Page 52 of To Kill a Badger (The Honey Badgers Chronicles #6)

“W hat you’re asking for, Gong Zhao, is unusual. And I do want to help but—”

“But you can’t. I understand.” She slipped off the stool. “We’ll go.”

“Unless we can come to some arrangement . . .”

Nelle stopped mid-step and let out a long sigh.

She faced the badger. “You and your brother are more similar than I realized, Jules.”

“Nothing is free in this world, Gong Zhao.”

“What do you want, Jules?”

“You know, there was a time when the badger families of Europe all joined forces to fight an enemy.”

“Let me guess . . . Hitler?” Nelle asked.

“Of course Hitler,” Jules huffed. “It is always Hitler. But those were full-humans. Now you are asking us to fight big cats.”

“So?”

“That’s a much bigger risk.”

“It is?”

“And we should get something for taking such a dangerous risk.”

“Let me get this out right now,” Nelle said. “I’m not killing anyone for you. And if this involves the Pope . . . forget it.”

“Ach! Don’t bore me with what other people ask of you and your American friends. I have another issue I need your help with.”

“Okay, then what do you want?”

“I need a book back.”

“A book? You can’t buy a new one?”

“It’s a special book that someone stole from me. The loss of it has made me look weak among this small group I run.”

“What small group?”

“A Satanic cult.” Jules held up the wine bottle. “Another glass, Gong Zhao?”

* * *

Damon turned the corner and almost lost control of the small truck, but he righted it and kept going.

As he sped down a random street, he saw the badger standing there, blocking his way.

He could run her down and—most likely—she’d be just fine.

But there were a couple of full-humans at the end of the block, chatting.

He knew if he ran the badger down in front of them, they’d call the cops and get the license plate and all that other bullshit.

They would definitely see it as a crime.

He didn’t have time for that.

So he hit the brakes and stopped inches from her. She didn’t even budge.

“D,” his brother said.

“Keep it calm,” he replied. “They’re just badgers.”

She walked over to the window, climbed up onto the rig, and politely knocked at his window.

He thought about not opening it, but knew a crazy badger would just bust it open with her fists.

“Hello,” she said, when the window was down. She draped her arms inside, so he couldn’t close it again without trapping her top half inside the truck. “Whatcha doin’?”

He didn’t let that innocent-sounding phrase or her cheerful smile fool him.

“Nothing.”

“Really?” she said. “Look, I’m short on time. So either you tell me what you guys are up to, or I’ll—”

“Batter me with your tiny fists of badger-rage?”

“Or I’ll blow your brains out all over this dashboard.”

Damon started to laugh, but stopped when he felt the barrel of the gun pressed against his temple. The passenger door swung open, and another gun was pointed at his brother.

Two more females stood in front of the truck, blocking him from just driving away. One with a sawed-off shotgun in her hands.

The full-humans had stopped talking and were watching, but neither made a move to call the cops. He didn’t know if that made him happy or sad.

He’d forgotten that honey badgers had no moral code like cats and even worthless dogs. They would use guns, knives, anything to harm their enemies.

“Start talking,” the badger pushed, finishing in a happy, singsongy voice with, “or I’m gonna get angry!”

* * *

Nelle glanced at Keane, still in his big cat form. His gold eyes were wide, and she felt she was mirroring back the same stunned expression to him.

“You run a Satanic cult?” Nelle asked. “You’re a Satanist?”

“Of course I’m not a Satanist. What makes you think I’m a Satanist?”

“You just told me you run a Satanic cult!”

“For the money. Everything I do is for the money. Money is my god. And a happy god she is.”

Now Nelle understood.

“All your cult members are rich.”

“Of course they are!” Jules said, laughing. “And if very rich idiots want to give me money because they think a man with hooves, horns, and a pitchfork help them stay rich rather than their evil business ways and privilege, why would I tell them different?”

“Okay. I get that. But how does the book play into this?”

“It was taken from me by Jean-Pierre Lavoie. I want it back.”

“The full-human banker? Why would he take your . . . wait. What kind of book are we talking about?”

“A book filled with rituals.”

“So a Satanic book?”

“Yes.”

“Is it made out of human skin?”

“Possibly.”

“I’m done. If you killed someone—”

“It is an old book, Gong Zhao. I did not put the skin on there. I bought it that way in Romania many years ago. But it is part of all I do to keep these idiots involved in my little organization.”

“Cult.”

“Whatever.”

“And Lavoie. . . ?”

“He helped me launder my money from these people. When I would not give him a bigger percentage, he stole the book.”

“And you don’t want to just pay him for it?”

“Of course not. What message does that send?”

“What message do you want me to send?”

“Not you, Gong Zhao.” She pointed her finger. “I want him to send it.”

Nelle looked down at Keane.

“He is not killing for you either!”

“I do not need him to kill.” She grinned. “I need him to do exactly what his kind does so well. And what he just did to my brother, although he will never admit it.”

“And what is that?”

“Scare the shit out of him.”

* * *

Nat knelt by their father, patting his head with one hand and brushing his chest with the other, while Shay watched with disgust. There were not a lot of people he didn’t like on principle alone, but if there was one . . . it was Nat’s birth father, Fred MacKilligan.

He should be dead. Anyone else with a wound like that, shifter or full-human, would be dead. But Charlie was right. The guy just wouldn’t die.

Shay wanted to pull his sister away from the idiot, but Finn had shaken his head.

Best not to jump in yet. And, instead, sent Dani away with one of the aunts after they’d spotted her coming toward all the street drama playing out before them.

She didn’t need to see any of this. Especially Charlie’s anger. Because that shit was formidable.

Yet, he couldn’t figure out if Charlie was mad that the de Medicis had tried to kill her dad and thrown his body on their street like trash? Or if she was mad that they couldn’t manage to kill the bastard.

Everyone knew how much Charlie hated her dad.

And if it wasn’t for Stevie, Fred MacKilligan would have been dead a decade ago.

Especially after the time he’d sold Max into indentured servitude.

“A less than fatherly move,” Max had joked while telling the story.

The fact the female could find humor in that childhood experience fascinated Shay and both his brothers.

For a few minutes, Shay was worried that Nat was going to be more like Stevie than her other two half-sisters when it came to Fred MacKilligan.

Always willing to give him another chance.

The way she was petting him like a wounded collie.

But then she pulled a piece of paper from the tarp he’d been wrapped in and handed it to Charlie.

That’s when Shay understood his baby sister had just been looking for a note or something from the attempted murderers.

As soon as she found it, she’d walked away from her father and back to Finn’s side.

Just leaving her birth father to bleed out on the pavement.

Good .

Charlie looked at the note, frowning, and handed it off to Shay. It basically said there would be more killings of MacKilligans if Charlie didn’t give the de Medicis what they wanted. Which apparently was the MacKilligan family fortune?

Were they actually supposed to believe that Paolo de Medici would ever stop coming after Charlie and her sisters, no matter how much money they gave them?

Or that a truce would ever stop Keane from getting his revenge for their father?

Confused, Shay handed the note to Finn.

That’s when Tock, Max, Mads, and Streep returned from tracking down the truck that had dumped their father. Tock stopped by his side, glancing up at him. She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t take that as a very good sign.

Max stood next to Charlie, leaned in, and whispered something into her ear.

Charlie immediately paced away.

Everyone on this street at this very moment were apex predators.

The tigers. The bears. The honey badgers weren’t considered apex by science, but they really should be, because they were that mean when pissed off, which was why the other apex predators watched Charlie so closely.

Over the short amount of time they’d all known her, they had figured out she was the ultimate apex predator.

Her rage may be a rare thing, but when it exploded, it moved through the world like lava from an active volcano.

Smooth, hauntingly beautiful, and heartless, destroying the poor Icelandic village it was tearing through.

Max crouched on the other side of her father, across from Stevie. He raised a weak hand to her, and she took it in her own, held it tight against her chest, and said, “Daddy . . . we found the truck.”

“Did you kill them all?” he gurgled, despite blood still pouring from his open throat wound. “Did you get our revenge before I . . . die?”

“Unfortunately—”

“They were gone. I understand, baby. It’s okay.”

“Thanks, Daddy. For understanding. But we actually did catch up to them . . . and talk to them, and they wanted you to know that they’re out of this deal, and you still owe them the fifty grand from the Super Bowl loss.”

Stevie immediately stood, staring down at him. “Oh, my God, Daddy. You did this? To yourself? Just to get money from us and the family?”

“Of course not! That’s a lie!”

“Daddy,” Stevie pushed, her hands curling into fists at her side. “You’re the one lying, aren’t you?”