In a Badger Way

by Shelly Laurenston

  She didn’t blame them. She’d just been in a vicious fight with her own sister. But they weren’t around her for long—the adults scurried them away in seconds.

  Shen disappeared back into the house and Stevie looked down at her hands. They were shaking and she hated that.

  “You do make an entrance, Dr. MacKilligan.”

  Stevie slid her gaze a few feet away to Irene Conridge, who was standing there, looking as haughty as ever.

  “You did lure me here.”

  She shrugged. “I knew you’d come running to help.”

  “So this is all bullshit.”

  “No. The wild dogs are pissed. Whether you still want to help, though, is up to you.”

  “Then what do you really want?”

  Conridge walked to her side. She handed her a cell phone. “Take this. You’ll be able to contact me directly.”

  “Okay.”

  “And here’s the information I have so far. I think you should look at it. See if I missed anything.”

  “I doubt you did.”

  “Then see if there’s anything in there that I would not notice. You and your sisters are much more on the . . . outskirts of society than I am.”

  Stevie nodded and pulled off the gym pack strapped to her shoulders so that Conridge could put the thick file inside, along with the phone.

  “Next time,” Stevie said as the woman began to walk away, “don’t lure. Just text me if you need to see me. That’ll concern my sisters much less.”

  “Understood.”

  By the time Conridge disappeared around the corner of the house, Shen returned from inside, a first aid kit in his hand.

  He led her to a picnic table.

  “Get up,” he ordered.

  She slid her ass onto the table and sat back until her legs hung over the edge.

  He placed two fingers under her chin and lifted.

  “What are you going to tell Charlie when she sees this black eye?”

  “I . . . I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Uh-huh. Not even to tell me what your father did? How he got you into this?”

  “It’s my fault. I never should have believed him. I know he’s a liar, a scumbag, a useless waste of space.”

  “And still your father.”

  She felt a tear slide down her cheek and she hated herself for the weakness. But Shen didn’t say anything. He just wiped it with the tip of his finger before he began working on her cuts and bruises.

  * * *

  “I want my sister!”

  Jess Ward Smith let her eyes roll back into her head before she looked over her shoulder at the honey badger that had invaded her home, and snapped, “Shut the fuck up!”

  That’s when she got hissed at by a mouthful of needlepoint fangs, which was just weird.

  The last twenty-fours had been nothing but weird. The inside of the Pack’s rental house had been nearly destroyed by what had been described to her as a giant tiger-striped honey badger . . . do those even exist? In nature?

  And now the girl who had once betrayed her only son had arrived with the Jean-Louis Parker pups and her badger sister. If that was all, it would have been weird enough. But it got weirder! Jess had daughters. Too many daughters, some might say. And they fought constantly. But not like those two had fought. Like WWE wrestlers on primetime.

  Now the betrayer was in Jess’s backyard with a goddamn giant panda and the betrayer’s sister was in her living room, screaming.

  She had been doomed to this life, hadn’t she? To never have a “normal” existence. And not because she was a shifter. Lots of shifters lived in the suburbs and had nice, normal lives. But Jess never had. Not once.

  “We should call Dez,” Sabina said next to her, speaking of the full-human head of the NYPD’s shifter unit. “Let her take these bitches in for what they did.”

  “No.” And, of course, that came from her son. “We’re not doing anything.”

  “Do you remember what she did to you?” Jess demanded. “Do I need to remind you?”

  “No, Mom. You don’t need to remind me. And you need to let it go.”

  “You haven’t figured me out yet? I don’t let anything go. Ever. Ask your Aunt Sissy.”

  She looked down at her phone and quickly scanned her contacts, looking for the FBI agent’s number until Johnny took the phone from her.

  “Really?” she asked him.

  He laughed. “Come on.” He pointed at the crazed badger. “You too.”

  They started to walk and Johnny followed, looking back at Coop and his siblings. “Can you guys wait here?”

  “But we’re nosy,” Coop replied.

  “Stay .”

  “That doesn’t work on us,” Coop called out after them.

  “It actually does,” Johnny replied.

  He was right too. It worked on the wild dogs all the time.

  They went out into the backyard, the panda smoothing a small Band-Aid on the girl’s cheek.

  Johnny dragged Jess until they were right in front of the little con artist.

  “Tell her,” Johnny ordered the girl.

  Those betraying eyes flickered over to the badger and back to Johnny. The girl shook her head, her lips tightly shut.

  “Now what did you do?” the badger sister demanded, pushing past Johnny and slapping at the girl. Using her legs, the girl pushed her sister away, then began to slap back. The two of them no longer looked like well-trained wrestlers but Jess’s twin daughters who had to be put in separate cribs when they got a little older because they kept getting into slap fights.

  Johnny pushed them apart, making Jess wince. He had to protect his hands. Getting between a couple of predator siblings was never a good idea when your hands were priceless.

  “Tell her what you did,” Johnny insisted. “Now.”

  The betrayer rubbed her nose; her gaze focused on the panda’s hand.

  Still not looking at them, she began, “My father convinced me—and I stupidly believed—that he just wanted me to get your contact information so he could talk to your mother. He told me he wanted to sell her something. I assumed it was one of his stupid Ponzi schemes and I was sure she’d never fall for it. But he’d researched you. He knew you were a fan of my music and that your mother had a lot of money. I wanted to help and, at the same time, hoped I could steer him down a more logical path. Maybe help get him a straight job. But I didn’t realize he’d lied to me until I got back to our hotel room and he was gone.”

  The sister threw up her arms, then placed her hands on top of her head. She began pacing in a circle, shaking her head and muttering to herself.

  “Tell her what you did,” Johnny said again.

  “She just did,” Jess replied. “If you believe her.”

  “Please, Miss MacKilligan,” Johnny insisted, “tell my mother what you did.”

  The sister stopped pacing and her head slowly turned to focus on MacKilligan.

  “I didn’t know exactly what my father had done until I saw it on the news later that night. About how your Stradivarius was missing and there was this massive hunt for it throughout France. But I got out before then. Before the cops came. Because I knew when he left, he’d done something bad.” She blew out a breath, finally looked at them. “I knew there wasn’t much I could do to fix things, but I went ahead and sent a violin that had been gifted to me by a very generous royal who loved one of my operas.”

  Jess sucked her tongue against her teeth. “That piece of shit knockoff you sent us? I destroyed that fucking thing.”

  MacKilligan scrambled off the table and nearly dropped to her knees, eyes wide with panic; but Johnny caught her.

  “No, no!” he said quickly. “The violin was not destroyed. Remember, Mom? You were about to destroy it when I wrestled it from your hands.” He placed MacKilligan back on the table.

  “I promise,” he said to the little crook. “It’s safe. Very, very safe.”

  “Wait a minute.” The sister stepped forward
, staring at MacKilligan. “Are you talking about the violin?”

  “Can we talk about this later?” The thief practically begged.

  “That was our security blanket. Jesus Christ! What did you do?”

  “I had to do something!”

  “Why? Because you allowed Dad to fuck you over? Yet again?”

  MacKilligan didn’t answer. She gazed at her sister. And her sister gazed back. Until the two women went at each other once more with fists and crazed screeching.

  Unable to stand a moment more of this, Jess grabbed each woman by the hair and yanked them apart. Just like she did with her girls.

  “That is enough!” she bellowed, separating them with a strong shove. “I honestly don’t know what the hysterics are about. That piece of shit is not even a Stradivarius.”

  “That, Mom, is because it’s a Guarneri.”

  Jess shrugged. “So? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “I know. That’s why I didn’t bother telling you. But Uncle Phil and I had it examined and priced by a specialist . . . and it’s definitely a Guarneri.”

  “And?”

  “And . . . it’s worth about twenty-two million dollars.”

  Stunned by that response, all Jess could do was stare at her son. But MacKilligan nodded and noted, “So it’s gone up then, since I had it.”

  “Yes,” Johnny replied. “There was an auction a few years back for a Guarneri, and it went for quite a lot. And the one you sent me is pristine, sooo . . .”

  Finally able to speak, Jess asked MacKilligan, “You gave my son a twenty-two-million-dollar violin to make up for what your father did? Seriously?”

  “Of course, she did,” her sister snapped, livid. “Her and her high moral standards.”

  “It was the right thing to do!” MacKilligan screamed at her sister.

  “We can’t live off your high moral bullshit!”

  “Enough with the yelling!” Jess barked. “I can’t stand it.” She pointed at her head. “Sensitive dog ears.”

  The sister shook her head. “I’m telling Charlie.” She turned to walk away but her sister grabbed her hair and yanked her back. MacKilligan wrapped her legs around the sister’s waist and began punching her in the face.

  Johnny looked at the giant panda. “Are you not going to stop them?”

  “They’ll stop. Besides,” he added with a straight face, “I’m dainty. Like a Fabergé egg.”

  “Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

  “No,” Jess said, pushing her son back. “You’re not damaging your precious hands.”

  Then Jess did what she’d been avoiding this entire time. “Sabina.”

  Jess’s best friend appeared and in just a moment she had the knives her husband had purchased for her years ago pressed against the throat of MacKilligan and the inside thigh of the sister.

  Instantly, the siblings stopped fighting. They stopped moving. Which Jess found telling. These weren’t spoiled brats who’d never been threatened before, who didn’t realize they were in danger. They knew they were in danger and reacted instantly.

  “Just a nick,” Sabina said, her voice soft but her Russian accent thicker, “and you two bleed all over our nice lawn furniture. So you stop . . . or I will start cutting. Understand?”

  MacKilligan pulled her hands away from her sister, her knuckles bloody from punching her sister’s face. And her sister stepped away, her nose bloody and flatter.

  “Thank you, Sabina.”

  Sabina winked at Jess. “You are welcome, my friend.”

  Jess moved closer to MacKilligan. “What your father did . . . is not on you. You know that, right?”

  “Sure.”

  The sister rolled her eyes. “You are the worst liar.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Nick here . . . nick there,” Sabina muttered and the siblings again stopped bickering.

  “We can’t keep that violin,” Jess finally said. “I mean, when I thought it was a piece of shit, that’s one thing.” She reached out and grabbed Johnny’s forearm. “And thank you for stopping me from destroying it that time.” She cleared her throat. “Because that would have been awful.”

  Johnny smiled. “No problem.”

  “But now that I know what it’s actually worth and what actually happened—”

  “I can’t take it back.”

  The sister threw up her hands in frustration but she didn’t say anything. Smart. Sabina was dying to use her knives on actual human beings.

  “As a collector, Stevie,” Coop said from behind Johnny—how long had he been there?—“you could donate the violin to Johnny for his lifetime. As a collector, since you don’t play yourself, it would be considered completely normal and no one would have to know anything but that.”

  Johnny suddenly shook his head. “I . . . I’m not ready to play a Guarneri.”

  MacKilligan suddenly made a scoffing sound and Jess thought she’d have to start punching bitches in the face, too, but then the hybrid said, “Of course you’re ready.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “I’ve heard you play,” she said flatly, staring at Johnny like he was an idiot. “You’re ready. And just so we’re clear, I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it. I don’t care what my father may have stolen from you. When it comes to music, if you suck, I tell you that you suck. But when you’re actually good, I tell you that too.”

  “It’s true,” her sister interjected. “She’s a total bitch when it comes to her music or science. Anything else . . . she could give a shit.”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said, “but a Guarneri . . .”

  “You were playing a Stradivarius,” MacKilligan reminded him.

  “Well . . . I kinda had to. My mom bought it for me. But to get a donation of this kind and then to fuck it up.”

  “You won’t.” And MacKilligan said it so plainly, her gaze right on him, that Jess knew she meant it. She had no doubt in Johnny’s talents. None. Something that meant way more to Jess than the four million she’d originally paid for the Stradivarius at auction.

  “Just one thing, though,” MacKilligan went on. “A favor. When you play the Met—”

  “I’m not playing the Met.”

  “You will. And when you do, Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.” She smiled. “It’s my absolute favorite and it will make you a household name. I know it’s common and you hear it all the time in movies and commercials, but for violin . . . it never fails to make me feel. And I would absolutely love to hear you play that on a Guarneri. I mean, the power of your playing combined with the power of that violin . . . it completely outstrips the Stradivarius in intensity.” She glanced at Jess. “No offense.”

  What was Jess supposed to say to that when the woman was donating a twenty-two-million-dollar violin to her only son? “None taken.”

  * * *

  “About the jackal house . . . I don’t want them to lose it.”

  Johnny DeSilvo’s adoptive mom frowned. “Why would they lose the house?”

  “Told ya,” Max muttered. “Set up.”

  “Could you go away?” Stevie growled at her sister, completely fed up with her shit right now.

  “But—”

  “Go away!” she snapped, ready to start the punches again.

  “Fine!”

  Once her sister had stormed back into the house with everyone else, Stevie faced Jess Ward and put on her best audience smile. “Sorry about that.”

  “I have five daughters . . . I get it.”

  “Yeah, you probably do. Anyway, what happened at the house . . . my fault. I don’t want the Jean-Louis Parkers held responsible for it.”

  “I get that, but our contractor says we’re looking at six figures’ worth of damage.”

  Six figures? Holy shit.

  “O . . . okay. I can’t pay that now, but I can get it. Just give me a little—”

  “How about,” she said, putting her arm around Stevie’s shoulders and pulling her close, “we come up with another option.”


  Stevie glanced at the hand gripping her shoulder and back at the wild dog. “Is this a weird sexual request? Because I don’t do that.”

  She stared at Stevie for a long time before asking, “The MacKilligan gals are a . . . unique group, aren’t they?”

  Finally, Stevie had to laugh. “You have no idea.”

  * * *

  Shen waited on the stairs leading to the Pack house, his back against the railing, his legs stretched out in front of him.

  “So when’s your next match?” Shen asked Coop, who was opposite him and a step lower.

  “Friday. I’m hoping Stevie will play.”

  “She probably will. She said she had a good time.”

  “Great.” Coop glanced off, then said, “By the way, you have the night off. My mom wants Kyle home. Toni’s coming over with Ricky Lee, which means his brothers and sister are going to be with them. And where there is Ronnie Lee Reed, there’s Sissy Mae Smith and a good chunk of the Smith Pack.”

  Shen chuckled. “Sure you don’t want me to take Kyle back with us?”

  “If I have to suffer, so does that little shit. Besides, it’s what my mom insists on calling ‘Family Night.’ No matter how many times we ask her not to call it that.”

  “Too pedestrian?”

  “Basically.” He smiled. “I’ll drop him off tomorrow.”

  “Great.”

  The front door opened and the rest of their group walked out. Before Kyle could say anything, Coop grabbed him by his T-shirt and dragged him down the stairs and toward the house across the street.

  “Oh, come on! Family Night again? Can’t you talk Mom out of it?”

  Oriana sighed. “I hate Family Night.”

  “What do you guys do on a family holiday like Thanksgiving?” Shen asked.

  “When Cherise started describing Thanksgiving as a celebration of the massacre of an entire race of people and Kyle described Christmas as a ritual honoring a mass delusion . . . the family found other things to do during the holidays.”

  Shen nodded. “That sounds like a very good idea.”

  “But there’s no fighting on Family Night.” Oriana sighed again and started down the stairs. But she abruptly stopped, stood there for a moment, then turned around and came back up. She smiled at Stevie.