Page 2 of To Kill a Badger (The Honey Badgers Chronicles #6)

Irritated? Kev wasn’t exactly sure that’s how he’d describe the girl dropping the harpoon gun long enough to reach over and grab Kev’s client by the back of his designer suit and yank him into the hallway.

The Frenchman had been holding on so tight to the wood, he’d actually taken some of the doorway with him, but that hadn’t stopped her.

Once she had the client in the hallway, she picked up her harpoon gun and proceeded to drag the man away like she was dragging a shark from the ocean, a thick trail of blood and the Frenchman’s screams following in their wake.

“No, no, Maxine. Not him.”

Startled again, Kev turned to find the girl with the knives about to cut him across the throat. But the former captive had stopped her, for which he would be eternally grateful. At this point, he just wanted to get back home to his wife and girls alive.

“It’s just Max, Mr. Zee,” the bouncy young girl said, smiling. “And are you sure you don’t want me to waste him?”

“Don’t say ‘waste him,’ dear. You’re not in a John Woo movie.”

“I can make it painless,” she insisted. “If you want. Or I can make him suffer. I can even make him cry or squeal like a pig. If that’s your thing. I have discovered I am really good at torture, because I don’t care what sounds people make when they’re dying!”

The worst part of everything the girl had just said was that she said it all like one of his daughters talking about putting glitter on her favorite sneakers or something. It was just so cheery and happy. She was still smiling! It was fucking terrifying!

She continued on. “My older sister says I’m this way because I’m a sociopath. But my baby sister, who’s studied this stuff, says I’m not a full sociopath. She thinks I’m just a borderline sociopath. But I’m pretty sure I’m completely normal!”

“You’re not,” the man said before Kev could. “But that’s okay,” the man went on. “You have other qualities that are to be appreciated.”

“Awww. Thanks, Mr. Zee!” Her grin made Kev want to crawl into the ceiling.

“Are we ready?” a blonde white girl with a big machete resting on her shoulder asked, as she came to a stop in front of the door.

Blood dripped from the head of that weapon, but Kev refused to focus on that—or the blood splattered across her face.

He couldn’t. “We should go. We’ve got that”—she glanced at Kev with narrowed eyes—“thing.”

“Yes, yes. The thing . Of course,” the man said. “Although I do think we have time to make a few stops before we get back.”

“Oooh!” the girl with the knives cheered, clapping her hands together like an excited three-year-old. “Does that mean what I think it means, Mr. Zee?”

“No,” the blonde said. “We’re not doing that, because it’s not necessary and we’re not taking advantage.”

“Why not?”

“Shut up,” the blonde snapped before sweetly telling the man, “Thanks anyway, Mr. Zhao.”

“I appreciate your concern, my dear Mads, but I think we do have to make those stops before returning home,” the man insisted. “Since it looks like Max-a-lona here has lost dear Emily’s watch.”

“It’s just Max, Mr. Zee. And no I didn’t—oh, damn,” she grumbled, while grabbing her empty wrist and suddenly studying the area beneath and around her feet.

“I warned Tock you were going to lose her watch,” the blonde said.

“I didn’t lose it. I misplaced it.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Semantics.”

“Mr. Zhao!” Another girl—this one armed with guns and knives and, he was guessing, of South Asian descent—walked into the cabin. She had brown hair that reached down her back in one long braid, and she immediately went to Zhao and gave him a warm hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Thank you, Cass.”

“You owe me five bucks,” the blonde told the long-haired girl.

“Max! You lost Tock’s watch?”

“You guys took bets?”

“She’s going to kick your ass.”

“No, no,” the man said. “Not if we move quickly. We can get some shopping done and get back in time for the . . . thing. ” Finally, he motioned to Kev. “But, first, I do need to deal with my friend here.”

The long-haired girl studied Kev a moment before asking, “Do you want us to . . .” She drew her forefinger across her throat in as dramatic a fashion as humanly possible.

“No, no,” Zhao said with a smile. “I just need to get him to safety.”

“Ohhhh! That’s not a problem. The yacht staff is getting on the barge right now. But he better move.” She looked at the watch on her own wrist. “You know Tock and time. She’s got all this scheduled down to the second.”

“Of course.” Zhao turned to Kev. “Thank you for your help today, Kevin.”

Kev wasn’t going to ask how the man knew his name. His client had never used any of their names. Just pointed and made demands.

“My pleasure, sir.”

The long-haired girl stepped forward. “Okay”—she pointed left—“go that way. If you see Tock—tall girl with curls and a never-ending expression of terse misery on her face—just tell her Max lost her watch. Do it before she can put a bullet in your head, and she’ll instantly know you’re with us, and should not be put down like a dog. ”

“I didn’t lose it,” the other girl argued. “I misplaced it.”

“Tock won’t care.” The long-haired girl gave Kev an award-winning smile. “It was lovely to meet you, Kevin.”

Unable to speak at this point, he simply nodded and headed out. By the time he got to the deck—without being threatened by anyone else—the last of the staff was getting on the barge. They all looked terrified and confused. And since that’s how Kev felt at the moment, he happily joined them.

Once the barge was a good distance from the yacht, Kev finally let out a relieved sigh.

“What do we say when we reach land?” the yacht captain asked Kev as they watched the vessel recede mile after nautical mile.

“Just say pirates.”

“Pirates that let us go?”

Kev shook his head, still trying to understand what he’d just been through.

“Just say pirates,” he repeated.

“What do we say happened to Monsieur —”

“He’s gone.”

As if to prove that point, the force from the explosion that took down the yacht sent such a strong shockwave through the ocean that for a long moment—holding onto the railing with one hand and grabbing hold of the yacht captain with the other—Kev was sure the barge would capsize.

Thankfully, that didn’t happen and, with people now desperately huddling together and either crying or simply shaking in silence, the barge continued on.

It was a minute or two later that a speedboat zipped from behind the mountain of still-falling yacht debris, heading back to shore.

A lone Asian man in an expensive tux and a bright orange life jacket had the wheel while surrounded by five young girls, who were either laughing or bickering amongst one another.

It looked like a rich father taking his daughter and her friends on a quick excursion before a family get-together rather than what it was, which he assumed was some kind of weird murder cult.

The boat took a quick turn around the barge, and that’s when Kev noticed the girl with all the knives.

She raised her hand and waved, that big, happy, disturbing grin on her face.

Then, with her gaze locked with Kev’s, she brought her hand to her mouth, raised her forefinger, and pressed it against her lips.

“Yeah,” he reiterated to the yacht’s former captain.

“Pirates. We’ll say pirates.” And that’s exactly what Kev would be repeating to the local government authorities and anyone else who asked him what happened on that yacht.

In fact, that’s all he’d ever say about any of what happened this day for the rest of his life.

* * *

Arthur Zhao took the open spot on the ancient football field benches, right next to his beautiful wife.

The locals were cheering and applauding, but not his wife.

Never his wife. She didn’t believe in “vulgar displays.” No matter the event.

Instead, she sat there in her extremely expensive Chanel suit, shoes, and purse, with a light windbreaker folded beside her in case the Wisconsin weather decided to turn on them at the last minute.

“You took your time,” she said without looking at him.

“We had to pick up a few things in Italy first.”

“I see that,” she noted, gaze locked on the five teens jumping into the line of gowned-and-capped students preparing to go up on stage for their awards and diplomas. “How much did you spend on those not related to us by blood?”

“They saved my life.”

Her eye roll was epic. “You could have gotten yourself free at any time. You were testing her.”

“Of course, I was. She’s about to go out on her own. And how wonderfully she passed. They all did. A-pluses all around.” He crossed one leg over the other; removed some lint from his pants that he was positive was there. “To be quite honest, I’m surprised you’re here at all, my dove.”

“Why?”

“Last we spoke, you were not wasting your time watching your daughter graduate from a lower-caste school that gave her nothing but an American education.”

“It does seem like a waste of time. She could have graduated from here when she was fifteen.”

“And leave all her friends behind?”

“Her friends ?” she questioned. “You mean the junior spy, the minor Viking, the actress, and the useless half-Asian?”

“You do know we’re sitting right here?” the “junior spy’s” mother demanded from behind them. “And that you’re both speaking English? At least have the decency to talk shit about our kids in Cantonese.”