen?” “Charlie,” her cousin said, his voice calm. “Don’t do this.” He stepped closer and whispered, “These men may be full-human but even a honey badger can’t handle a shot to the head. And once they get over the shock of your shifting . . . that’s exactly what they’ll do. Shoot you in the head—and they’ll still take your sister.” “I don’t shift,” Charlie whispered to her cousin before moving away and saying...

Dougie moved from in front of the window. He wouldn’t put it past his crazy American cousins to have someone on another building with a rifle and a scope, ready to start shooting them all. And to think he’d volunteered for this job. Wanting to help his father and to keep things

from spiraling out of control. But could anything that involved Freddy MacKilligan not spiral out of control? It didn’t seem so. Still, he didn’t think these three little honey badgers would be that much of a problem. They had no weapons and although they could shift and start tearing into these men, they’d only end up getting shot in the head and that would be that. He couldn’t see the oldest one taking such a risk. She was so protective of the other two. Everyone in the family knew that about Freddy’s girls. But even though Dougie waited, his cousins didn’t shift. The oldest two did nothing but stand there, watchful but seemingly unafraid. The youngest, though, was panting and desperately trying to wiggle out of her captor’s hold. Max pointed at the man holding her sister and warned, “I’d let her go if I were you.” The man only smirked as he slammed a

syringe in the girl’s neck and pressed the plunger down. That had been stupid. The human men in this room didn’t understand that to drug a honey badger was a wasted effort. It might knock that thin little thing out for about twenty seconds but beyond that . . . Stevie didn’t even stagger, though. Instead, screaming, she slapped at the man’s hand. Problem was, he still had the syringe buried in her neck. The needle broke off and stayed imbedded in her flesh. Not that she felt it. Not as crazy as she was acting. Dougie had heard Stevie was the high-strung one, but her distraught screaming and the way she yanked herself free from the man stunned him and everyone else in the r...

she not listen? Not only could some bullshit drug not hurt a honey badger, but she was the one they wanted alive. The last thing they were trying to do was kill her. One would think she’d be more concerned about her sisters, but she seemed overly involved with herself. Bent over at the waist, one hand on her upper chest, Stevie panted out, “I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe! My lungs are shutting down!” Dougie gestured to a bland-faced Charlie. “Are you going to do something about this? Or just let the poor girl give herself a heart attack for nothing?” “All right,” Charlie said, rubbing her nose. “I’ll do something.” She glanced at her sister....

That man’s scream had the others scrambling to take the safeties off their weapons; clearly their earlier agreement no longer in effect. Not that Dougie blamed them. The two girls would die because their judgment was just as bad as their soon-to-be-dead father’s and hysterical baby sister’s. Charlie scrambled over one of the lab tables but bullets slammed into her back, sending her flipping forward. With a grunt of pain, she disappeared on the other side of the table and Max grabbed a blade from one of the men’s leg holster. She cut the inside of the man’s thighs, then his throat, before diving behind a nearby pillar; bullets tore into the concrete seconds after she disappeared. Stevie’s breathing was so hard now Dougie was sure she was tr...