Badd Kitty

by Jasinda Wilder

  Roman didn’t seem intimidated, however. He just ignored Sebastian and continued counting out cash for their bill.

  “Hear you’re trying to poach my waitress.” Sebastian said this in a bass snarl. “And being a general pain in the ass.”

  “Just checking out the local scene,” Roman said, setting the cash on the table. “And damn, son, have you got some fine-ass scenery around here, man.” He said this with a lewd smirk at me.

  “It’s not appreciated.”

  Roman just laughed. “I ain’t too concerned about what you do or don’t appreciate, big fella.”

  “I think it’s time for you to leave,” Sebastian growled.

  Roman’s eyes glinted with humor. “Aww, Sebastian, you wouldn’t be trying to kick out your own cousins, now, would you?”

  2

  Roman

  * * *

  I could tell he was stunned speechless. Now, I know I have that effect on women, but it’s not often I can make another man flap his jaw like that.

  “The fuck are you talking about, asshole?” My admittedly imposing cousin said in a snarl Dad would have appreciated. In fact, everything Sebastian had said so far was in either a growl or a snarl.

  I just winked. “Didn’t you know? You have cousins.” I gestured at my brothers, who were silent, letting me handle this, seeing as it was me getting us into this. “Three of us.”

  “Knowing how Dad’s sleazy ass is, odds are there are more out there we don’t know about,” Ramsey added.

  “Cousins?” Sebastian was eyeing us, arms at his sides, fists clenching, as if contemplating just swinging first and asking questions later.

  I nodded. “My name is Roman. Roman Badd.” I gestured to my right. “Next to me is my brother, Remington, and next to him is Ramsey. And yeah, we’re identical triplets.”

  Behind my cousin, Kitty was staring at me with those pretty brown eyes wide and confused. I just winked at her, and turned my attention to Sebastian.

  “You got anything to say?” I asked.

  “Yeah—get the fuck out with your bullshit.”

  I stood up slowly, and he backed up, visibly tensing. I just laughed. “Hey, easy now. We ain’t here for that kinda trouble.” I reached into my back pocket and withdrew the photo Dad had given me—I extended it to Sebastian. “Take a look, if you don’t believe me.”

  Sebastian took the photo from me and glanced down at it. First glance was enough, I could tell, but he looked back up at me, more critically now, and then back at the photo.

  “What…the…fuck…is this?” he whispered.

  “Yeah, it was a shock to me, too.” I leaned forward and tapped one of the men in the photo. “That’s our dad, Lucas Badd.” I tapped the other. “That’s your dad, Liam Badd.” I tapped the woman in the photo. “And that, my friend, is Lena Dunfield. Your mother. And the reason we never knew about each other.”

  His fist smashed into my jaw, a lightning fast hook that took me utterly by surprise. Even more surprising was his hands, both of them, wrapping around my throat. He slammed me back up against the wall and lifted me—and the motherfucker was powerful, because he got me up on my toes, and I ain’t light.

  I extended a hand to stop my brothers from jumping in; I could handle this, and him. “Hey—ease up,” I rasped.

  The long-haired guy—who I assumed was one of my other cousins—was at Sebastian’s side, pulling at him. “Let him go, Bast.”

  Kitty was there, too, pleading with “Bast” to let me go. As if I couldn’t wreck him on my own, if I wanted to. Although, considering the grip he had on me, and the fact that I was still reeling from his hook, I wouldn’t necessarily want to try unless I had to.

  Finally, his grip loosened and I sagged to my feet, coughing for air.

  “You don’t get to talk about my goddamn mother,” Bast snarled. “Her name was Lena Badd. And you don’t know the first fucking thing about her.”

  I held up both hands palms out. “Hey, chill, man. I wasn’t talking shit about her,” I grated, my throat on fire. “She’s passed on, God rest her, and I may be an asshole but I don’t speak ill of the dead—especially not my own aunt.”

  Sebastian or Bast or whatever his name was pivoted, pacing away, the photo in his fingers. The younger brother was right there with him, murmuring to him in low tones. Bast shook his head like a bear shaking off bee stings, glancing at the photo.

  We had an audience, at this point. As in, the whole bar was watching, taking photos, whispering to each other.

  “Can I make a suggestion?” I said. “This is a private conversation, and this ain’t exactly a private location.”

  “Yeah, well, you brought this shit here to our fucking bar,” Bast snarled. “We have customers. We can’t just shut down for some asshole claiming to be cousins we didn’t know we fucking had.”

  Kitty touched his arm. “I can handle things here. This isn’t something you can just ignore, Bast.”

  “Fuck that, this place is slammed. You can’t run the entire bar by yourself.” He sighed heavily, tapping his palm with the edge of the photograph. “And by the time we got anyone here to help, it’d be time to close. Fuck.” He glared at me. “You had to bring this shit here, now?”

  I just shrugged. “Oops?”

  Bast shook his head again, and then seemed to make a decision. He paced across to the bar and hopped up onto it with an ease belied by his bulk and size. He cupped his hands around his mouth and spoke in a booming, authoritative voice. “Hey, listen up! We’ve got a family situation going on. We’re closing a little early. See Lucian on your way out for a ten-dollar voucher as an apology from the Badd brothers for the inconvenience.”

  Lucian, the younger, long-haired brother, stared at Bast. “You know how much that’s going to cost us?”

  For the first time, the youngest brother, whom I’d seen on TV appeared. “What’s going on?”

  Bast just laughed. “Welcome to the party, little brother.” He gestured at me, Rem, and Ram, and then handed the youngest brother the photograph. “Meet our cousins, Roman, Remington, and Ramsey. Identical triplets. And oh, by the way, they’re apparently opening a bar here in Ketchikan.”

  Lucian had vanished after asking about the cost, and then reappeared with a stack of vouchers in his hand. He stood by the door handing a voucher to each person as they exited. I winced, doing some quick math—there were at least a hundred people in the bar, if not more. Which means this little thing was costing them a thousand dollars, if not more.

  Not my intention, but hey, I’m an asshole, and that’s what assholes do.

  Rem and Ram stayed seated at the table, waiting, as the crowd slowly dispersed. I stood, watching my cousin count the heads as they exited. Just as the last few people were leaving and Lucian was locking the door, footsteps echoed from the kitchen, along with voices. Quite a few of them.

  A group of people whom I assumed were the Badd family members trooped into the main bar area; a pair of twins came through first, both dressed like rock stars—our cousins, judging by the Badd brown hair and eyes—followed by two stunning blondes, one of whom was carrying a baby on each hip. Behind the two sets of twins was a scary-as-fuck looking dude, swaggering, massive, with a Navy SEAL tat on his arm, wearing gym shorts, a tank top, and a pissed-off expression. Next was another Badd cousin, even more bulked out than Bast or the Navy SEAL, and with him, her hand tucked around his bulging bicep, was a stunningly gorgeous woman with jet-black hair. Behind them was a tall, Hollywood-handsome Badd brother with a tiny but sexy little blonde with a pixie cut. From a doorway between the kitchen and the stage came a beautiful redhead and an equally beautiful, exotic-looking girl with long black dreadlocks.

  I surveyed the crowd, specifically the women. “Seriously, what the fuck is in the water up here, man?” I said to no one in particular. “I haven’t seen this many gorgeous women in one place since I went to that Victoria’s Secret show.”

  No one answered, and my brothers and I found ourse
lves surrounded by a ring of pissed-off, tired, confused people—half of whom were our cousins, each of whom was fit, ripped, and intensely capable-looking. Hopefully this hadn’t been a massive miscalculation on my part.

  “Hope to fuck you know what you’re doing, Rome,” Remington muttered to me. “I don’t like our odds of getting out of this in one piece.”

  “No shit,” Ramsey added. “The SEAL and the bodybuilder are making me nervous.”

  “Chill,” I shot back at them. “I’ve got this.”

  Rem just snorted. “The fuck you do. You’re winging this, like you wing everything.”

  “Sure as fuck better be a good goddamn explanation for dragging me out of my fucking bed,” the SEAL growled. His eyes flicked to me, my brothers, and then the photograph in Bast’s hand. “The fuck is this?”

  “Think you could squeeze a few more ‘fucks’ into that sentence, Zane?” This was from the diminutive blonde with a pixie cut. “I don’t think there were enough.”

  Zane—the SEAL—didn’t seem to catch the sarcasm. “There sure as fuck better be a good fucking expla-fucking-nation for dragging me the fuck out of my fucking bed,” he growled. “Is that fucking better, Claire?”

  Claire, the blonde, just nodded primly. “Yes, thank you, Zane. Much better.”

  “Glad I could fucking help.”

  “You’d think an ex-Navy SEAL would be better at being woken up unexpectedly,” said one of the male twins—he had long brown hair in a loose topknot/manbun hipster-douche thing.

  “Shut the fuck up, Cane.” Zane, clearly, didn’t appreciate being woken up.

  The other twin, with an even more hipster-douche undercut, snorted derisively. “Someone’s on the rag, obviously.”

  Zane growled deep in his chest, sounding like the bear he resembled. “I will knock you the fuck out, Corin.”

  Lucian, the longest-haired, second-to-youngest cousin, stepped forward. “Enough. Quit baiting Zane, you two. I would very much like to hear how we have three cousins we knew nothing about.”

  Several people spoke in unison: “Cousins?”

  Bast indicated the three of us with a sweep of the photograph. “Them. They’re our cousins.”

  “Like, third cousins twice removed or something, right?” This was—god, it was hard to keep them straight—the youngest. Xander? Javier? Xavier? Something like that. “As far as I’ve ever been aware, we have no family except each other.”

  Bast handed him the photograph. “Nope. First cousins. Dad’s twin brother’s kids.”

  “Dad did not have a twin brother,” Hollywood snapped. “He’d have mentioned that at least once in our lives.”

  “Apparently Dad had a secret, then, because you can’t fake that shit,” Bast said, reaching out to tap the photo as Xander-or-whatever handed it to Hollywood. “That is a real, undoctored photograph, right, Xavier?”

  Xavier, the youngest, nodded. “As far as I can tell, yes. I am not an expert in photography manipulation or alteration, but all of the available evidence supports Roman’s claim.” He indicated the photograph. “That is very obviously an old photograph. It is faded, the paper is wrinkled and stained on the back, and the corners are dog-eared. It is possible to doctor a photograph this old, but it requires a very specific set of skills, and I do not see the benefit of going to that kind of lengths in this scenario.” He gestured at me. “Furthermore, and more apropos to the root conundrum, these three individuals very clearly and very strongly resemble both our father, and, thus, us.” He paused, glancing distractedly at the ceiling. “The odds of this being a dupe, ruse, or some kind of scam are…slim. I could calculate the precise ratio, if you’d like.”

  I stared at him. “Okay, then, Stephen Hawking.”

  “There is no resemblance whatsoever between myself and the late Stephen Hawking,” he answered, “whether physically, emotionally, medically, or intellectually, except insofar as that we are both—or rather, I am and he was—possessed of somewhat higher intelligence than most.” He blinked a few times, staring toward me but not looking at me. “I am uncertain whether you meant that comment as an insult or not, but I choose to take it as a compliment, as Mr. Hawking is one of my greatest heroes.”

  “Does he speak normal American?” I asked, addressing this to Bast.

  My comment—admittedly somewhat dickish—earned me growls, glares, and threatening stances.

  Bast stepped toward me, muscles bunching, eyes blazing. “You really want to watch what you say, motherfucker. Maybe you don’t count so good, but you three are seriously outnumbered right now. So fucking watch it.”

  Xavier put himself between me and his oldest brother—a bold, ballsy move considering the amount of muscle he was putting his skinny body between. “Thank you for your willingness to defend me, Bast, but I can handle such commentary myself.” To me, then. “I am high-functioning autistic, with savant tendencies. This is an extremely uncomfortable social situation for me, and I tend to retreat into highly formal speech patterns when nervous. To that end, if you find yourself unable to translate what I’m saying into boorish barbarian or whichever pidgin dialect of English you speak, I’m sure my brother Bax is more than capable of providing such a service.”

  Silence followed, and then Baxter glanced at me, laughing openly. “I think we both just got burned, cousin.”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right,” I said, laughing good-naturedly, and turned to the youngest Badd. “Dude, if you can insult me to my face in such a way that I don’t follow the insult, you kinda get that one for free.”

  “Can we get to the part where this dick explains what the hell is going on?” This was from the more hipster twin—Corin, I think his name was. “Because I’m seriously confused.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” I said. I withdrew my wallet and pulled out two one-hundred-dollar bills and tossed them on the table. We’re not flush with cash, but we’ve done all right. “But how about a round for everyone first, on me.”

  Bast took the bills, rounded the bar, and pulled several pitchers of beer, grabbed a bottle of whiskey from off the back shelf, and snagged a stack of pint glasses and shot glasses, carrying the entire load back to the table with the practiced ease of someone who has spent a lifetime behind a bar. He poured a round of shots, and we all raised our shot glasses.

  “To figuring out what the fuck is going on,” Bast said.

  “Hear, hear,” Zane replied, and everyone clinked glasses, drained their shot, and set their glasses back on the table.

  Everyone got a beer, and then all eyes were on me. I pulled up a chair, and glanced at my cousins and their women. “Are ya’ll gonna stand around trying to intimidate me, or could you take seats?”

  Reluctantly, everyone pulled up a chair, and I gestured at my brothers. “So, our dad is a pretty hard-to-communicate-with fella. He’s been a drunk longer than any of us have been alive, for one thing, and when he’s at the bottom of the bottle, he don’t care too much for talk or company. So, we never knew much about him. Our ma took off when we were seven. I guess raisin’ a set of crazy triplets she never wanted was just too much for her dumb skank-ass. So, we sorta raised ourselves, you might say. Dad worked and kept food on the table, but he didn’t care a single good goddamn about what we did.” I heard my Oklahoma accent creeping out, and tried to correct it. “Point of all this is, he never talked about his past. We knew he grew up in Alaska, Ketchikan or somewhere around here, but that he left when he was pretty young. And, literally, that’s all we knew. All we still know, for the most part.”

  “Where do we come into this?” Bax asked.

  “Gettin’ there,” I said. “We left Oklahoma soon as we graduated, became wildfire fighters, hotshots first and then smokejumpers. Kept us busy, kept us away from the barren shithole wasteland where we grew up. Well, a life of hard livin’ caught up to him and he had a heart attack. Brought all three of us back to Oklahoma sooner’n we expected. I was sittin’ in the same tiny, stinky, ugly-ass trailer we grew u
p in, watching TV, one of those celebrity gossip shows. They had—what’s her name—Harlow Grace on there. With her, was this kid.” I gestured at Xavier. “And fuck me if he didn’t look a hell of a lot like an old photograph of Dad I’d seen a few times, one of him with our ma from when we was first born. Triggered somethin’ in me, got me askin’ questions. Dad didn’t appreciate the questions, but he answered them. To an extent, at least.”

  “What’d he say?” Bast asked, sounding curious despite his ire.

  “He said, and I quote, ‘the fucker had eight kids? Thought for sure I’d have beaten him there, at least.’”

  “What does that mean?” Bast pressed.

  “He had me grab his old trunk, found a stack of old photos, and showed me that.” I tapped the photo in Corin’s hand—it had been making its way around the group. “Coulda knocked me over with a feather when I saw that shit.”

  “So you didn’t know either?” Lucian asked.

  I shook my head. “Hell, no. We grew up thinking we were one funeral away from being orphans, with not even a great aunt or someone to take us in.” I sighed. “So the story, as told to us by our dad is this: Our dads grew up kinda like I imagine all of us did—wild, mostly unsupervised, and a little crazy. Twins, in the Alaskan countryside. I guess our grandparents raised them way out in the country, in the real deep bush, you know?”

  Bast frowned at me. “Dad never spoke much about his childhood. I asked once, and he said there wasn’t much to tell, and I knew enough to leave it at that.”

  I laughed. “Sounds about right. All our dad would say was that they grew up in the ass-end of nowhere, and the only reason they had plumbing or electricity was because our grandpa had run the pipes and lines himself back in the early fifties, usin’ a backhoe and country bumpkin know-how.” The photo had made the rounds back to me, and I gazed down at it as I spoke. “This is where it gets interesting. I guess Dad and Uncle Liam were real hell-raisers in their day. Moved here to Ketchikan, which I guess to them then was like movin’ to the big city, and raised all sorts of Cain. And then, one day, they were both at a pool hall and met a girl. ‘Most beautiful girl we’d ever seen,’ Dad says. Lena Dunfield.”