Hot and Badgered

by Shelly Laurenston

  Charlie and Max immediately moved in front of their baby sister to protect her from the raging, middle-aged She-badger.

  “It’s never too early for a good scotch,” Charlie said gently, sweeping her arm forward. “Please, Aunt Bernice, lead the way.”

  Her aunt stalked off and Charlie started to follow until she heard Max chuckling beside her.

  “What?”

  “I am so entertained right now.”

  Stevie pushed past her sisters and followed their aunt, tossing over her shoulder, “That’s probably because you have a high probability of being a psychotic.”

  Max grinned. “But I’m a happy psychotic!”

  * * *

  “I am not trying to destroy anyone or anything,” Ric explained to the grizzlies glaring at him. “I’m just trying to fix this.”

  “Fix what?” Berg Dunn asked. “They clearly don’t want a job and basically just want you to fuck off. So I don’t know why you or anyone else needs to talk to them.”

  “They’re making some people nervous.”

  “That’s not the MacKilligan sisters’ problem.”

  “It could become a problem if the Group and Katzenhaus decide they’re too much of a danger.”

  Dunn stood, his sister coming to stand next to him. “If that happens, you’ll have to deal with the BPC,” the bear warned. “Is that what you want? Really?”

  “Yeah?” Lock demanded next to Ric. “Really?”

  Ric grabbed Lock’s arm. “Could you excuse us a moment?” He pulled his best friend a few feet down the block before stopping and facing him. “What the fuck are you doing, man? You’re my backup!”

  “You just said come with me. So I went with you. But this conversation is making me uncomfortable. My mate is a hybrid. Our children are hybrids. And now I’m hearing that Dee-Ann is on a rampage to kill hybrids.”

  “She is not . . .” Ric took another breath. “Dee-Ann is only concerned that Stevie MacKilligan doesn’t seem to have full control of her shifting, and she can shift into a twenty-foot-long, tiger-striped honey badger.”

  Lock suddenly laughed. “That’s cool.”

  “Let me repeat,” Ric snapped. “She doesn’t have control.”

  “Oh.” He thought a moment, nodded. “You’re right. That is a concern.”

  “I know. So help me. Think you can do that?”

  The old friends gazed at each other for a long moment until, eyes narrowing, they looked at what now stood beside them.

  Dutch grinned at them. The bruises on his face and neck were . . . substantial. And Ric knew for a fact that the wolverine was quite the scrappy fighter. Still . . . one MacKilligan sister had kicked his ass with hand-to-hand combat. One.

  Ric did notice, though, that Dutch didn’t seem bowed by the damage. Despite the bruises and still-healing wounds, he appeared pretty chipper.

  “So,” the weasel boldly asked, “what are we talking about?”

  Lock sneered and started back toward the other bears. But as he walked past Dutch, he swung his arm out, sending Dutch flying across the street, across the fence of the home opposite them, across that bear’s yard, and into the defenseless porch swing.

  Lock didn’t actually put a lot of energy behind that move, either, but he’d never been much of a fan of wolverines and despite having retired from the hockey team, he still had that mighty boar strength.

  Ric followed his friend and stood silently as Lock said to the Dunn siblings, “How about we all meet later today in the BPC offices? You can just bring the eldest sister—”

  “Charlie.”

  Lock nodded. “You bring Charlie. All you guys come with her. And Katzenhaus can send someone and Ric can represent the Group. No one,” he quickly added, “will bring Dee-Ann.”

  “Or her father,” Britta said, adding when they all stared at her, “Everyone knows about her father. No Eggie Smith or no deal.”

  “He’s wandering the hills of Tennessee in his wolf form,” Ric replied. “He’s not leaving that happy life except for a full-on emergency. It’ll just be me and my Uncle Van representing the Group.”

  Britta looked to her brother.

  Berg shrugged. “I’ll talk to Charlie about it.”

  “Excellent.” Lock held his hand out for a shake but that’s when he realized he was still gripping the picket he’d pulled off the Dunns’ fence. “Oh . . . I can still fix this.”

  Britta took the piece of wood. “That’s okay. By the way,” She smiled. “I love your work, Mr. MacRyrie. We have one of your coffee tables. I’ve been saving up for one of your couches. Maybe a dining table.” Her nose crinkled up and she went from gruff and dangerous to delightful. “You’re so talented!”

  Lock, as was his way, blushed, buried his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and shrugged. “Uh . . . thanks. And you can call me Lock.”

  Growling in disgust, Berg suddenly stomped back to his porch, snarling, “Go away before I change my mind.”

  His sister, however, gave another delightful smile and a little wave. “It was so nice meeting you, Lock.”

  Ric walked back to the SUV and got into the passenger side; Lock was already starting the engine.

  Once they were on the road, heading back toward Manhattan, Lock observed, “Well . . . that was a very pleasant visit.”

  Not in the mood, Ric automatically replied, “Shut up.”

  “And now it’s a little less pleasant.”

  * * *

  “ ‘You’re so talented, Mr. MacRyrie,’” Berg mocked his sister in a high-pitched voice, watching as she waved at the SUV carrying the bear and wolf.

  When the car turned the corner, the piece of wood his sister had been holding came flying at his head. He ducked, the wood flew past him and rammed into the head of poor Dag, who’d been coming around the corner of the house.

  “Motherfucker!”

  Britta cringed before blaming Berg. “See what you made me do?”

  “Me?”

  She rushed to Dag and wiped the blood from his head with her hand. “This is all Berg’s fault,” she told Dag.

  “I know it is.”

  “Why is everyone blaming me?”

  “Excuse me?” The weasel had picked himself up after being tossed across the street by Lock MacRyrie and was now standing outside their fence. Existing.

  And his existing annoyed Berg.

  Slowly, Berg and his siblings looked over at the weasel. Without saying a word, they focused on him . . . and waited.

  Instead of getting the hint, he cheerfully asked, “Any idea when the girls will be back?”

  They continued to silently stare, reminding Berg why he loved his siblings. Why he loved being part of triplets. For moments like these.

  The weasel glanced around. “Uh . . . okay. Um . . . could you tell them I stopped by?”

  Staring.

  “All right. I’ll just, uh . . . I’ll just text Max. Yeah.” He nodded. “That’s what I’ll do. I’ll text Max.”

  Finally, after the endless silence, he gave a wave and walked off.

  When he was gone, Berg turned to those who’d shared a womb with him for nine months and—to their mother’s great annoyance—three weeks and, as one, they smiled.

  * * *

  Will walked into his mother’s house, where his brothers were waiting for him. He didn’t know what he was going to tell them. “Our American niece is a giant, tiger-striped, honey badger” just was not a conversation he wanted to have with the MacKilligan boys.

  But before he could say a word, his youngest brother, Jim, said, “We have a problem.”

  “You mean besides our lost money?”

  “I got a call from a contact at Saughton.”

  Saughton Prison. Also known as Edinburgh Prison. Considered the most dangerous prison in the British Isles. And most of that, at least lately, was due to one prisoner.

  Mairi MacKilligan. His brother Samson’s only girl.

  And, like her father, she’d ended up in Sau
ghton before she was even thirty. Maybe, also like her father, she’d ended up getting gutted late one night in her cell.

  “And?”

  “Mairi’s out.”

  Will shook his head. “She’s there at Her Majesty’s pleasure. And trust me, after what she’s done, Her Majesty won’t be letting her out any time soon.”

  “They didn’t let her out, Will. She escaped. And no one knows where she is.”

  “It’s Scotland not Africa. How hard can it be to track her down on this tiny island?”

  “That’s the problem,” Jim said, folding his arms over his chest. “They don’t think she’s in Scotland anymore. Or Europe. Instead she’s loose out there. And pissed at us because we left her in Saughton. You remember how she is, brother. This is gonna get bad.”

  Will dropped into the closest chair, gazing up at his siblings. “Oh, fuck.”

  chapter TWENTY

  As soon as they walked into one of the hotel’s bars, the bartender immediately grabbed a bottle of forty-year-old scotch.

  Bernice held up four fingers and beside the bottle on the bar top was placed four glasses. She grabbed the bottle, the glasses, and moved over to a booth in the far corner. She poured a couple of ounces in each glass before sitting down, keeping the bottle very close to her.

  Charlie slid in across from Bernice, and Max sat beside their aunt. Stevie sat next to Charlie.

  Grabbing one of the glasses, Bernice held it up and toasted with great sarcasm, “To family.”

  She was waiting, so Charlie and her sisters each grabbed a glass, repeated, “To family,” and tapped their glasses against their aunt’s.

  Bernice drank her scotch in one gulp before slamming it down on the table and filling it up again.

  Charlie took only a sip, knowing she shouldn’t do any hardcore drinking due to the meds she was on for her anxiety.

  Max sipped, curled her lip in distaste, and asked one of the waitresses for a bowl of honey roasted peanuts.

  Stevie, however, took her scotch in one gulp and the rest of them gawked at her.

  She dropped the glass on the table and, when she realized they were all staring, explained, “Seriously? You’re surprised I know how to drink after spending more than a decade around scientists and engineers?”

  Not having a response to that, Charlie focused on her aunt. “So, how’s that wedding going?”

  Bernice’s eyes narrowed on Charlie and she socked back another gulp of scotch.

  “I’m just going to put this out there,” Bernice said, studying her now-empty glass. “I’ve raised a horrible child.”

  “I appreciate your honesty,” Max replied.

  “But this wedding has to go off without a hitch.”

  “Don’t you have a wedding planner?” Stevie asked.

  “Of course. The best in the business. A She-tiger who is, to say the least, bitchy. And that Irish whore has been working my last Scottish nerve. Yet, she has been doing an amazing job. There’s just one”—she held up her forefinger—“little problem.”

  “The bride?” Max asked, her elbow on the table, her chin resting on her raised fist.

  Bernice gave a short nod. “The bride.”

  Stevie, perhaps emboldened by the one drink she’d had, suddenly perked up and asked, “I’m sorry but . . . why are we here? We’re not even invited to the wedding. So whether your daughter is being a prick or not . . . I don’t see how that’s our problem.”

  Keeping her fist raised, Max moved her face around until she could press the back of her fingers against her mouth, hiding her surprised smile.

  Bernice polished off another round of scotch before admitting, “To be blunt, I didn’t invite you two. I invited her.” Charlie saw that finger pointing at her and she wanted to head right for the exit. “Everyone in the family knows about you, Charlie.”

  Charlie prepared herself to be insulted. “Knows what?” she asked, sounding defensive even to her own ears.

  “That you get shit done. That you can shut down bullshit like no one else. I know you may not realize that because of the problems with your father, but trust me. No one could control that idiot of a man. And you have definitely done better than most.”

  “Um . . . thank you? But short of locking Carrie in a dungeon and only releasing her for the wedding so that we can drag her down the aisle by her hair, I’m not sure—”

  “That’s an option,” Bernice cut in. “See? Already we’re brainstorming.”

  Max sat up straight in her seat, eyes wide, her laughter moments from spilling out.

  “An option that I’m not sure is, uh, legal,” Charlie felt the need to point out. “I mean . . . does Carrie want to get married?”

  “Yes! Definitely.”

  “Okay. That’s good. But maybe I should clarify . . . does she want to get married to the guy who’s showing up on Saturday?”

  Bernice glanced off. “Ummmmm . . .”

  “If that’s a question you can’t answer in the affirmative right away, then perhaps you should call of the wed—”

  “No,” Bernice said immediately, not even letting Charlie finish her sentence. “We are going through with this wedding.” She waved her hands around. “Aliens and dragons could suddenly attack our entire planet, and I’d still make sure this fucking wedding happened.”

  “Look, Bernice . . .” Charlie cleared her throat. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your sudden willingness to, uh . . . acknowledge that I exist. But Carrie has sisters and you and . . . unless you just didn’t invite us to the funeral, I’m assuming your husband is still alive. So, you know, getting them to help is probably your best option. Especially since I’m not about to do anything illegal.”

  She let out an annoyed sigh. “And?”

  “So why am I here?”

  “So you can do what you do, Charlie MacKilligan. Remove obstacles. We’ve all watched you over the years. Someone gets in the way of Stevie receiving some fancy scholarship or funding . . . you handle it. When that Wisconsin high school wasn’t going to let Max walk during graduation because of what she did to that cheerleader—”

  Max’s smile was almost sweet. “Bobby-Jean Hamilton.” She nodded. “Head cheerleader. Voted most likely to succeed. And I beat the holy hell out of her in the cafeteria.” She gave a little shrug. “You know . . . just because.”

  Bernice gestured to Max with both hands. “You see? The school had every right not to let her walk for graduation. But you fixed it. She walked. And I want you to do the same for my little girl. Get her to walk down that aisle before I kill her and have her stuffed and mounted in my home as a warning to the rest of her sisters.”

  Charlie focused directly on her aunt, knowing better than to look at Max. She could not look at Max or the laughter would never end.

  She began, “Again, I appreciate what you’re going through, but I don’t think—”

  “How much?” Stevie suddenly asked.

  Charlie turned her body so she could look directly at her sister. “What are you doing?”

  “What? She expects you to do this for free?”

  “I don’t care if she wants it for free or not. I’m not doing anything. I’m not involving myself in this craziness. Instead, we’re all going to head back to bear street, as I like to call it, and find me something to wear because I think I have a date tonight with a very handsome man who can shift into a thousand-pound beast.” She looked back at Bernice. “So as much as I—”

  “I’ll give you fifty thousand.”

  Max blinked. “Dollars? American dollars?”

  Charlie raised her forefinger. “I already told you, I’m not doing anything illegal. And I’m not killing anybody for you.”

  “If I wanted someone dead, I’d hire Max.”

  “Awww,” Max said, gently touching Bernice’s forearm. “That’s sweet.”

  “Then what would you be giving me fifty grand for?”

  “I need you to do what you do so well. Problem-solve. Find that proble
m. Deal with that problem. Eliminate that problem.” And before Charlie could say anything, she quickly added, “Legally. I want you, Charlie, to do what you do so brilliantly. Fix the fucking problem. Not the wedding-specific stuff. I’m already paying that She-tiger whore a lot of money to make this wedding perfection. I need you to find out where the real problems are. The problems that are going to fuck my life. Find them and fix them.”

  “And if I can’t?”

  “You still get paid.” When Charlie’s eyes narrowed, Bernice went on, “I know you, Charlie. You’re like your mother. When you commit to something, you don’t walk away. I know if you promise to do your best on this, you will. If my daughter still manages to fuck it up . . . that’s on me. As her mother. And I’ll deal with that in my own way,” she said in a tone that made Charlie worry for her younger cousin.

  “What about expenses?” Stevie asked.

  Charlie slapped the glass her sister had only drunk from once, sending it flying across the bar. “No more liquor for you!”

  “I’m not letting you get screwed over. We’re getting you the best deal.”

  “You want to talk deal, Stevie?” Bernice leaned forward, looking directly at Charlie’s baby sister. “I’ll give her twenty-five K up front. Cover all expenses. And no matter what happens, on the day the wedding should take place, I’ll give her the other twenty-five K.” She held up her finger before Stevie could say anything. “But . . . if the wedding does happen. Meaning Carrie and Ronald P. Farmington the Fourth walk down that aisle, say their vows, and leave on their honeymoon at the end of the night, I’ll give her a bonus of thirty-five thousand dollars on top of the fifty.” She glanced at Max. “American dollars.”

  Bernice relaxed back in the seat, tossing her hands up before asking, “What ya gotta say now, bitches?”

  Stevie nodded at Charlie. “Take it.”

  “What are you doing to me?”

  “Getting you a job.”

  “Stevie, you know that once I’m in—”

  “Yeah. You’re committed. I get that. I also know this wedding is to take place this Saturday. Take the fucking money.”

  Charlie looked at Max, but she could already guess her sister’s answer.

  “Take the money, dude,” Max said.