Page 42 of To Kill a Badger (The Honey Badgers Chronicles #6)

For a few seconds, Rutowski appeared truly confused. Keane thought maybe the venom and weed were still damaging her brain. But then her expression cleared, and she just gazed at Nelle like she was this pitiful little thing she found on the side of the road. Like a lost kitten.

“Oh, sweetie . . .”

“What?” Nelle low-growled.

Rutowski winced a bit before replying, “You think the Zhaos are one of the most powerful badger families in the world?” She slowly shook her head and whispered, “They’re not.”

“Uh-oh,” Keane muttered.

“Excuse me?” Nelle snapped.

“I know you believe your family is, and I’m sure in Asia they maybe are . . . a little.”

“A little?”

“But they’re really not.”

“The Ming-Zhaos have built and destroyed ancient dynasties. We helped take down the Mongols.” Nelle glanced at Keane. “No offense.”

“It had to happen. Otherwise, we’d all just be distant cousins of Genghis Khan.”

“We are a very powerful family,” Nelle insisted.

“Your family is very wealthy. You pay for what you get. I’m looking for badgers to just unite. You know . . . for free.” She smiled at Keane like they were friends. They weren’t. “I do love a tight budget.”

“So who do you think are the ‘most important’ families that are not related to me and can unite all or most honey badgers?”

“Again, not liking the air quotes, but my first suggestion is the Von Sch?fer-Müllers of Hamburg. Although they’re based out of France now.”

“The Von whos?” Keane asked.

“German royalty,” Nelle told him. “Absolute snobs that will help no one but themselves.”

“Not always true,” Rutowski argued. “They had to leave Germany in the thirties because Hitler was not a fan. And they were a big part of the French Resistance and the British spy network.”

“Who else?” Nelle pushed.

“The Santiagos. Out of Cuba and Brazil, but with a lineage that dates back to the time of Philip the Second.”

“Soooo . . . more European royalty?”

“Well, they’re descended from that, but they’re considered Latin American now.

I mean, they were never related to Philip the Second.

They just helped start a war with England by ensuring that Mary, Queen of Scots, lost her head.

But the family’s main point of contact these days lives in Needles, California. ”

“There’s a place called Needles, California?” Keane asked.

“There is!”

“And who else?” Nelle wanted to know.

“The Joneses.”

When silence followed, Keane asked, “And?”

“And what?”

“And just the Joneses? You’re not going to provide a titillating backstory? There was no running from Hitler? Taking out the Romanovs? Messing with Genghis Khan? Dealing with all of Elizabeth the First’s Catholic enemies? Nothing?”

Rutowski shrugged. “Nope. They’re just the Joneses.”

“In other words, the majority of the most influential families are from Europe and North America?” Nelle noted with some disgust.

“You should know better than I, Nelle Zhao, that Joneses are from absolutely everywhere .”

* * *

“I truly believe none of that will work,” Nelle finally told Rutowski.

“Okay. I’ll see what Charlie thinks,” she said, turning toward the house.

But with one hand on Keane’s arm to keep him from wandering away since he wouldn’t stop snarling at his uncle and mom, Nelle used her other hand to grab Rutowski by the face and force her to look directly into her eyes.

The badger gawked at the hand holding her before locking that shocked expression directly on Nelle.

“Yes?” she asked through pursed lips as Nelle squeezed her face.

“I need you to hear me,” Nelle said slowly, so there was no misunderstanding. “You are not to speak directly to Charlie. About this or anything. Ever. She’s baking.”

“But my idea—”

“Is stupid. And a waste of time.” She let out a sigh, rolled her eyes, but said, “And I’ll handle it.”

“You?”

“Yes. Me. She of the ineffectual Zhaos.”

“I didn’t say they were ineffectual. Ow!” Rutowski slapped Nelle’s hand off her face. “You’re breaking my jaw!”

“Because you’re pissing me off. But I will do this, just to prove how wrong you are about your grand plan.”

“Okay but, honestly, I can do it myself.”

“Negotiating with someone like the Von Sch?fer-Müllers requires a delicate hand. You are not delicate, Ms. Rutowski. You’re a sledgehammer.”

“I am not! I’ll have you know, I have successfully worked with some of the most complicated and complex and difficult artists in the world.

I actually got Mapplethorpe to take a picture of me and CeCe with our clothes on, which was a good thing, because he was unaware that we were underage at the time. ”

“That is a fascinating and disturbing story, and I don’t care. I’ll handle it.”

“If you think it’s not going to work, why—”

“Because we need to do something, and I can already tell you’re going to do nothing but make a big deal out of this. So let me handle the Von Sch?fer-Müllers. I’ll rule them out, and we can then focus on other, more viable plans.”

“Rule them out how?”

“Well—”

“Oh, my God.”

“What, Rutowski? What?”

“He’s still talking to her,” Keane complained.

Nelle tightened her grip on his arm, but kept her focus on Rutowski.

“You’re going to email or text, aren’t you?” the annoying crone asked.

“That’s how we do it in modern times.”

“There is a cornucopia of reasons that’s a bad idea. You need to go there and talk to Johann.”

“No one wants to talk to Johann,” Nelle complained.

“Of course they don’t. He’s an idiot. But if you’re going to be the one to do this, you really need to—”

“Fine!” Nelle swiped one hand through the air to stop the She-badger from going on and on. She had a feeling she was a rambler. “I’ll handle it in person.”

“Good. Thank you.”

“And what will you do?”

“Live life to the fullest?”

“Stay away from Charlie.”

“I know you think you can tell me what to do—”

“I’m telling you what you’re not going to do, and you’re not going to bother Charlie. Understand?”

Rutowski looked off, let out a long breath, then returned her gaze to Nelle.

“Fine.”

“Excellent.”

“And when are you going to go?”

“I have to take care of something in the city, and then I’ll go.”

“Great. Good.”

“Yes. Good.”

The pair stared at each other for a minute.

Nelle, however, wasn’t sure that Rutowski understood what Nelle was being extremely clear about.

So she decided to say it again. Maybe this time adding a punch to the face or a kick to the groin.

But before she could do any of that, Nelle gasped as she was lifted off her feet and carried across the street by a crazed cat who’d managed to miss the last few minutes because he was obsessing over something ridiculous.

Keane didn’t grab her and haul her off, though. Instead, he started walking with her already attached to his bicep. He simply lifted his arm a bit so her feet didn’t drag. It was kind of fun, to be honest.

Cutting through his many Malone relatives, Keane marched over to his mother and uncle.

“Oh, hey, kid,” his uncle said; the older cat barely glanced at Keane, because his predatory gaze was securely locked on Keane’s mother. “Whatcha need?”

In reply, Keane simply took his free arm, slid it between his mother and uncle, and then swept the same arm out, knocking his uncle back into an RV and forcing immediate space between the pair.

“What the fuck?” Keane’s uncle roared.

“You okay, Ma?” Keane asked her, while his gaze stayed locked on his uncle and the cousins that now swarmed the older cat.

She cleared her throat, but didn’t react with any anger. “I’m fine, hon.”

“Well, if you need anything, or anyone is bothering you, just let me or Finn or Shay know. Okay, Ma?”

“Okay. Thank you, baby.”

Keane took several steps forward that put him toe-to-toe with his uncle, glaring right into the older cat’s gold eyes. “Anytime, Ma,” he said. Then, with fangs out, drool dripping from the pointy tips, he added in an inhuman growl, “Any. Fucking. Time .”

* * *

Trace and her friends watched the younger She-badger walk through the crowd of cats and bears, expertly moving around them without taking her eyes off the screen of her phone.

The tiger loped beside her, snarling and snapping at any of his relatives that got too close to him.

He really didn’t like those other cats, did he?

Not that she could blame him. The Malones had dropped the ball when it came to one of their own, and she doubted the kid would ever forgive them.

She smirked. That “kid” was in his thirties, but these days . . . everyone looked like a kid to her.

“Are you sure about this?” CeCe asked, standing next to her.

“This is perfect. We need her out of the way.”

Trace was making urgent plans in her head, so it took a bit to realize her friends were currently staring at her.

“I don’t mean we need to kill her,” she finally told them.

“Ohhhh.”

“I just need her busy. This will keep her busy.”

“And while she’s busy . . . what are we doing?” Steph asked.

Trace shrugged. “Doing what we do best.”

“You mean start shit that makes everybody hate us?” CeCe asked.

“Well . . . that, too.” Trace nodded. “ Definitely that, too.”

* * *

“Who hits on their dead brother’s wife?” Keane wanted to know, following behind Nelle as they left the street filled with his obnoxious family. “Who?”

“Your uncles, apparently,” Nelle replied, not even looking up from her phone.

“Maybe I shouldn’t leave her on her own.”

“Your mother can handle your uncles.” She stopped by a more than three-hundred-thousand-dollar sports car and slid her hands under the wheel well until she located the key fob.

“Want to drive it?” she asked, smiling.

Keane snorted. “You really think I can fit in that thing?”

“An NBA player has one, and he’s seven feet tall.”

“Yeah, and probably half my weight.”

She looked him over and nodded. “Yeah. I forgot about those ridiculous shoulders.”

“I love my shoulders.”

“Fine.” She put the fob back and started walking again until she reached a black Mercedes-Benz SUV that he was sure cost at least six figures. Nelle found that fob and handed it to him.

“Let’s go,” she ordered.

“I should be at prac—”

“You’re coming. I need you.”

His next words briefly caught in his throat until he realized she wasn’t talking romantically. Then he was pissed at himself for wanting her to be talking romantically. Dumbass. He was a dumbass!

“Um . . . okay.” He got into the SUV and started the engine. “Where are we going?”

“To the city,” she said, putting an address into the car’s GPS system.

Hands on the wheel, Keane asked, “Should we be worried?”

“About what?”

“Rutowski says the de Medicis are here. Already. Should we be doing something to address that?”

“We are.”

“No. We’re appeasing Mads’s aunt. That seems counterintuitive right now. Guys like Paolo de Medici don’t sit around waiting to make the next move. They’re going to make a move. We should be ready.”

“We will be.” She glanced away from her phone long enough to tell him, “But I know a little about those four She-badgers from my father. We need to appease them, because what we don’t need is them making this worse than it already is.”

“Is that possible? Making it worse?”

“Yes. It is. Trust me . . . we disprove Rutowski’s little scheme, and we’re golden. Then we can just focus on wiping out the de Medicis. Okay?”

Keane nodded, pulling out into the street.

“Are you all right?” he asked when she said nothing else, but also stopped looking at her phone. The device simply sat in her lap, making a soft tink sound every time she got a new text—which was every few seconds, some tink s overlapping another—while she glared out the passenger side window.

“I’ll be fine. I’m just annoyed. Very, very annoyed.”

“At Rutowski?”

“That’s part of it.”

“Don’t feel bad,” he told her, reaching over with one hand to pat her shoulder. “I am sure that somewhere, in this world of ours . . . your family is very important.”

“Bastard,” she said, chuckling a little in surprise. Allowing him to, at least for a little while, stop worrying about his mother and his disgusting, inappropriate uncles and instead focus on giving one-word answers to the beautiful, annoyingly chatty She-badger beside him.