Page 58 of To Kill a Badger (The Honey Badgers Chronicles #6)

T hey sat on the veranda of the unoccupied home, looking out over a small town and enjoying the breakfast they’d picked up at a local bakery that hadn’t even opened its doors yet.

They hadn’t stolen anything. Ox just knew the owner and her daughter.

Steph had made the coffee, because the woman did love her coffee.

All those years working hours upon hours on code and product had made her a connoisseur of the “addictive elixir,” as she liked to call it.

They’d managed to get a few hours of sleep in the house’s cabinets once they’d left Ox’s brother’s house.

He’d already left the country, limping his battered body to his private jet, a new security team helping him.

He would attempt to go underground again, but Ox would always know where her brother was located, and she would find him when needed.

Or just when she wanted to pull his underwear over his head again.

Right now, they were just enjoying life in Andorra and killing some time until they could catch a ride on another billionaire’s jet, because Trace was nothing if not budget-conscious.

CeCe’s best friend had been using that term since high school, and she really believed it.

Because Trace knew when to spend money and when not to.

It was why she had such a thriving business.

She never wasted cash. She’d seen too many galleries go under because the owners spent money on ridiculous things.

Private jets, Rolls-Royce limos, the best champagne, and overspending on art that was shit.

Some people, of course, thought that Trace’s galleries thrived because her husband’s family money backed her up.

Little did they know how that family felt about Trace, CeCe .

. . all of them. There were family members who wouldn’t piss on the four of them if they were on fire .

. . and wolves loved to piss on everything .

They’d been sitting on this balcony, watching the sun rise, and enjoying their lives, when Trace glanced at her phone and abruptly sat up.

“Oh, shit.”

Steph looked up from the hardback copy of Stephen King’s Misery she’d found on the owner’s shelves. A book she’d read so many times, her own signed copy was falling apart.

“Okay,” CeCe sighed. “Who did what to whom, and whose ass do we need to kick when we get back?”

CeCe assumed that something was going on with their three sets of kids.

Because they’d grown up together, because their parents were so close, and because the wolves weren’t crazy about having honey badgers as part of their bloodline—and didn’t like the idea of their pups picking up bad honey badger habits, of which there were many—their offspring were incredibly close.

More like siblings than cousins. Which meant stupid fights often broke out about stupid things.

When they were young, their fathers handled most of the drama.

But now that all but one were adults, they were inherently more dangerous.

Meaning it had been up to the mothers to step in when necessary.

Or they just sent in Ox. The kids adored her like the sun, and Ox managed to break up fights without starting new ones.

“Did any of you guys know that Manse was back?”

Now they all sat up. Even Ox.

“Since when?”

“I don’t know.” Trace stood. “But we need to move.”

“He can’t be involved in this de Medici thing,” Steph argued.

“I don’t think he is.” She showed them her phone. They recognized the contact that had reached out to her, sending a warning none of them could ignore. They had a long, brutal history with Manse, and honey badgers never forget, never forgive.

Without another word spoken between them, they all headed inside the home they’d borrowed for the night and got ready.

While she pulled on her clothes, CeCe realized she’d have to text Lot when she got the chance. He’d made her promise, years ago, that she’d give him a little warning before all hell broke loose. Especially if her and her friends were the reason for said hell.

* * *

Zeus glared down at the couple; mid-morning light from the big hotel windows hitting them, but not waking them up.

The couple , he thought with disgust. They were clearly a couple.

How could she ignore him but make herself available to a vile cat?

Gong Zhao deserved only the best. Everything— anything —she may want, she deserved.

And he was more than ready to give it to her.

Yet, here she was. Cuddled up next to that.

On the couch built for Zeus’s kind, not some worthless American cat.

She was turned toward the American, asleep in his big cat form, her arms pulled up tight against her body, her knees tucked in, and her head buried against his fur-covered chest. His forearms wrapped around her like he was holding onto a prized, half-deer carcass he’d found in the woods.

Zeus didn’t know how long he stared at the pair, resenting them both. But he knew when the cat was watching him. Could feel those strange gold eyes locking on him.

He glanced up and confirmed what he knew. The cat watched him as Zeus watched the pair. The two males glowered at each other for what felt like ages until he heard Gong say, “I don’t know what you two are planning, but stop it.”

Her head was still buried in the cat’s chest. Her eyes weren’t even open. She appeared asleep. And yet . . .

“Zeus,” she said, “tell Marti I need a laptop. As soon as possible. Do you have something for me?”

“Yes,” he said in French. “One of Jules’s people left it for you at the front desk.”

“Drop it on the table, and let me know when the laptop arrives.”

Zeus placed the thick manila envelope on the coffee table. He tried to turn away, but he couldn’t stop glaring at the cat, who only glared back.

“Get out, Zeus,” Gong pushed.

With a snarl, he returned to the elevator.

If she wanted a worthless cat, she could have it.

* * *

“That idiot bear is in love with you,” Keane said after shifting back to human.

“Not as much as he’s in love with himself. He thinks I’d look perfect on his arm. Nothing more, nothing less. Although, I’m sure my family’s money doesn’t hurt either.”

Keane shouldn’t care who was in love with Nelle or not.

Then again . . . he shouldn’t be cuddling her while in his tiger form either.

That was something special one did with their tiger mate.

He distantly remembered finding his parents like that, more than once.

Two giant cats, limbs and tails wrapped around each other while they’d slept.

Nelle hadn’t even been in her honey badger form. She was still wearing her dress from yesterday, now covered in black and white fur. And he . . . well, now he was naked.

Dammit, but he felt comfortable with her like this!

In his arms, cuddled close. What was going on with him?

Why was he acting like this? Maybe he needed a mate.

A nice tigress who was looking to have a cub or two with a virile male.

And it was this instinctive desire he probably had—whether he was aware of it or not—that had him grabbing the first female who happened to be lying next to him on the couch, watching TV.

This was, tragically, how many shifters ended up with full-humans as mates.

Sure. These same shifters often argued later they were “in love,” but seriously?

In love? With a full-human? Sure. Whatever.

And it was the same with honey badgers. Who could love a honey badger? Thieving, plotting, politically dangerous honey badgers?

Your brothers? They’re in love with badgers .

He rolled his eyes at the voice in his head, which always sounded like his dad’s and only made an appearance when he was arguing with himself.

Why didn’t he hear his dad’s voice when he had a great game or kept their family safe?

Instead, he only heard his dad when that voice was telling him not to be so hard on his brothers or uncles, or asking him not to live his life for revenge.

See? Irritating!

And his brothers’ current stupidity regarding women didn’t count!

Stupidity? Shay is stupid to choose Tock? She’s brilliant and clearly loves my granddaughter. And Mads is psychotic like you with her love of a single sport. So how stupid can your brothers be to find such great females? Just like I did with your mom.

“What the hell are you thinking about?”

“What?” Keane snapped, startled to hear Nelle’s voice in the middle of his inner monologue.

“Your face.” Nelle was looking up at him. “It’s all scrunched up. Are you holding in gas?”

“No.”

“Just asking. Because farting is a normal human function.”

“I’m just arguing with my dad,” he said quickly, not wanting to hear anyone talk about “farting.”

Her eyes widened a little, and she leaned back.

“In my head, I mean,” he attempted to clarify. “Not . . . literally arguing with him.”

“Oh.” She relaxed in his arms again. “I understand. I mean, I’ve never lost a parent, but I argue with my mother all the time in my head.

I know I can call her and argue with her in person, but that is a dangerous road to go down.

She doesn’t like offspring that have an opinion outside her own.

Even when she’s absolutely wrong, she expects us all to agree. ”

She laid her head on his chest, and they were silent for a little while. Neither of them sleeping, but not in the mood to get up and face the day either, he guessed.

Finally, though, she did pull back a bit and look down his body.

“Yeahhhhh,” Keane said, embarrassed. “Just ignore him.”

“He seems awake . . . and quite happy.”

“Sorry about that. But he has a mind of his own.”

“No reason to apologize. And I’ll deal with him later.”

“Okay. That is not helping.”

* * *

Nelle laughed and pulled out of Keane’s arms.