Breaking Badger

by Shelly Laurenston

  He put the bags in the backseat of the SUV with Shay, who liked to stretch out, and drove to their next stop. Once they arrived, he parked and waited for the right moment.

  “Sure you want to do this?” Finn asked.

  “We needed information and he gave us information. And he fucked us over. That’s what we get for trusting full-humans.”

  “Think they know who set us up?”

  “We’ll find out.”

  “What do you think she was going to do with that cat?”

  Finn and Keane exchanged glances before looking over their shoulders at Shay.

  “What?” Keane asked.

  “The cat.”

  “What cat?”

  “The one that honey badger had. Do you really think that badger was going to blow up that cat?”

  “I don’t know,” Finn answered honestly. Because he didn’t. No one knew what badgers were going to do.

  Keane also answered honestly, but in the worst way possible. “Who cares?”

  Finn cringed. “You have to know that was the wrong answer.”

  “What do you mean, ‘who cares?’ ” Shay snapped. “What kind of fucking question is that?”

  “It was a house cat.”

  “It was a cat. It was one of us.”

  Slowly, with that glower he’d inherited from their father permanently etched onto his face, Keane snarled, “We are not house cats.”

  “We’re all cats, Keane,” Shay replied easily, never scared off by Keane’s face. “We should be looking out for each other. Protecting each other.”

  “You want us to look out for house cats?”

  “If not us . . . who?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. Any ten-year-old girl who dreams of unicorns and wants a kitten for Christmas?”

  “All I’m saying is we should have taken the cat away from that badger when she offered it up. For all we know, they ate it.”

  “Don’t be . . .” Finn stopped talking. He’d been set to argue the point but then realized he really couldn’t. “He’s right. They may have eaten it.”

  * * *

  “You know what?” Max asked after nearly an hour of glaring at the kitchen table while they all silently sat watching her glaring at the kitchen table. “I’m over this now.”

  “Really?” Tock muttered, glancing at Mads.

  “No. Really. I did think about sneaking into their home in the middle of the night and puncturing their lungs while they slept but then I thought . . . eh.”

  “We’re all so glad you rethought your plan,” Nelle told her.

  “It seemed petty.”

  They all nodded in agreement and made soft, approving sounds but they were probably all thinking the same thing at the moment: There was no way this was over. But at least Max was serious about not puncturing the cats’ lungs. Mads was grateful for that much.

  Max let out a breath. “It’s been a long day.”

  “It’s not even noon, dude,” Mads laughed. “And we still have to go to practice tonight in Staten Island, and I’m going to training in the city this afternoon.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Max nodded and smiled. “A good workout is just what I need. To soothe me.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “Shut up, Nelle.”

  The back door opened and a smiling Stevie practically skipped up the stairs and into the kitchen. She’d recently gotten involved with a very cute giant panda and she hadn’t really stopped grinning since. Mads remembered her as a stressed-out, easily panicked nine-year-old genius who was regularly startled by squirrels and tormented by the possum population . . . seemingly on purpose. For whatever reason, those little bastards hated her. Mads had been sure the poor kid would be dead from a heart attack before she was thirty, but lately she’d had some real hope for Max’s sister.

  She’d seemed downright . . . happy? A word Mads never would have used for Stevie. Ever.

  “Morning, everyone!” Stevie greeted them with a little wave.

  They all waved back.

  “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  As Stevie passed them Max noticed that a regular, non-shifting cat was resting on her shoulder, hiding underneath Stevie’s hair.

  Max let out a little snarl. “Why is that cat still here?”

  Tock suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, shit!” and sprinted away from the table and the room.

  “Because I want him to be,” Stevie snapped back at her sister. “I happen to like this cat. And Charlie tolerates it.”

  “That thing has attacked me a bunch of times.”

  “You started it!”

  Tock returned and put the kitten she had in her duffel bag into Stevie’s hands.

  “Here. I bequeath you another cat.”

  “But I don’t want another . . . awwwww! She’s a kitten!”

  Max’s left eye twitched and the right side of her lip curled. Mads also saw some fang.

  “I hate you,” she growled at Tock.

  “What was I supposed to do with it?”

  “Why did you even have a kitten?” Mads wanted to know.

  “I heard her cries, which of course attracted the predator in me, but then once I found her—”

  “You just couldn’t bring yourself to eat her?”

  “You’re hilarious.”

  Stevie stuck the kitten in her sister’s face. “Isn’t she adorable, Max? Look how adorable she is. She’s so damn adorable!”

  “Move her or she’s my breakfast.”

  “I’m so happy to have her,” Stevie said, pulling the kitten closer.

  “Now you’re going to have two cats?”

  “This is perfect for me,” Stevie informed Max.

  “Why is it perfect for you?”

  “I didn’t tell you?”

  Max rubbed her stomach and got up, looking through the cabinets for any food. “Tell me what?”

  “Oh . . . I’ve decided to have a baby.”

  Max froze in the middle of opening a cabinet door.

  “Now, the downside of that is I had to go off my meds, but I already have a plan for that. I think I can control my stress with diet. Anyway, the cats will be good training for me to be a mother. Because, honestly, who the fuck knows what’s going to come out of me . . . right? With these fucked-up MacKilligan genes!”

  With that, Stevie laughed and walked out of the kitchen with her two cats.

  Not sure how long Max would remain frozen next to that cabinet, the rest of them slowly pushed away from the table and carefully made their way toward the kitchen exit. But before they could reach it, the cabinet slammed shut. That was when they all bolted, trying to make it to freedom. But Mads just wasn’t fast enough.

  Max grabbed the back of her T-shirt and held her. Mads held her arms out toward her teammates. Tock began to come back toward her but Streep caught her arm and yanked her toward the front of the house.

  “Forget her! Just run!”

  Treacherous bitches!

  Mads was yanked back and shoved into a chair, with Max looming over her.

  “She’s having a baby?” she said directly into Mads’s face. “And has gone off her meds?”

  “I . . . uh . . . don’t really think this is . . . uh . . . any of my . . . uh . . . business . . .”

  Max leaned in closer, forcing Mads to tilt her head back as far as she could. “Dear God, what is happening?”

  chapter FOUR

  Tom O’Connell—Tommy to his friends or anyone who owed him money—came into his bar from the front and before he even turned on the lights, he knew something was wrong.

  He should have walked back out, but he decided to turn the overhead lights on first. He did and let out a surprised gasp.

  Having been in the bar business since he was a very young man, he’d come into more than one joint to find it fucked up. Usually by gangsters leaving a message. For instance, they hadn’t been paid or they wanted to start getting paid. Or maybe some rowdy kids had found a way in and decided to get drunk a
nd do something stupid.

  Over the years, he’d seen all sorts of shit.

  But this . . . this he’d never seen before.

  He couldn’t explain the difference, but it was definitely different.

  First, it was the scent. A strong, powerful scent that sent him reeling. And it was everywhere. Then he realized that what he was smelling was urine. And that he could see the urine because it had been sprayed all over his wood-paneled bar. Not just on the wood floor or as high as a man could lift his penis but . . . ceiling high. How the hell did anyone get piss up that high?

  Then there were the tables and chairs. They weren’t just tossed around. Or merely broken into pieces. They were . . . stripped? Like something had slashed across each item. Again and again. Brutally. And they’d been chewed. He could see fang marks in the wood. Had dogs broken into his bar?

  That didn’t make sense, though. How could dogs get their piss up on the ceiling? Even a Great Dane wouldn’t find that move possible.

  Three of his men walked in from the back. The expressions on their faces told him that the back of his bar looked just like the front.

  The four of them were staring at one another when he heard the front doors lock and he turned.

  Keane Malone stood in front of the doors like a Mac truck parked sideways.

  Tall with terrifyingly wide, muscular shoulders, Malone filled any room he entered without saying a word or making a move. It was assumed by anyone who saw him that the man must be on some weird combination of steroids. Something from Russia. Or Ukraine. Because Tommy had never known a man with shoulders like that. Except, of course, Malone’s two younger brothers.

  Tommy glanced around, expecting to see those two as well. The Malones usually traveled together. Like three mountains in some picture vista, the two younger ones always slightly behind Keane. But nope. He didn’t see those two.

  And Tommy had to admit that made him more concerned than if the brothers had been standing right next to Keane sporting brass knuckles.

  Even worse, these Malones weren’t like the other Malones he’d dealt with over the years. Those Malones were Travelers who had done some work for him and his father back in the day. They could be counted on to break some bones, crack some skulls and, when necessary, whip up some amazing soda bread for the church’s Christmas bake sale.

  These Malones, though . . .

  The Black Malones they were called. Even by their own family. Tommy remembered their father. Thought maybe he’d married a Black woman and that’s how the sons had gotten the nickname but no. The wife he’d seen at the father’s funeral was Asian or whatever. And all the Malones had black hair with streaks of red and white. Tommy figured it was some family dye job. Like a family tattoo. But these Malones didn’t have the red. Just the black hair with some white. That was it. So he didn’t understand the nickname . . . until they grew up and came into his bar, looking for information on their father’s death. A brutal murder that the Black Malones were not going to forget or forgive.

  He knew why Keane Malone was here, though.

  “Malone,” Tommy said by way of greeting.

  “Surprised to see me?” Malone asked. “You know . . . alive?”

  Actually, he was surprised. He’d heard that the kid hadn’t made it. Neither had his brothers.

  Tommy should have known better than to trust rumors.

  Still, he shrugged and said, “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Really.”

  Bobby was the first one dragged off. It happened so fast, Tommy didn’t even see it happen. One second Bobby was standing there with the rest of them, the next . . . he was disappearing down the hall, screaming his head off, attempting to dig his fingers into the hardwood floors or grab onto walls or furniture, but before Tommy knew it . . .

  They could hear Bobby’s desperate, panicked screams coming from down the hall until he suddenly rolled back into the main bar. As if he’d been slapped into it by a big hand.

  Bobby was still alive but he was covered in blood from all the lacerations riddling his body. Sobbing, Bobby began to drag himself across the floor, trying to reach the front door.

  His remaining men had moved around Tommy, their weapons now drawn, but Malone didn’t seem to notice or care.

  Instead, he grabbed what seemed to be the only undamaged wooden chair in the whole bar and pulled it to the middle of the room. He turned it so that the back faced Bobby and his men and sat down with his big legs straddling it. The creak of the chair made Bobby wince. Fat guys who did nothing but drink beer and eat nachos while watching football games had sat in those chairs every day for years and they never creaked. How much did this kid weigh? And was all that weight from his muscle alone?

  “So let’s try this again, and I’ll be more direct,” Malone said calmly. He didn’t pull out his own gun. He didn’t have to. Then again, Tommy wasn’t even sure if Malone was ever armed. “I got information from you that sent me and my brothers to an island where a bunch of guys tried to kill us. Can’t help but think you were somehow involved in that.”

  He opened his mouth to reply but Malone raised one big, blunt finger. “And before you answer, you should know, I only give two chances to give me an honest response. Poor crying, crawling Bobby there was your first chance.”

  Look, Tommy had grown up with gangsters. He personally knew made guys. Had let them use the basement of his bar to tear out the teeth of men they felt deserved it. Although he never got actively involved in their business, he was savvy enough that he didn’t have to pay too much in protection while managing not to get his face bashed in for saying too much or anything at all. So he knew how to play this game better than some juice head that still whined about his dead daddy.

  But the kid wasn’t alone. Somewhere in the bar his brothers lurked, which meant he had to play this smarter than usual.

  “Look, kid, I get that you’re upset but—”

  “Wrong answer,” Malone calmly cut in.

  That’s when Gary got snatched off his feet and yanked up into the ceiling. Screaming hysterically, Gary begged for help. Begged for Jesus himself to save him. That went on for some time until poor Gary was tossed back down, landing in a bloody heap. He was still alive, too, but one ear was gone, the fingers on his right hand had been mangled beyond anything . . . useful. His left leg appeared . . . chewed? But the worst part was the opening in his chest. Like something had just ripped across it. Tommy was sure he could actually see the rib cage.

  Tommy Jr., Tommy’s first born, dropped his gun, went to a corner and sat down. He pulled his legs up and covered his ears with his hands. When he began rocking back and forth and sobbing, Tommy simply blocked him out.

  “Now,” Malone said, his expression surprisingly neutral for once—he wasn’t smiling but he wasn’t glowering either, “I’m feeling pretty good today. Like in a giving spirit. So I’m going to break my rule.” He lifted one big forefinger. “Just this one time.”

  * * *

  Mads watched Max open a cabinet drawer and then proceed to study the bottle of pills she pulled out.

  “Oh, my God. These are over a month old. She has gone off her meds.” She shook her head. “This is crazy. She can’t do this.”

  Mads knew she shouldn’t say anything. She’d learned a long time ago not to get between sisters. Long before she’d ever met the MacKilligan sisters. But she found it impossible to just sit there and listen to Max lose her ever-loving mind.

  “Don’t you think this is a little invasive of your sister’s privacy?”

  “You don’t know my sister.”

  “I’ve known her since she was nine. I know she can get . . . moody.”

  “Moody?” Max gave a harsh laugh, started to say something else, but stopped. “Look, just trust me on this. Going off her meds is not a good idea. I mean, how can she just decide to go off her meds without discussing it with me?”

  “Maybe because you insist on asking her
, ‘Have you had your meds today?’ every time she decides to cry.”

  “Who cries at puppy commercials?”

  “Your sister! So what? Who doesn’t like puppies? Even I like puppies and I hate almost everything.”

  “I need to talk to Charlie.”

  “You really don’t.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  She ran from the room as if she was on fire and Mads pulled out her phone. She downloaded an app that she’d heard was a shifter-run car service. For those drunken nights when fangs might make an appearance and you didn’t want to freak out your driver. After ordering a car, she grabbed her training bag from behind the couch and returned to the kitchen.

  While she pulled a couple of bottles of water from the refrigerator, Stevie walked in with the kitten.

  “We need to get you something to eat,” she told the kitten, opening the door of a cabinet that was filled with cans of cat food and big bags of high-end dog food. She grabbed a can of what appeared to be cat food but then paused. “How old do you think this kitten is?”

  Mads shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “She may be too young for canned food. Or he.” Stevie lifted the kitten over her head and studied what Mads liked to call “the undercarriage.”

  Stevie nodded. “It’s a he.”

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “I actually don’t know.” She dismissed the issue with a hand wave and closed her eyes.

  “What are you doing?” Mads asked when Stevie just stood there with her eyes closed.

  “Finding what I’ve previously read on taking care of newborn kittens and looking at it again.”

  Rearing back a little, Mads asked, “What the hell does that even mean?”

  Stevie held up one finger to silence her. After a few more minutes, Stevie finally opened her eyes and let out a breath. “Okay. I’m up to speed. Probably should take him to the vet, though.”

  “Up to speed with what?”

  “How to care for a newborn kitten, which is what he is. Poor thing.” She snuggled the kitten close. “Did you lose your momma? I’m so sorry. Well, I’m going to take care of you.”

  Max returned to the kitchen. “Where’s Charlie?”

  “Triplet house.”

  “And the panda?”