Page 1 of To Kill a Badger (The Honey Badgers Chronicles #6)

“I didn’t sign up for this.”

And he hadn’t! Kevin really hadn’t! He was head of security for his client; had been for three months. That meant he was supposed to protect the guy and manage his team. What it didn’t mean was that he was supposed to stand by while his client tortured some rando for information.

“I’m letting him go,” Kev informed everyone.

“No! The bastard has stolen from me and I will have it back!” his client yelled in that thick French accent that, after three months, was starting to wear on Kev’s nerves.

He had told the Frenchman, when he applied for the job, that he didn’t speak French.

Nor did he speak any other language but English.

But he got the feeling his client liked the idea of having an American security team.

All those steroid-enhanced muscles seemed to make him feel more protected than some European security team.

He probably watched way too many American action movies.

And maybe, after watching all that nonsense, his client thought security teams would start killing anyone, because that’s what they do in the movies.

In those movies, the teams always know the most ancient of martial arts, can use any weapon, can fly helicopters and, when it was all over, one of them got the girl.

Sadly, real security wasn’t like that at all.

It could be tedious and boring and involve standing outside doorways for hours while your client either closed deals or fucked his latest girlfriend.

What it didn’t involve, as far as Kev was concerned, was letting this man torture people while he watched.

“If he stole from you,” Kev reasoned, “let’s call the cops. We can let them deal with it. Legally.”

“Are you stupid, eh? We cannot take him to police.”

“Well, we’re not keeping him!” Kev shot back.

“You work for me, yes? You do what I say.” He gestured at the Asian man zip-tied to the chair. “Now break his fingers.”

Startled, Kevin mutely stared at the Frenchman for a few seconds.

“What now?” Kev finally asked.

“Break his fingers. Now.”

“I am not breaking the man’s fingers. I’m just going to let him go.”

“You are pathetic,” his client snarled, before pointing at one of the other guys. “You. You break his fingers.”

His teammate shrugged before stepping forward, reaching for one of the man’s hands.

Kev raised his arm, blocking him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Gonna break this dude’s hand.”

“You’re not breaking anything,” Kev said between clenched teeth. “I’m not letting this happen.”

“Oh?” his client asked, smug. “How will you stop this? We are in the middle of an ocean.”

They’d anchored the yacht in the Singapore Strait, a few nautical miles from the port. He could maybe swim the distance back to safety, but not if he was carrying a captive with him.

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to let this happen. He’d managed to go through life without killing anyone; he wasn’t about to start now. Not even if it meant pissing off a billionaire.

Kev took a moment to take a quick look around the cabin.

He knew this ship better than anyone. He’d taken his time to explore every part of it so that if pirates ever made it onboard, he could get his client out.

Now it looked like he’d be doing that exact thing, but with some calm Asian man who hadn’t said a word since Kev had been here.

He didn’t look upset either. Even when Kev’s teammate was reaching for a zip-tied hand.

He simply sat there with curious brown eyes, watching everything unfold before him.

It was strange, but Kev didn’t have time to analyze any of that.

Although he did hope not to find out that his captive was some kind of war criminal with a million deaths on his head.

Then again, if he was, Kev was sure his client would have told him that by now to get him on his side.

Knowing he needed to move fast, Kev noted there were two doors into this particular cabin, on opposite sides of each other. He was glancing at the one on his right when he heard a dull thud outside the other. He had men in the hallway, so maybe one tripped or something.

Then again . . . Kev briefly studied how the Asian man was dressed.

It suggested that he, too, came from money, like Kev’s client.

The cufflinks alone were worth a small fortune, and the tailored tux was designer.

Then there was that watch. Worth about half a mil, easy.

So the man probably had his own security team ready to die for him.

Things were quickly spiraling, and Kev knew he had to be smart about all this.

With a hand signal, he silently told his men to draw their weapons and get ready. He pulled his own Glock and held it in one hand while yanking the door open with the other.

The small Asian girl standing outside that door—and she was a girl, maybe seventeen or so—was pulling herself onto the shoulder of one of his men; her small body clothed in a wetsuit, a harpoon gun strapped to her back.

When her legs were around his man’s neck, she placed the barrel of a Beretta against the top of his head and—dark brown gaze locking with Kev’s—she pulled the trigger.

“Fuck!” Kev yelped in shock when the blood and brain splattered across his face and chest before slamming the door shut and turning to his men.

“Get him out! Get him out!”

Two of his men immediately went to their client to grab him, while a third opened the other door. He was a big man, so he completely filled the cabin doorway. But he still should have gotten through. Instead, he just stood there. Blocking the exit for the rest of them.

“What are you doing?” Kev demanded. “Move!”

He did move. He fell backward like a massive oak falling in the woods, a blade stuck in his throat, choking on his own blood until the weapon was pulled from flesh by another small female. She was in all black; multiple blades sheathed on her leggings, boots, and a corset wrapped around her waist.

Before Kev could give the next order, guns were raised and his men started shooting, but he immediately ordered them to stop. This new girl was young, too! She didn’t seem older than Kev’s own middle daughter.

Thankfully, his team still followed his orders and stopped firing.

A few seconds later, the girl bounced back into the open doorway, unharmed, and .

. . grinned. She grinned as if she were having the best time of her life.

Kind of like the time his youngest daughter found a duck in the lake behind their house.

Of course, that duck attacked her, and now she hated all birds . . .

Still grinning, the girl pointed at their client, and they all looked at him, wondering what the hell was happening.

Maybe the Frenchman deserved this. Kev had no idea what his current client had been up to before he’d taken this assignment.

The man could have made his billions by selling girls just like this.

Kev didn’t know and he didn’t care. He just knew he needed to get out and he needed to take the captive with him.

“Kill her!” his client yelled, pointing back at the girl. “Kill them all!”

Kev was not exactly shocked by such ridiculous orders, but he was surprised that his men followed them, again opening fire on the girl standing in the doorway.

Moving fast, Kev went to the captive.

“Don’t worry,” he told the man. “I’ll get you out of here.

” The man silently gazed at him, and Kev realized that he may not understand a word Kev was saying.

He had yet to react to anything that had happened to him in the last hour, so maybe Kev should just worry about getting him out of here rather than successfully communicating with the man. He didn’t have time.

The gunfire abruptly stopped, and his men stared not at the dead body of a child, but an empty hallway.

Somehow, his team had managed not to hit the girl with the knives.

Again. And Kev had no idea what happened to the girl with the Beretta.

He took the opportunity, however, with everyone’s focus on something else, to use his tactical knife to release the man.

He dropped to a crouch beside the chair and quickly cut the ties used on his legs.

When he sat back on his haunches to tackle the man’s hands, he discovered that the hands were already free, and the captive was busy rubbing feeling back into his wrists. How he’d done that, though . . .

That’s when the man warmly smiled at him. And winked.

Before Kev could react to any of that, he heard screaming and lifted his gaze in time to see one of his men dragged up through an open emergency hatch and into the ceiling.

The others stumbled back as a bleeding corpse was thrown back out a few seconds later.

Another of his men screamed as the floor beneath him seemed to open up and he was dragged partially down.

The remaining of his team grabbed his arms to hold him in place, but eventually he stopped fighting and just sort of died where he was stuck.

They’d just released his arms when the first girl, the one with the Beretta, reappeared, and before Kev could yell a warning, she used the harpoon gun she had strapped to her back to snag their client.

The spear slammed into his upper thigh, right through the bone. The Frenchman’s screams of agony cut through everything else going on around them, and the girl yanked their client back the way she came. Reaching out, the Frenchman grabbed at one side of the doorway, holding on for his life.

Without really thinking, Kev started to move toward his client to help him. It was instinct more than a desire to help a man ready to torture some dude in an expensive tux, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“I would not,” a low, male voice said from behind him in what sounded like a British accent. “She is quite irritated.”