Hot and Badgered (Honey Badger Chronicles, #1)

by Shelly Laurenston

He’d opened the front door to the main Pack house and found his twelve-year-old granddaughter standing there with her two half-sisters. The other two weren’t his granddaughters. His daughter had taken in the offspring of her worthless ex-boyfriend because that’s what she was like, his Carlie. She’d taken those girls in and raised them like her own. Without question. Without resentment. And because it was the right thing to do, as far as Carlie was concerned. So when Charles opened the front door and saw those three girls standing there, dirty, bruised, with that wounded look in their eyes . . . he knew. He knew his baby girl was gone. He knew it and was devastated by it. But what could he do? Do what his daughter would want. Take the three girls in. Raise them, even the two who weren’t only not his blood but weren’t even a tiny bit wolf. The middle one was full honey badger, like her idiot father and her criminal mother, who was doing hard time in a Bulgarian prison after a jewelry heist went bad. The second one was half honey badger and half tiger, and his Packmates were not fans of cats. Not even a little. They didn’t tolerate the house cats that roamed around their Wisconsin neighborhood. So what would they do to this little one with the big eyes and the stink of cat coming off her? The girls did have one thing in their favor, though . . . they were young.

Atta Grandpa!

Besides, this might be the chance he’d been waiting for . . . to get rid of Charles Taylor. An old-school wolf that the adults in the Pack desperately wanted as Alpha leader, whether Charles would take the job or not. Betsey knew, though, that Charles would never let his granddaughter go into the cruel system of foster homes and state-run lives. That was not the best world for any child, but definitely not for a shifter. And for a hybrid shifter . . . nightmares were made of how badly those situations could end. Still, to send the other two girls away simply because they weren’t blood related or wolves . . . could Billy really be that cruel? Who was she kidding? Of course, he could be that cruel! The three girls stood in front of Billy now and he smugly stared at them, the corners of his mouth slightly turned up, his eyes heartless. If Betsey had thought she could sneak away without being seen, she would. She didn’t want to watch this.

:(

“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 make the little girl cry, he failed. She didn’t cry. She just slowly blinked and kept staring at him. Then, without a word between them, the two oldest girls faced each other. 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.

Atta girls

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 the front door. As she came around the garage, the middle girl was waiting for her. And Betsey knew she was waiting for her. Betsey froze in mid-step, gazing down at the kid with her mouth slightly open. The kid stared up at her for what felt like forever and then, with a little smile, she placed her forefinger against her lips and said, “Shhhhh.”

Well, that'd be terrifying, good black bear no swat!

“You must have an opinion.” “I don’t. I happily have no opinion on what a grown man who is not me should wear.” The jackal sighed. “You’re useless.” “I have one job. Keeping your crazed fans from tracking you down and stripping the flesh from your bones. That’s it. That’s all I’m supposed to do. I, at no time, said that I would ever help you with your fashion sense.” Rolling his eyes, the jackal laid the jacket on the bed and then stared at it. Like he expected it to tell him something. To actually speak to him.

:D

“I can’t decide,” the jackal finally admitted. “I know how hard it is to pick between one black jacket and another black jacket. Which will your black turtleneck go with?” “It’s not just another black jacket, peasant. It’s the difference between pure black and charcoal black.”

0o ... I mean he has a point, but really?

Which meant a few things to Berg. That he was dealing with a full-human. An expertly trained full-human. An ex-soldier probably. An ex-soldier with a kill order. Because if he’d been trying to kidnap the woman, he would have made damn sure he knew who or what was on the other end before he pulled that trigger. But he didn’t know. He didn’t check because he didn’t care. Everyone in the room had to die. And knowing that—understanding that—did nothing but piss Berg off. Who just ran around trying to kill a naked, unarmed woman? his analytical side wanted to know. The grizzly part of him, though, didn’t care about any of that. All it knew was that it had been shot. And shooting a grizzly but not killing it immediately . . . always an exceptionally bad move.

*Blood-thirsty grin*

Using the man’s weapon, Berg shot each man twice in the chest. They both had on body armor so he wasn’t worried he’d killed them. With both attackers down, Berg refocused on the man he held captive. He spun him around, because he wanted to ask him a few questions about what the hell was going on. 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,

dude .... 0o

“Can I come out now?” Coop asked from the bathroom. But before Berg could tell him no the jackal was already standing behind him. “Well . . .” Coop said, “that was interesting.” “You could say that.” “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?” Berg frowned at him and Coop nodded. “I’ll take that glare as a yes. Maybe I should call the front desk.” He started toward the phone on the side table by the bed. “Think we’ll make our train?” the jackal asked. Slowly, Berg faced Coop and noted, “You’re not used to real life, are you?” “Not really. Why?”

<3 those obsessive jackals, but it's good to be the king/maestro

“Oh.” Coop thought a moment, the receiver held loosely in his hand. Finally, he said, “I’ll call my sister first.” “Why?” “If anyone can manage this, it’s Toni.” Coop winced. “But she’s going to be annoyed at you. For, you know, letting this happen.” “You’re alive, aren’t you?” “Yes, and I’m quite grateful. And I don’t hold you responsible for this at all. But my sister . . . she won’t be as . . . open-minded. You should prepare for that.” “I’m sure I can handle a She-jackal.” Using his cell phone to call his sister, Coop chuckled, “Yeah. Sure you can.”

Nope, not really, nope --- that sister is nuts.

but now her attacker was pinned to the ground, screaming in agony as the passenger window lowered and Charlie heard the familiar—and shockingly casual, considering the circumstances—“Hey, shithead.” The petite Asian woman with the short pixie haircut dyed blue grinned at her. They were sisters but one would never know it by looking at them. 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.”

:D

“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!” “It’s nice to see that nothing has really changed since we last saw each other.” Charlie glanced out the window, but she had to look away. Her sister was moving so fast that it was kind of making her nauseous.

0o

“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!” Max downshifted and swerved around a truck making a turn, barely missing the front end. “I don’t understand why you insist on worrying about something that may or may not happen,” Maxie noted casually as a group of nuns dove out of her way, their panicked screams horrifying Charlie. “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?”

Point ... i'd be more worried about bowel control than legs myself.

“A break? She needed a break? What does that mean?” “You know what that means, Charlie.” “I do?” Charlie thought a moment, then rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on! Again?” “You know how she is. But hey! At least she’s still in Switzerland. We’ll get there in no time.” “But 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.”

0o

The first one Stevie Stasiuk-MacKilligan had ever checked herself into was somewhere in Malibu and cost a thousand a day. She never paid a cent, though. The lab she “interned” for took care of that, which could explain why no one bothered to question why a fourteen-year-old girl—at the time—was checking herself into a Malibu mental health clinic without a parent or guardian in sight. And what did these brilliant and pricey psychologists discover about Stevie over the years? Exactly what Charlie already knew: That her sister was a high-strung prodigy who suffered bouts of extreme panic like any abandoned child would.

0o

Charlie’s mom, a She-wolf who never really learned how to say no to anyone but Charlie’s grandfather, agreed. After three days, she told Charlie and Max that “it looks like your little sister is staying. Isn’t that great?” At the time, Charlie didn’t think so. It was bad enough they already had one of their father’s castoffs to take care of in the first place; now they had two. But that first situation had made more sense because Max’s mother was doing hard time in a Bulgarian prison for armed robbery. She couldn’t take care of her kid. But the She-tiger . . . she’d just walked away. From her own daughter. Of course, Stevie didn’t let any of that bother her. In her mind, she had so many other things to worry about “in the universe” that her mother’s desertion didn’t rate as important enough for her to hold a grudge. So Charlie did it for her. She was very good at grudge-holding. Just ask her idiot father.

0o

Once outside—the orderlies stood in front of the doors, preventing the sisters from reentering—Charlie and Max stopped by the SUV’s passenger side and faced each other. “Now can I go in and kill everybody?” Max asked. “No.” “You and your half-canine morals. It does nothing but get in the way.” “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?”

;)

“A local would be—owwww!” “Do not be big baby cub,” she ordered while she began digging in his flesh with sterilized metal instruments. Berg was gritting his teeth as she worked, waiting for this to be over, when the exam room door flew open. “What are you doing to my brother?” a female version of himself demanded. “I could hear him whimpering outside!” “Helping his big, dumb bear ass,” the doctor replied before she glanced back . . . and up. Her hands froze, and a small growl came from the back of her throat. “This is my sister. Britta.” Berg explained, knowing his sister’s size alone was making the cheetah nervous. Female grizzlies were the most feared among the shifters. Not only were they psychotically protective of those they considered family—blood or otherwise—they were, like the males, easily startled. One wrong move could lose a shifter an arm. Or a whole head. “And my sister is going to be calm now. Calm, because I’m fine.” The doctor seemed to accept that until a male mirror image of Berg also walked into the room and, after slamming the door, glared around without saying a word.

0o

“Stevie, please,” Gaertner coaxed. “You are fine. I simply was not going to allow your sisters to come here and interrupt the work we have been doing. It is much too important to your health.” “If my sisters came here, it’s because something’s wrong.” She turned away from Gaertner to walk back to the patient rooms. “I need a phone. I need to call them.” “No, no, Stevie. That is not a good idea.” He gently took her arm and tugged her back around. “You need time away from your family. Time away from the stress you experience.” Stevie gazed at the doctor but she didn’t really see him because she could only think one thing . . . What did our father do now? That was the only reason her sisters would bother her while she was at a clinic. Because he’d done something. Sadly, he was always doing something, and it was always up to Stevie to stop her sisters from killing him. Especially Charlie. Charlie loathed their father. Not that Stevie really blamed her, but he was their father. That mattered. At least to her. She was sure of it. 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.

0o

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.

0o

Stevie knew they kept an eye on her. She knew that one of them was always close by. But, again, that was not because they were obsessive about her. They were obsessive about what their father had, to quote Charlie, “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!

<3

Max watched her and finally asked, “What are you doing?” “Trying to calm them down by looking like we’re lost,” she softly replied. “Why?” “Because we’re making them nervous.” “We make everybody nervous. Who gives a fuck?” 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.” Charlie let out that sigh she was convinced she only used when it came to her middle sibling.

:)

“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.

ooh ... she's high maintenance

Charlie walked around the car and over to her baby sister’s side, but she didn’t touch Stevie. She didn’t put her arms around her and hug her. That was just a quick way to get her face torn off. “Stevie.” She said her sister’s name flatly, with authority; her voice low. “Stevie,” she repeated. Blinking away tears, Stevie straightened her back and focused on Charlie. “Charlie?” “Hey, bubs.” “Charlie!” Now Stevie was in her arms, hugging her tight, and Charlie hugged her back because she was no longer worried about getting her face ripped off. “You didn’t leave me. You didn’t leave me,” she chanted. “Of course we didn’t. We were just trying to find a way to get to you without the staff knowing.” She stroked Stevie’s hair.

:(

“Wait,” Stevie said, the anger in her voice gone, unfortunately replaced by hysteria. “Do you hear that?” “Stevie, you need to—” “No. Listen.” Charlie did . . . and she heard it too. “Is that a chopper?” As soon as Charlie asked the question, the military-type chopper charged past them, so close, Charlie was surprised it didn’t hit the roof of the car. Max slowed to a stop. The chopper turned and came back, hovering about fifty feet away. “Dude!” Max demanded, trying to look back at Stevie over her seat. “What kind of mental hospital did you go to?”

:D

“Don’t snarl at me!” Stevie shot back, her panic finally overridden by anger, which Charlie welcomed. “If you only would—” 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?”

0o ... effficient though ...

“I don’t think so. But I can never tell with you and your brother, which people you guys hate. Unlike your sister, who is very direct about her hatred.” “You do always know where you stand with my sister.” “I heard she’ll be the one ‘handling’”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“Toni when she gets here.” “Well, Dag and I weren’t going to do it.” “Nope,” Dag muttered. “I don’t blame you. She wanted to fire you guys, by the way. But I said, ‘Absolutely not. They’re my friends. And so what if they put me in grave danger and put my life and, more importantly, my God-given gifts at risk? A loss that would deprive the entire world, maybe even the universe, of something truly amazing. They’re still my friends.’” Berg gazed down at Coop. “How big of you.” “I thought so.” “We’re friends?” Dag asked.

0o

He looked at Coop and the jackal stared back, both of them silently asking the question. Then, after several seconds, they both said together, “Nahhh.” And continued on toward the awaiting jet. * * * “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. “She’s going to get us killed or put in prison for the rest of our lives,” Stevie informed Charlie. “I just want you to know that.” “I wish I could argue with you,” Charlie admitted. “But I can’t.”

0o ... :D

“Oh, God,” Stevie began. “Oh, God, Oh, God, Oh, G—” “Stevie,” Charlie said, raising one finger. “No.” She could see her sister was readying herself for another panic attack, and Charlie simply didn’t have the patience for it right now. Especially when Stevie could go from zero to hysterical in six seconds. She was the Ferrari of panic.

o0 ... seriously .... Charlie has a heart the size freaking Earth .... I don't think I could deal with a sister like that ...

“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.

:D

She went into the living room and found that Max and Stevie already had each other in headlocks. Max grinning. Stevie cursing Max. “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.

0o

Max started laughing but stopped when Charlie snapped, “Shut up. Now, while I’m in that shower, you two will not argue. You will not fight.” She pointed at Max. “You will not startle.” She pointed at Stevie. “You will not throw things. No matter what she says to you,” she added quickly before Stevie could argue. “Let’s just be glad that we made it back to the States without killing each other or getting arrested. Let’s enjoy this moment for what it is.” “The death of our father?” Max asked. Charlie glared at Max for a moment before they both raised their arms in the air and cried out, “Hurray!” “Ladies!” Stevie barked, disgusted. “Sorry. Sorry.” Charlie didn’t want to upset her sister. She wanted a shower too badly. A nice, normal, relaxing shower. And she couldn’t have that if she was worried the two of them were attempting to kill each other in the next room. “We’ll get through this, Stevie,” she promised her baby sister. Stevie nodded and moved deeper into the couch corner until she couldn’t move any farther. She placed her feet on the cushions, wrapped her arms around her calves, and rested her chin on her raised knees. Charlie pointed at Max one more time, letting her know in no uncertain terms that if anything happened while she was showering, Charlie would absolutely blame Max for it. Because most likely it would be Max’s fault. Max reached for the remote and turned on the enormous, high-end TV in the middle of the room. “Oh, look,” Charlie pointed out. “Law & Order...

o0

Deciding to help make this easier for everyone involved, Max got up and grabbed Stevie’s backpack. They’d run by that CERN place and picked up a bunch of her stuff so that she’d have things with her to keep her calm, like all her notebooks. And, at this point, it was all about keeping Stevie calm. Not a small order either. “Calm” was as foreign to Stevie as “uptight” was to Max. She placed the bag next to the couch Stevie was on and started back to her chair. She didn’t look at Stevie or smile. Because Stevie would assume Max was mocking her—and let’s be honest . . . she probably was—and react accordingly.

0o

Maybe Vic was in shock or something. True, he had military training but maybe this was causing some kind of flashback. Yeah. That was it. A flashback. Why else wouldn’t he be helping the woman he loved? “Dag!” Berg called out to his brother before pushing Vic aside and rushing into the apartment. Berg grabbed the unknown female from behind and Dag took hold of Livy around the stomach, lifting the tiny She-badger off her feet. And, as soon as they did that, Berg knew exactly how stupid a move it was. The kind of move his sister would never let them get away with if she were anywhere near this situation. Why? Because she knew better. Size didn’t matter when it came to shifters. Rage did. And these two women were all about the rage. The woman he held managed to twist around and latch her teeth into his neck, biting at the flesh of his throat, fangs digging for a main artery. “Get her off me!” Berg screamed, desperately trying to push her away.

0o

“Don’t be a baby,” Max said, glancing back at him. “I barely grazed that artery.” “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.

0o ... oops

“And go where?” “I don’t know. A hotel? Like normal people.” “Normal people aren’t on the run for their lives.” “Oh.” Max nodded. “I forgot about that.” Charlie flung her arms out from her sides before crossing them over her chest. “How does one forget that?” Max mimicked her sister by crossing her arms over her chest, too. “I have a lot on my mind.” “Name one thing you have on your mind. At this very moment.” The badger glanced off, gaze focusing across the room. And no, she never did answer the question.

;)

“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.” Charlie rolled her eyes. “Do we let it go?” she asked. “Or do I start dismantling body parts?” “Fine. I’ll let it go. It will not be forgotten,” she added. “But I will let it go.”

0o

There was a pause, then . . . “Do you know who I am?” There was a room full of big guys in Livy’s apartment and she still wasn’t wearing her glasses. She was lucky to recognize Livy. So she took a guess. “Deuteronomy?” “That is not my name.” She didn’t have time to worry about some sensitive guy’s issues. She had so much on her mind at the moment that she really couldn’t be bothered. Still, she didn’t want to be completely rude. “How about you give me a hint,” she suggested. “Okay, I gave you a very nice, very expensive Ruger.” Shocked by that response, Charlie turned from the mirror and really studied the blur standing in front of her. “You gave me a Ruger?” she asked, “No one has ever given me a . . .” She took a small step back. “Oh, my God.” Charlie couldn’t help but smile. “It’s you,” she cheered. “My giant, helpful blur!”

:D

“For what? You were being hunted. What was I supposed to do? Not help?” “Most people wouldn’t.” “We look out for each other. We’re shifters.” “Oh. Okay. Sure.” “Wow,” he suddenly said. “You really didn’t recognize me until I mentioned the Ruger, did you?” “Not really.” “How is that possible? You’re definitely a shifter. I saw your claws. You should at least know my scent by now.” “Allergies,” Charlie admitted, pointing at her nose. “Can’t smell anything right now. From May until at least October—sometimes December—I am living on decongestants and Benadryl. And, after making that mad dash out of my room and falling into your life, I don’t have prescription strength anything, including my nasal spray, which I can’t tell you how much I miss.” She rubbed her nose. “It’s so itchy right now.” “So you can barely see and you can’t smell anything . . . but you can clothesline your sister?” “I’ve been clotheslining my sister for a very long time now. And trust me when I say she deserved it.”

;)

“Why do you call them freaks?” Dag asked. “Because they are.” She lowered her voice a bit. “Can’t you see that?” “They’re hybrids,” Shen replied. “All hybrids are a little freaky.” Livy shook her head. “For every other honey badger mix, from the beginning of time, it never mattered what else a honey badger was mixed with. Our vicious DNA has always destroyed everything else, leaving only the honey badger and some human.” She lowered her voice again to a whisper. “Except for those two. Charlie and Stevie are the only honey badgers I know who are not all honey badger. But they’re not the problem.” “They’re not?” “No. I actually like them. Well . . . I like Charlie. I don’t know what the fuck to say about Stevie. But my cousin who is all honey badger . . . still a freak.”

o0 ... because she's happy?

“Vic, do you see what’s wrong with her?” “Yes,” he said with an eye roll. “But it’s 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.”

Not entirely wrong really ....

“I’m just wondering if Livy would let us stash our stuff here for a couple more hours before we bail.” “Securing the place shouldn’t take that long.” “Oh, it’s not that. We’re just here in the City to identify our father’s body and we were supposed to be at the morgue, like, an hour ago.” “Wait a minute.” He held up his hand, palm out, his head cocking to the side before he asked, “Your father’s dead?” Crossing the middle and forefingers on both hands, Charlie raised them and said with a big smile she truly felt, “Here’s hoping!”

oO ... :)

“Even if it involves the girls?” Will nodded. “Their father doesn’t care about them, but if there’s one thing the man does fear . . . it’s that oldest girl.” “Charlie.” Dougie stood. “I’ll see what I can find out.” Will stood as well, already feeling a little better. Still angry, but now with some hope. “And, if we’re lucky, and all this gets fixed . . . I’ll be able to kill me brother with me bare hands.” Dougie patted Will on the shoulder. “We’re all hoping for that, Da. We’re all hoping for that.”

o0

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.” Max reached out to pat the shifter cop on the shoulder as a thank-you, but he jerked away from her so violently, she decided not to push it. She knew that sometimes honey badgers made other shifters nervous. Besides, it was one of those days, wasn’t it? When everybody was just a little more sensitive than usual. “Put that torso down right this second, Charlie MacKilligan!” Stevie yelled, pointing her finger at their outraged sister and using her own body to protect the poor morgue attendant. “Right this second!”

0o

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 don’t know you. So I don’t have any reason to be angry at you.” A “beep” sound from the kitchen had Livy frowning. “We have a microwave oven?” she asked Vic. “When did we get a microwave 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.”

;)

“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 one,” he promised, meaning every word. The pair stared at each other, Max sizing him up, making sure he was telling the truth until Livy threw up her hands and demanded, “Is no one else concerned about what the fuck she’s using to make those cookies?” * * * 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 stuff to decorate these cookies with?”—Berg took the three women to Grand Central Station,

:D

“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,

0o

Berg shook his head. “Tiny doesn’t care that you’re black. Or that your sister’s Asian. That’s probably the last thing he cares about.” “It really is,” the gruff man sighed. “His name is Tiny?” Charlie asked, staring up at the man. He was taller than Berg. And wider. “Family nickname,” he growled. “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.

0o

“Which means you’re a hybrid. And not a bear hybrid either. We only deal with bear hybrids.” “Racism!” Stevie yelled from the safety of the tree. “It’s not racism,” Tiny grumbled. “But it is bigotry,” Berg told him. “And you know how my sister feels about that.” The bear gave Tiny a strange, knowing smile, and Charlie briefly wondered what it meant. “I really would hate to tell her about this. You know how she loves to lecture—”

I do love the triplets. :)

“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!”

:D