In a Badger Way

by Shelly Laurenston

  The sisters finished and the crowd in the club completely lost their minds. But the ladies simply bowed and got off the stage.

  Stevie walked through the still-applauding crowd to their booth and squeezed herself in.

  At first, she didn’t say anything. Just sat there, calmly.

  Then she looked across the booth to the Brunettis, locked her gaze on a glowering Mary Marie . . . and smiled.

  * * *

  The fight started when Stevie wouldn’t back down from the cats glaring at her.

  Shen couldn’t help but remember when he’d first met Stevie in the Queens house living room. His first impression was of a shy, sweet “girl.” It took him a couple of weeks, but he finally figured out she was anything but that.

  So when the threats and pushing started, he dashed over to the booth and grabbed Kyle, yanking him to safety near Blayne, Gwen, and their extremely large mates, Bo and Lock. A few seconds later, they were joined by Coop, Cherise, Oriana, and Johnny DeSerio, who’d only just arrived a few minutes before.

  Jess stepped in to stop the fight before the club’s wolf security was forced to intervene. The club employees were part of a wolf Pack that was more gang than Pack, even riding custom Harley-Davidsons like they were in their own versions of Sons of Anarchy. So Shen knew they were not wolves to fuck with. They wouldn’t back down in the face of a little roaring and snarling between lions and honey badgers.

  “Everyone calm down!” Jess yelled, waving her hands between the screaming factions.

  “This is such bullshit!” Mary Marie Brunetti complained. “You brought in some ringer with a big musical background. This was supposed to be fun.”

  “You didn’t seem to have a problem with my singing before I performed,” Stevie reminded Mary Marie.

  “Well, I have a problem with it now.”

  “‘Well, I have a problem with it now’ because you’re better than me,” Max mimicked in a high-pitched voice.

  Mary Marie stepped up to Max. “You got something to say to me, bitch?”

  “Yeah,” Max replied. “You don’t get away from my baby sister, I’m unloading my anal glands right here. I’ve done it once today,” she added, “I will do it again!”

  “Okay,” Jess ordered, instantly stepping in. “There will be no anal gland anything. Here or anywhere.”

  Charlie gave a quick jerk of her head and Max stepped back.

  “Now,” Jess continued, focused on Mary Marie and her sisters, “the votes aren’t in. But if the MacKilligans win, they will win fair and square. So you’ll just have to suck it the fuck up.”

  “Or what?” Mary Marie sneered. “What are you and your dogs going to do?”

  And, like that, the wild dogs went from dancing and drinking to surrounding the Brunetti Pride and yelling. So much yelling. And yipping. A lot of yipping. Because they were, after all, African wild dogs and that’s what they did. Stuck together and barked a lot.

  Until the lions backed off and walked away. Once they’d returned to their booth, the wild dogs returned to their good time, and thankfully, no anal glands were unloaded that night.

  chapter TWENTY-FOUR

  When the She-lions finally calmed down, they issued a challenge to the MacKilligans. Kind of a sing-off. Well . . . they issued a challenge to Stevie, specifically, which was fine with her. She was having a great time. It had been a while since she’d performed on a stage.

  The Brunettis went up first, nailing a version of a Destiny’s Child song that had the crowd pretty impressed.

  Then it was Stevie’s turn.

  “What are you going to sing?” Coop had asked.

  “Not sure yet. Maybe play something with the band.”

  He’d grinned. “Want to play with us?”

  “Play with you?”

  He shrugged. “We have a little band. Me and Cherise. We’re mostly all here. Two of our regulars are touring in China right now, but we can still go on without them. And we all play instruments that we don’t normally play. I’m on bass guitar. Johnny’s on rhythm. Cherise plays drums.”

  “So she can hide behind them?”

  “Yes. Wanna have some fun?”

  “Can we win?” Because Stevie really wanted to make Mary Marie and her sisters suffer.

  “We’re all prodigies. Of course we can win.”

  So they’d gotten up on stage and Stevie, on lead guitar, played the song she called her “anthem.” Jimi Hendrix’s “Manic Depression.” She could play the music on guitar just like Jimi Hendrix could. She could also play just like Jimmy Paige and Carlos Santana. She’d had music agents trying to persuade her to put out an album with covers of great rock songs, but being able to mimic someone else’s work didn’t seem like a gift as much as just a skill she had. Her gift was in the music she composed. Because that was hers alone and it was unique.

  Although to amuse herself when playing Hendrix, Stevie had even modulated her voice so she sounded like him, which freaked everybody out. The Pride actually tried to prove she’d been lip-synching. As if!

  But Stevie didn’t really care about the bitches complaining because she had found something more important. A group of people she could be in a band with. Musicians who wanted nothing to do with getting record deals or screaming fans. They didn’t need to do any of that because they already had record deals and screaming fans. They were all world-renowned musicians who just liked to get together with friends and play instruments that had nothing to do with their livelihoods. Even better, Stevie fit in with them perfectly. Not just emotionally but musically. With barely a discussion between any of them, they jammed out Hendrix’s music like they’d been playing together for years.

  After they were done, Coop had taken her into a hallway past the stage. That’s where he’d asked her if she’d liked to join the band full-time . . . ish. They met rarely because of their busy schedules, but when they did, they played whatever they wanted and everyone brought something for a potluck. On occasion, they would perform for an audience. Stevie wasn’t sure about that until Coop promised it would just be the wild dogs for the occasional birthday party or celebration. And, of course, Wild Dog Night when they were bored.

  It sounded perfect and just what she was looking for, so Stevie agreed. What shocked her, though, was that when Coop walked back out into the main club room, Shen was glaring at him.

  “What are you doing?” she asked Shen.

  “What? Nothing.”

  “Why are you glaring at Coop?”

  “No reason. Why do you ask? Do you want a drink? I want a drink.”

  Stevie caught his arm and pulled him toward the hallway she’d just left.

  “What’s going on with you?” she asked.

  “I told you. Nothing.”

  “Then why are you being so weird with Coop? I think he’s starting to notice.”

  “Gee. I’m hurting Coop’s feelings. What a tragedy.”

  “I thought you liked him.”

  “I do.”

  Stevie was so confused. Unless . . .

  “Oh, my God, are you jealous?”

  * * *

  Shen didn’t even want to hear that. “No.”

  “You’re jealous!” Stevie crowed.

  “I am not!”

  “It’s okay. You can admit it.”

  “I admit nothing. And this conversation is over.”

  Shen started to walk away, but Stevie grabbed his arm again, yanked him back.

  “I am not jealous!” he lied, and he knew he was lying. That was the worst part.

  But Stevie just shook her head, her expression completely different. Instead of amused, she looked seriously concerned. “No, no.” She pointed. “See that guy?”

  Shen studied the man Stevie pointed out. He was by the second, smaller bar, hunched over a bit, his gaze roaming the crowd while he nursed a drink.

  “Yeah. What about him?”

  “That’s Wells’s brother.”

  Fucking great. “Any chance he’s just
good friends with wild dogs?”

  “Who the hell likes wild dogs?”

  Of course, when Stevie said that out loud, several of Jess Ward’s Pack were walking by. They all stopped, stared at her.

  Stevie cleared her throat. “No offense.”

  * * *

  Max followed Dutch into the bathroom, standing behind him while he was at the urinal.

  He finished, did a little shake, zipped up, and turned—

  “Jesus!” he barked in surprise. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

  “What did you find out?” she asked, trying not to laugh.

  Dutch went to the sinks to wash his hands. “Devon is still in Europe.”

  “Is my mother safe?”

  “Don’t worry. I got money to people in the prison who’ll watch out for her. Belgian bears. She couldn’t be safer. There is one little problem, though.”

  “Which is?”

  “What did you do to those guys?”

  “You’ll have to be way more specific.”

  “The ones you buried.”

  “They were going to kidnap me. What was I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t think it’s that you killed them that has my bosses so concerned,” he said, speaking of the Group, the organization he worked for as an agent. “It’s that you unleashed your anal glands, suffocated them to death, then buried them and their truck in, like, five minutes.”

  “It was an SUV and it was more like ten minutes. Maybe even fifteen. But what was I supposed to do? Leave them lying there? Covered in my stink?”

  “It’s not just you, brain trust. It’s all of you. The three of you are freaking them out. And the last thing you want is for them to unleash Dee-Ann Smith on you.”

  “The bitch who got her ass kicked by Charlie?”

  “That was a close-in fight. She and Cella are not averse to long-distance attacks. If you get my meaning. What you and Charlie can do when you come face-to-face with your enemies, those two can do from a mile away in a high wind. Understand?”

  Max nodded. “So you’re saying I should kill them first.”

  “No!”

  “Okay,” she said, heading toward the bathroom door, working hard to keep her expression neutral. “I’ll take care of it!”

  “Get your ass back here, MacKilligan! You are not to kill anyone! What is wrong with you?”

  Max stepped out of the bathroom and came face-to-face with Jess Ward.

  The Pack leader looked at her and then at the bathroom door.

  “Why were you in the men’s room?” she asked.

  “Because I won’t be confined by gender constraints?”

  “Do you even know what that means?”

  “Not really.”

  * * *

  Berg tracked Charlie down. She was in a balcony room that overlooked the dance floor. He wouldn’t mind if she were simply leaning on the thick rail, but she was sitting on it, her legs dangling over the side.

  Not wanting to startle her and send her hurtling to her death, he eased up behind her.

  “Hey,” he said softly.

  “Hey.” Her gaze continued to scan the entire bar.

  “What’s going on?”

  “My sisters are up to something. Or not telling me something. But they’re not doing something together. Instead they each have their own partners in crime.”

  “I thought you were going to allow your sisters to be adults,” he reminded her.

  “They’re each up to something. Can’t you see it?”

  “I don’t watch my own siblings as closely as you watch your sisters, so no. I don’t see anything.”

  “Think Shen will talk to you?”

  “No.”

  “I know I could get Max’s shit out of Dutch, but it would take a lot of blood and pain.” She glanced at him. “I know you wouldn’t be okay with that.”

  “I’m glad we understand each other when it comes to my belief system on torture.”

  Berg watched Charlie for a few moments, wondering how to reach her.

  “Have you ever thought,” he carefully suggested, “that maybe your sisters won’t tell you stuff because they’re afraid of the way you’ll react?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “No. I don’t mean with them. They both seem quite comfortable with the bizarre dynamic you three have. I’m talking about how you deal with others.”

  Charlie looked away from the club and directly at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “In the few weeks we’ve known each other, you’ve threatened several people with death for even suggesting they get your sisters involved in anything you think is remotely dangerous. Not only that, but you beat the unholy hell out of Dutch just for getting Max a job offer. Threatened a Van Holtz with an actual flaying because he suggested Stevie might be able to help him with something . . . and those two examples are merely the most egregious. There are others.”

  “Your point?”

  “It’s simple. Maybe they don’t tell you things because they’re afraid you’ll kill someone.”

  She frowned. “That’s silly.”

  “Really? Because I didn’t tell you when I felt one of your cousins trying to get my wallet out of my jacket at your great uncle’s funeral. I was afraid more bodies would end up buried with Uncle Pete. So I just silently pulled his hand out of my pocket and crushed his fingers until he cried. But we both did it quietly. Because you, Charlie MacKilligan, are scarier than a grizzly bear. Especially to your sisters when it comes to the people they care about.”

  Charlie returned her gaze to the club. She didn’t say anything and Berg just assumed she was pissed at him. But then she jumped off the balcony . . .

  Berg made a crazy grab for her, but Charlie slipped through his fingers and landed on the ground hard, but unharmed.

  “Wolf legs,” he muttered, watching her walk away, ridiculously grateful for those long, muscular legs.

  * * *

  “Where is he?”

  They’d pushed their way through the club crowd, but by the time Stevie and Shen had arrived at the back bar, Wells’s brother was gone.

  “We need to find him,” Stevie said, backing away from Shen. “We need to find him now.”

  As Stevie moved, she heard Max behind her.

  “I want Devon found,” she was saying. “I want to know who those guys—”

  They walked into each other, their backs colliding.

  Stevie immediately faced her sister. Dutch was standing behind her. Stevie could tell they’d been conspiring.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “What are you doing?” Max shot back.

  “I know you’re up to something.”

  “So are you.”

  Of course, Max was right, which meant it was best they just walk away from each other.

  With a nod, Stevie moved away from her sister. But she’d barely gotten three feet away when a strong hand grabbed her by the back of her neck.

  Max’s eyes grew wide, her gaze directed behind Stevie. Max turned to go, but a hand reached out and grabbed her, too, yanking her close.

  “Come with me,” Charlie ordered, dragging Stevie and Max away from the dance floor.

  * * *

  Shen and Dutch watched the MacKilligan sisters disappear into the crowd, Charlie dragging the other two with an amazing amount of ease.

  “Should we follow them?” Shen asked Dutch.

  “No.”

  * * *

  Charlie pushed her sisters into the room and closed the office door behind them.

  Stevie immediately looked down at the floor. But Max . . .

  “Oooh. A safe.”

  Charlie snapped her fingers in her middle sister’s direction and pointed to a spot next to Stevie, right in front of a large wood desk.

  Charlie began to pace in front of the pair. Back and forth. Back and forth. Until she came to an abrupt stop and pointed her finger at her sisters.

  “Berg says you’re scared of me.�
�

  Her sisters frowned, glanced at each other, frowned some more.

  “Scared of you?” Stevie asked.

  “Us?” Max asked.

  “Well . . . he actually said that you were afraid of what I’d do to your friends.”

  “Oh,” they both said, and then Stevie looked down at the floor and Max studied the safe.

  “That’s a top-of-the-line safe,” Max said. “But, uh, I can break into it, like in thirty seconds.”

  Charlie put her hands on her hips. “Berg was right . . . wasn’t he?”

  No longer frowning, her younger sisters glanced at each other.

  “We love how protective you are of us,” Stevie began, her fingers twisting.

  “We really do,” Max insisted, sounding more sincere than Charlie had ever heard before.

  “But you do . . . sometimes . . .”

  “Just sometimes.”

  “Get a little . . . overwrought?”

  “Overwrought?” Charlie repeated

  “Like that time my tutor and I were having a philosophical discussion about Jean-Paul Sartre’s No Exit.”

  “He was being rude.”

  “No. We were just discussing. But you didn’t like his tone. So you hung him outside the window by his foot. Most philosophical discussions don’t end with grown men sobbing and promising not to call the police if you just let them go.”

  “And that time you didn’t like the football player I started dating—”

  “He talked shit about his old girlfriend, which means he was going to talk shit about you.”

  “You’re right,” Max agreed. “You’re absolutely right. Still, I don’t think it was necessary for you to bind, gag, and shove him in the trunk of his car and leave him in the woods with a warning that if he put any part of himself near my pussy, you’d cut his throat and let the neighborhood dogs at him.”

  “Then,” Stevie softly added, “there was that squirrel incident.”

  “He was rabid.”

  “No. He was just a squirrel.”