Hot and Badgered

by Shelly Laurenston

  “Right. Fifty grand. Fifty grand that I never saw a cent from.”

  “Because he was going to pay it back to you after he got his business off the ground,” Charlie reminded her.

  “Oh, yes. The can’t-fail business that turned out to be a pyramid scheme that also bilked the elderly out of a few million.”

  “None of which he managed to make any money from,” Charlie added.

  “But he also managed not to get any prison time.” Max chuckled. “Everybody else went to jail but him.”

  “Yeah,” Britta finally agreed. “That is definitely the worst—”

  “And remember that time he ‘accidentally’”—Max asked her sisters, making air quotes with her fingers—“sold me into domestic slavery?”

  “How the fuck did he do that accidentally?” Dag demanded.

  “How did he put it again, Charlie?”

  “Uh . . . that he thought he was just hiring you out as a playmate for their children.”

  “Yeah, like they were fourteenth-century Russian princes,” Stevie replied.

  “But,” Max continued, “as soon as he dropped me off at the family’s house, they handed me an iron, a basket full of clothes, and told me to get to work.”

  “You poor thing.” Britta shook her head. “How long before someone got you?”

  “No one came to get me.”

  “Wait.” Charlie raised her hand. “Let’s be clear here . . . we didn’t have time to get you.”

  “That’s true,” Max admitted with a smile. “As soon as they handed me that iron, I beat the husband with it, and then proceeded to tear the wife’s face off with my claws. I left them crying, screaming, and bleeding with the kids trying to call the cops.”

  Berg and his siblings stared at Max until Berg asked, “How old were you?”

  “Twelve. Right?”

  “Eleven,” corrected Stevie, the keeper of all specifics. Not hard with her brain.

  “I went through puberty a little early,” Max added to explain an eleven-year-old shifter with claws.

  “What happened after you got away?”

  Max shrugged. “No idea. Dad took off with the thirty grand he got for me and I walked back to the Pack house in Wisconsin.”

  “Where was this family?”

  “Utah.”

  “You walked back by yourself?” Britta asked.

  “It wasn’t the first time.”

  But Charlie didn’t want to talk about that long-ago incident. That was one story the three sisters didn’t really discuss with anyone but each other. The story about her mom’s death. Not now. Not ever. It was too close to their hearts.

  “And yet,” Charlie pointed out to change the subject, “our father is the only con I know who never makes any money from his cons.”

  “How is that possible?” Berg asked.

  “Because he’s an idiot. I thought we made that clear.”

  “But what about the money he stole from you guys?”

  “Well, that thirty grand he got for me only lasted him about a week,” Max said. “I think he blew it at the greyhound track in Florida. And probably on some hookers.”

  “He does love prostitutes,” Charlie sighed.

  “And the money he got for the adoption scam . . . dear old Freddy got scammed out of that by the woman he was working with.” Max sighed. “Because he is that stupid.”

  “Plus, because of that particular scam, he’s no longer allowed in Florida,” Charlie said, trying to remember.

  “You can be banned from a state?” Britta asked.

  “Don’t know. But when you have enough warrants for your arrest and enough loan sharks desperate to see you dead . . . I’d say you’re not allowed back into a particular state.”

  “He’s also not allowed in Budapest, or France, or Germany,” Stevie added.

  “God, Budapest.” Max shook her head. “That turned into an international incident.”

  “And, yet,” Charlie said, throwing her hands up, “he still managed not to make any money.”

  * * *

  Max and Stevie eventually wandered off and Dag and Britta went back to bagging the rest of the dead plants and clippings from the yard.

  Berg stayed behind and helped Charlie clear off the picnic table and put the few extras left in the refrigerator.

  “I thought there’d be more left,” she said, gazing at the near-empty containers on her kitchen table.

  “You just fed bears. You’re lucky you have your arms.”

  She smiled. “I know you’re teasing, but you may want to keep those jokes to yourself when Stevie’s around.”

  “Is she really afraid of us?”

  “My Stevie’s afraid of all sorts of things. She can’t help it. She’s been through a lot.”

  “What kind of music did she write?”

  “Music? ”

  “She said something about your father selling her music.”

  “Oh. Yeah. She was a music prodigy when she was young. Taught herself piano by the time she was . . . three, I think. Wrote a full symphony by the time she was six and conducted the St. Petersburg Orchestra by the time she was seven.”

  “That’s amazing. That’s why Coop knew her.”

  “Yeah. But she gave it all up a long time ago.”

  “Because of her father?”

  “Surprisingly, no. Too much pressure,” Charlie said, taking the leftovers he handed her and placing them in the refrigerator. “All that performing. All those demands. She lost her love of music. So she went into something a little . . . easier.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Physics and math. Turns out she’s a prodigy in that, too. I, however, barely passed algebra and Max’s biology teacher threw one of those dead dissection frogs at her.”

  Berg opened his mouth to ask why her teacher would do that, but what came out was, “Wanna go out sometime?”

  Frowning, Charlie turned from the refrigerator and faced him. “Huh?”

  “You know . . . a date. Dinner. Maybe a movie. Without our siblings.”

  Charlie’s frown deepened and she asked, “Why?”

  Now it was Berg’s turn to frown. “You don’t seem . . . insecure.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then why are you asking why?”

  “If we didn’t know each other, I would totally get why you’d ask me out. I mean, there’s a definite spark between us. On some weird level, we do get each other. But you do know me.”

  “Yeah . . . and?”

  “And why would you want to get involved with me? I’m cursed.”

  Berg straightened up. “Pardon?”

  “I’m cursed. Some think the whole family is cursed, but I’m sure it’s just my father. And his curse was passed down to his daughters.”

  Berg chuckled. “You don’t really believe that.” She stared at him, so he guessed, “You do really believe that.”

  “It explains everything. We’re basically nice people—well . . . me and Stevie—and yet, you met me when I was running for my life. And, just so we’re clear, I’ve run for my life more than once.”

  “But it sounds like maybe that’s all your father’s fault. That doesn’t mean you’re cursed.”

  “Doesn’t it?” She pressed her hand against his arm. “Look, you are such a sweet guy, and your siblings are awesome. There’s no way I’d infect you with the family curse.”

  “So, you don’t date?”

  “Oh, I date. But only men I can barely stand. That way if bad things happen to them, I won’t care. You . . . I’d care. And I wouldn’t want to risk triplets becoming twins because you have questionable taste in women.”

  Not knowing how to respond to that, Berg just stood there. Staring at a closed refrigerator. He didn’t even realize that Charlie had gone until the cabinet over the refrigerator opened up and Stevie waved at him.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I was trying to nap.”

  “A bed was not an option?”


  “That’s for when I sleep. Not nap.”

  Berg blew out a breath. “I don’t know how to respond to that either.”

  “She shot you down, huh?” Stevie asked, even though they both knew the answer.

  “Like an allied plane over Germany.”

  “I know it’s hard to believe, but it just means she really likes you. No, seriously,” she insisted when Berg snorted.

  “What’s serious?” Max asked, walking into the room with her face again covered in bees and honey.

  “I thought Tiny said no stealing from hives,” Berg reminded her.

  “Who said I stole anything?”

  “Charlie shot him down,” Stevie whispered. Loudly.

  “I saw that coming.” Max slapped her face, killing several bees in the process. “She doesn’t want to pass on the curse.”

  “There is no curse,” Berg insisted.

  “It’s really hard to look at our lives and not think there’s a curse.”

  “I’m not saying you guys haven’t had some hard luck, but curses? Seriously? It’s more like your father is just an asshole.”

  “He’s definitely an asshole.” Max walked to the sink and washed the bees off her face. “But our sister also believes she’s cursed, and no one is going to change her mind just by telling her she’s not being logical. She’s never logical when it comes to our father.”

  Max dried off her face with a paper towel but when she turned around, Berg had to look away.

  “Don’t worry,” she promised. “The swelling goes down in no time.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Look,” Max said, “our sister has a lot going on. And that’s been her life since birth. She takes care of everybody. That’s what she does. But we want her to know what it’s like to be normal.”

  “Because she’s too involved in your lives?”

  “Oh, God no. We thank every deity that exists for each other. Charlie’s the reason I’m not doing hard time in a federal prison.”

  “And I’m not making meth because of her.” Berg looked up into the cabinet Stevie was still ensconced in, and she explained, “My father once sold me to a Peruvian drug lord because, and I’m quoting, ‘You’re good with science.’ But thankfully Charlie didn’t let that happen.”

  “And somewhere there’s a Peruvian drug lord who wishes he still had two hands,” Max muttered; then she laughed. When Berg didn’t join in, she went on. “We just want the best for our sister. She clearly likes you because she doesn’t want you cursed—”

  “There is no curse,” Berg said again.

  “And you seem refreshingly normal. You have siblings that haven’t actively tried to have you killed. Your sister complains about her mom in that cute, normal way. Without malice or the desire to track her down and kill her. You could be really good for her.”

  “And she’ll be the best thing that’s ever come into your life,” Stevie told him plainly.

  “But you guys make me sound so boring.”

  “Yes,” Max said flatly. “Very boring is a man who can shift to a fifteen-hundred-pound bear.”

  “It’s only a thousand pounds. Polar bears shift to fifteen hundred.”

  Max gazed at him a long moment before stating, “Well, that proves your point.”

  “Normal is not dull,” Stevie said. “I’ve had whole days that were normal. I go to work, I come home, I order in some Chinese. . . normal.” She closed her eyes and let out a big sigh. “It’s awesome.”

  “Yeah,” Max said. “I really don’t have normal. But I’ve come to accept that I won’t. But my sister . . . she wants us to have normal. To be happy. To not be in prison.”

  “To not be serving any drug lords.”

  “And she’s sacrificed a lot to help us with that. So I think you should spend some time with her and find out if you really like her.”

  “But she clearly told me no, she wasn’t going to date me.”

  “Date?” Max sneered. “Dude, you’re a shifter. You don’t date. You just hang around until before you know it, you’re part of her life and she can’t bring herself to get rid of you.”

  “You mean like a stray dog?”

  “Or a stray cat. Either one would do us fine. If it turns out you spend some time with her and she’s not really for you, or vice versa . . . you walk away. Like normal people do. Not like my dad, who has set a house or two on fire when he’s been kicked out on his ass.” Max walked around the kitchen table until she stood next to Berg. “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.

  “Just give it a shot,” Max said.

  “Well . . .”

  Charlie walked into the kitchen and held her phone up. “Why is Aunt Bernice calling me?”

  Max shook her head. “I have no idea.” She paused. “Unless she knows . . .”

  “Unless she knows what?”

  “Nothing.”

  Charlie sighed. “What did he do?”

  “Charlie—”

  “Just tell me,” Charlie ordered, her hand gesturing. “Do it. Just tell me what he did.”

  Max let out a breath, then announced, “Our father hacked into our uncle’s bank account and stole a hundred million British sterling.”

  Charlie gazed at her sister as long as Berg had stared at Stevie. Finally, she asked, “Which uncle?”

  “Charlie—”

  “Which. Uncle?”

  “Will.”

  “He stole from Uncle Will?”

  “Yes.”

  Charlie’s shoulders slumped and her head dropped. For a long moment, Berg thought maybe she was crying.

  Until Charlie’s head snapped up and she bellowed, “Everybody out! I need to bake!”

  Stevie scrambled out of the cabinet, climbing on Berg’s shoulders and down his back so she could run out the back door. Max simply sauntered out. She acted like she had all the time in the world, but she still left. And without saying a word or making a joke.

  That just left Charlie and Berg.

  “Why are you still here?” she asked him.

  “I just wanted to let you know I’m here if you need me.”

  “Oh, really,” she said with a huge amount of sarcasm. “You just happen to have a hundred million British sterling lying around your house somewhere so I can pay back my psychotic uncle who’s a gangster? Is that what you mean?”

  “Um . . . no. But I really like baked goods, and I’m willing to test your food for you.”

  Charlie blinked, appearing stunned, before one side of her mouth curled the tiniest bit.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she promised before motioning him away with her hands.

  “And I’m always hungry,” he teasingly added before walking out the back door. He smiled a little when he heard her give a small chuckle.

  But 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.

  Britta moved over to his side. “Everything all right?” she asked
.

  “Weird but . . . all right.” Then Berg felt the need to add, “Although that just applies to us. For them . . . it’s weird and bad.”

  “How bad?”

  “A hundred million British sterling bad.”

  Britta’s mouth dropped open. “How is that even possible?”

  “Apparently their father has a way.” He motioned toward their house with a jerk of his head. “Do me a favor, Sis . . . look into it.”

  chapter EIGHT

  Max gazed down at the kitchen table, which was covered in all sorts of baked goods. From simple sugar cookies to complicated breads and desserts. Her sister had been up all night making this food. Stevie tried meditation and yoga to relax. Max got into fights with bees. And Charlie baked.

  “What are we supposed to do with all this?” Max asked Stevie. “I mean, I can pack it away, but even I can’t eat this much before it all goes bad.”

  “I’m half Siberian tiger and I can’t eat all this.”

  “What would normal people do with this much food?”

  Stevie thought a moment. “Give it to friends and family.”

  “We don’t speak to our family and we have very few friends.”

  Charlie walked into the kitchen and held up her phone. “I’m going in!” she announced.

  Max rolled her eyes. “Just ’cause that old bitch called doesn’t mean you need to call her back.”

  “We need to know what she knows.”

  “I doubt she knows much of anything. It’s not like the two sides of the family are chatty. Uncle Will is probably blaming the American side for what Freddy did.”

  “Our state-side kin would have never helped him. Any more than we would.”

  “Maybe she just wants information since Will won’t tell her anything.”

  “Which is kind of rude,” Stevie complained, “coming to us for information when she didn’t even invite us to her daughter’s wedding.”

  Charlie frowned. “Who’s getting married?”

  “Uh . . . the youngest one. Carrie, I think. They’re in New York for the whole event right now. The future hubby is apparently very rich.”

  Charlie smiled. “Then I’m sure Bernice wouldn’t want anything to fuck with her daughter’s perfect society wedding.”

  “You mean like Dad showing up to start shit?” Max asked.

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”