Page 55 of To Kill a Badger (The Honey Badgers Chronicles #6)

Silently checking with Max once more, Charlie eventually nodded. But she had to ask, “This may be rude, but . . . why are you being so nice to us? Because no one is ever nice to us, and your uncle made it clear—”

“Our uncle was just bringing you a message from those he still works with. We, however, are currently retired. Mostly. Besides,” he added, “we’re doing this because my wife asked us to.”

“She knows our father’s here? How? It just happened.”

“I have no idea, and I learned a long time ago not to ask those questions.”

Max got that look on her face. The one that told Charlie her sister was being completely serious for once.

“Where’s your wife?” she asked. “Right now?”

There went that smirk again. It wasn’t nearly as irritating as most male smirks.

Maybe because he was just so goddamn handsome.

“That’s another question we don’t ask our wives.

But,” he continued, “for whatever they have done or are about to do . . . we heartily apologize. And I’m sure they meant well. ”

Charlie and Max simply gawked at the three males until one of them clapped his hands together, startling them both.

“Now! Let’s deal with your dad.”

The wolves walked out, and Max, with a shrug, went to get something to eat. But Charlie headed down to the basement, finding Stevie reaching for her latest phone.

“I’m about to text Tock’s grandmother,” Stevie said, without even looking at Charlie. “She’s become my point person on managing this antidote. She may come here and—”

Stevie looked down at Charlie’s hand over her own.

“What?”

“I changed my mind,” she told Stevie.

Stevie’s eyes grew wide. “You’re going to let them kill Dad?”

“ No , dumbass.”

“Oh. Then what?”

“The mistake you made. Let’s keep it . . . for now.”

“The mistake I made? Oh! You mean the other stuff. I guess . . . wait . . . why would you want to keep that?”

“Why do you think?”

Stevie thought a moment before gasping. “Oh, Charlie. No!”

“It’s a non-lethal way to shut him down and keep him out of our lives.”

“It’s wrong. To permanently change someone’s DNA? It’s morally wrong.”

“ Dad is morally wrong. And I am running out of ideas on how to keep him under control.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Look, if he comes back, we’ll talk about it. But for now, we just keep it. We won’t tell anyone else. Not even Max.”

“Especially not Max.”

“Okay. I’m fine with that. Just the two of us will handle this together. If and when the time comes. Deal?”

Stevie stared at her work table before taking in and letting out a deep breath. “Okay. Deal.”

“Great.”

“To work off my anxiety, can I tell Max I think I’m going to give myself twins with science and witchcraft?”

“Stevie, this is a very serious situation, and we really don’t have time for that . . . so, of course you can.”

Finally smiling, her baby sister ran upstairs.

Charlie stared down at the tube of “mistake” that her brilliant sister had created—and which might be a permanent fix for all her Dad-related issues—until she heard Max scream, “Charlie, you cannot be okay with any of this!”

Grinning, she yelled up, “Max MacKilligan, we will all love Stevie’s demon twins! And that ‘all’ includes you, missy!”

* * *

Alexei Huranov followed his security team into his Andorra mansion, with four more trailing after them to make sure no one came rushing in behind.

He had men on the roof of his mansion. He also had CCTV everywhere.

He was better protected than those British royals.

He knew that everyone thought he was paranoid.

He knew the world called him “the paranoid Russian” because he worked so hard not to be seen.

Not to be known, except by those who could afford his services.

But he wasn’t paranoid. He was wary. And they all thought he was this way because of where he’d come from.

Because of his home country and the way it changed in the early nineties.

But that wasn’t it. That would never be it.

He was still beloved by those who now ran that part of the world.

Always would be, because he’d always known how to stay invaluable to those who needed what he could offer.

No. His paranoia came from another reason. Another threat. One he’d been dealing with all of his life.

Walking down the marble-floored hallway, Alexei abruptly stopped and looked at the spot over a Louis XIV side table.

The empty picture frame screamed at him. He’d had an original Picasso in that frame. Some people thought the same painting was in the Picasso Museum in Barcelona, but it wasn’t. Because it had been right here for the last few years. In his house. Or, at least, it had been. Now it was gone.

“We go,” he ordered his men, and they all turned around and started toward the front door.

The first guard was yanked away and dragged down the hall by a thin rope around his neck.

The second guard tripped on something and went down so hard, his head hit the marble, instantly knocking him out.

The remaining two guards grabbed Alexei by the arms, quickly dragging him toward the front door.

But a wire around one’s legs yanked his feet out from under him, and he slammed into the ground.

The fourth guard hit the wall beside them, something from the shadows grabbing him and shoving him into that wall again and again, until he stopped moving.

Alexei ran toward the front door on his own, but a small shadow stepped out, and he quickly turned. Now he headed toward the big ballroom.

As soon as he entered, he tripped on something thin that dug into his ankle and tore his pants. He hit the ground face-first, but immediately rolled onto his back. That’s when he saw her. Standing over him like a demon from his nightmares. Just like when they were children.

“Hello, little brother,” she said in Russian, before grabbing him by the hair and dragging him across the marble floor. “It’s been so long. And how I have missed you so!”

He let her pull him a few feet before he remembered that he was now a powerful man whom people feared.

Digging his heels into the floor to slow her down, he moved his hands away from his head where she gripped him, and grabbed her forearms. He pulled and flung, sending his big sister several feet away from him.

He had to remember who he was! He was no longer Grigoriy Lenkov, most disrespected son of Sergei Lenkov.

Now he was Alexei Huranov. He controlled banks and men.

He ran guns in and out of foreign countries after starting wars he could not be bothered to care about.

He had his choice of beautiful women! He was Alexei Huranov!

Not some child afraid of his evil big sister!

Alexei had fought his way up to such wealthy heights after the Soviet Union had been dismantled by doing what he did best. Trading in information and helping people hide their money.

As a former KGB officer, it was easy for him to simply keep doing what he’d always been doing.

Back in those early days, he’d simply had to stay nimble, avoiding his family and any war crime tribunals.

But now he was here. With multiple properties around the world; a seven-hundred-foot yacht anchored in the Aegean Sea, where his current twenty-three-year-old wife was enjoying some fun times with her friends; and with so many cars, he could hold his own at Le Mans , if he wanted.

In the global papers, he was often called an oligarch, but he saw himself as an underdog that had fought his way to the top.

As someone who had struggled and suffered for all the things he now had.

So he didn’t have to take any more shit from the sister who used to torment him when he was too young and small to defend himself.

Getting to his feet, he saw Oksana already charging him.

When she was close, he caught her around the chest and lifted her off the ground.

She slammed her elbow into his face, shattering the nose he’d already had fixed to change his look and to make himself feel more handsome.

All that work destroyed after one moment with Oksana Lenkov.

The bitch grabbed him by his five-thousand-dollar leather jacket, using it to spin him around, attempting to disorient him.

He grabbed her arms and yanked her close.

She slammed her booted heel into his instep and, annoyed at the additional bout of pain, he did what he’d been known to do when some full-human woman pushed him toofar.

He slapped her across the face.

Alexei knew it was a mistake as soon as he’d done it. Unlike the full-human women, his sister didn’t cry out or sob or start swinging at him wildly with flailing arms and fake nails and a slew of curse words. No. Not his sister.

Instead, slowly, her head turned back until she was looking right at him.

She had that terrifying blank expression on her face that he remembered far too well.

He hadn’t seen that look since he’d turned her in to the KGB as a dissident.

He’d gotten an award and a job at fourteen.

She was sent to East Germany, for some reason.

He still didn’t know why. She should have been shipped off to Serbia like everyone else he’d tossed at the KGB for treats and rewards.

But for whatever reason, she’d been sent to the Stasi for interrogation.

A decision the KGB—and eventually, himself—had soon regretted.

Now he saw that blank expression again, and that’s when he knew he was in trouble. So he did what he’d always done when they were both still living on his parents’ honeybee farm . . .

He ran.

* * *

Tracey cringed when that slap rang out across the room, the three of them turning toward the sound.