chapter FOURTEEN
Cringing, Britta reached down and grabbed the honey badger’s arm. She pulled Max to her feet.
“We should stop this,” Britta said again.
“I’m okay.”
“We haven’t even touched you yet,” Britta explained. “You can’t skate even when no one is on you.”
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”
The Marauder skated over to them. Stopped. “What?” Novikov asked.
Britta decided to step in. “She’s done.”
“We’ve barely started.”
“And yet she’s bleeding profusely.”
Novikov frowned. “You’re not even on the team. You’re a practice player.”
Britta skated in front of Novikov. “Your point?”
“My point is this has nothing to do with you.”
“She’s a friend. I’m helping her.”
Max tapped her on the arm. “We’re friends?” she asked.
“Quiet, tiny female.”
“She’s fine,” he insisted.
“She’s not fine. She can’t skate.”
“She can learn.”
Reece Lee Reed—a wolf from the Smith Pack—skated around the trio and asked, “So are we practicing today? Or just gabbin’ like girlfriends?”
Without taking his eyes off Britta, Novikov swung out his fist, sending poor Reece flying across the ice and into the opposite wall.
“Woooooow,” Max softly let out.
“We cannot teach her to skate well enough to play hockey at the pro level. It’s not possible. It’s not like it’s full-human hockey with those tiny little guys playing. Not one sow among them. This is just setting her up to get killed.”
“You’re annoying me.”
“I’m sorry my rational logic goes against your hysterical plans to use a woman like a mad dog.”
“I’m actually a honey badger.”
“Shut. Up,” Britta snarled.
And Max did, for a little bit. But then, while Britta and Novikov bickered, she abruptly moved between the pair and held up one leg to Novikov. “Get this skate off.”
Without realizing what he was doing—he was so busy trying to rationalize his crazy scheme—Novikov quickly untied the skate. Then he untied the other when Max lifted it up. Once she had the skates off, she started walking off the ice, pulling off first her hockey shirt, then her elbow pads. Then her shoulder pads. When she dropped the shoulder pads to the ice, the small female suddenly took off.
Catching the move, Britta and Novikov stopped arguing and turned to watch.
Max charged across the ice toward the stairs that led to the bleachers.
“Uh-oh,” Britta muttered when she realized that Coop’s big sister was standing in those bleachers, talking to some lion. Her back was to Max, so she had no idea the crazed honey badger was headed right for her.
Britta started to skate over there, hoping to stop what she saw as the possible slaughter of Coop’s sister. True, Toni Jean-Louis Parker got on her last nerve, but Britta didn’t want her hurt either.
But before she could even get down the entire length of the rink, Max suddenly turned toward the protective glass wall that kept the audience safe from the play. Using her claws, she scrambled up and over. Once she touched down, she ran on the bleachers toward where Toni was standing. When she was about four bleachers or so below her, the badger launched herself up and over . . . and into the lion.
Startled, Toni jumped back as Max slammed the lion to the ground and began pummeling the cat with brutal fists.
Understanding that Toni wasn’t the focus of the badger’s rage, Britta slowed down. Maybe this was Max’s old boyfriend. There were a few men in Britta’s past that she’d love to slap around like chew toys.
It took the lion a bit to understand what was going on. But once he did, he began fighting back. First, he tried to push Max off and then punched her back. But if Max felt his blows, you couldn’t tell.
She didn’t scream or growl or say anything. She simply kept punching. Then, finally, she grabbed the lion’s big head, her fingers digging into his mane, and slammed it against the floor two, three, five times.
When he seemed dazed, Britta watched Max slip her hand into her hockey pants and whip out a blade that had Britta, Novikov, and Reed bolting toward her.
Max swung her arm up over her head. The point glinted in the bright stadium lights seconds before it arced down toward the lion’s chest.
They would never reach him. All three of them were fast, but not as fast as Max and her blade.
But Britta had to try. It was in her nature.
She pushed her body as hard as she could, trying to reach—
Inches from the lion’s chest, Max’s wrist was caught. Held.
Charlie yanked her sister up and away, pulling her to the stairs and keeping her there with nothing more than a glare.
The pair stared at each other, neither speaking. A silent conversation only siblings would understand.
Finally, Max smirked and slipped the blade back into her hockey pants . . . like they had been made to hold blades or something.
Max walked up the stairs, and that’s when Britta saw Berg and Dag. Neither of her brothers was a big fan of hockey. So she knew they hadn’t come here for her. They were here for something else.
For the MacKilligan sisters.
Charlie didn’t move until Max was near the exit doors. The She-hybrid started to follow her sister, not realizing that the lion male had gotten to his feet and now stood behind her, bloody and bruised. He didn’t seem to notice her, though; his gaze firmly locked on little Stevie, who stood beside Coop and his younger brother Kyle. The trio standing near the exit doors Max was about to walk through. When Stevie turned away, head down, Britta gave a small snarl. Now she wanted to hit the guy.
And maybe it was the sound Britta made. Or perhaps it was just sisterly instinct.
Whatever it was, Charlie turned toward the lion, her fingers curled into a fist, and that fist swung out and slammed into the male’s face. Britta cringed. She could hear his jaw breaking from where she stood.
“She has gotta helluva punch,” Reed muttered beside Britta.
The lion went down with a pathetic whimper, hitting the floor he’d just picked himself up from.
Charlie crouched down and spoke to him. Her voice so low, Britta couldn’t understand what she was saying. But she could guess.
She could guess that Charlie was making it clear the beating he’d gotten from Max was nothing compared to the one he’d get from Charlie if he came sniffing around her sister again.
Britta had said something similar to Dionne Kapowski back in the ninth grade after she’d broken Dag’s heart.
“Think we can teach that one to skate?” Novikov asked.
Britta let out a sigh. “No.”
* * *
“I thought we talked about this, Max. No killing other shifters with a knife or a gun, in front of witnesses. You know that.” Standing outside the practice ice rink, Charlie grabbed Max’s hand and held it up. “Next time use your claws.”
“No, no,” Berg quickly stated, stepping between the sisters. “Unless someone is physically attacking you, no killing. How about that? I saw you charge him, Max. He didn’t attack you first.”
“But I warned him,” Max said. “I told him if I ever saw him again, I would beat him until he was dead.”
Berg nodded. “I understand the logic, but I’m not sure in a court of law that would be an acceptable excuse for murder. Unreasonable, I know. But what can you do?”
Toni came out of the rink and walked over to Charlie. “Sooooo . . . I shouldn’t have him around my sisters, should I?”
“No.”
“Got it. Thanks.” Then Toni left to track down the rest of her siblings.
“I’m—” Stevie began but Charlie cut her off by placing her hand over her baby sister’s entire face.
“Do not say you’re sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Charlie moved her hand to her sister’s shoulder and pulled her close, kissing her on the forehead. “I’m sorry you had to see him again.”
“And that wasn’t your fault either. Besides, I’m an adult. I’m not a kid anymore. I should be able to handle seeing him. I should be . . .” Her eyes suddenly grew wide as she stared behind Max. “Oh, my God. Dutch!”
Max looked over her shoulder and immediately started laughing. “Dude, what the fuck happened to your face?”
Holding onto his ribs, he glared at Charlie. “Wanna tell them?”
Charlie rolled her eyes, pursed her lips; her left eyebrow raised, but she said nothing. Her expression made Berg grin. She could be such a rude badass when she wanted to be.
“Charlie did this to you?” Max asked. She looked him over. “Why? What did you do?”
“What did I do?”
“Charlie’s not me or Stevie. If she beat the shit out of you, it’s because she thought you deserved it.” Max paused, then asked, “Is this about those people you work for?”
Charlie slapped her hand against Dutch’s damaged chest and, ignoring his pained whimpering, she pushed him out of the way so that she stood right in front of Max.
“What do you know about the people he works for?”
“Not much. Every time he tried to tell me, I changed the subject because I couldn’t have been more bored by the topic. And I’m definitely not taking a job where I answer to anyone. I like being my own boss.”
Stevie stepped up beside her sister and, staring straight at her, asked, “What is it you do exactly?”
“You didn’t have to beat Dutch up,” Max continued, her hand landing on her baby sister’s shoulder. With one healthy push she sent the slight female about twenty feet away until she hit the wall beside the rink doors. “I wasn’t going to take any job.”
“Dumb ass, they didn’t want to offer you a job; they wanted to kill us. They saw us in the Bronx.”
“Actually,” Dutch interrupted, moving close to the pair again, “no. That was not the plan.”
“So you say.”
“So I know. I really just wanted them to see Max’s skill. But, not surprisingly, they’re now interested in all of you.”
“Interested in all of us to do what?” Stevie asked before she looked at Max and hissed at her . . . like a house cat. Entire face pulling back, small fangs erupting from her gums.
To be really honest, Berg couldn’t understand what the Group would want with Stevie. Unless they had a science lab he was unaware of.
“It doesn’t matter,” Charlie told her sisters. “It’s all a lie. They want us dead.”
Dutch’s hands curled into fists. “Do you really think,” he growled, “that I’d let anything happen to you guys? That I’d be involved in any way with people that would harm you guys simply for being who you are?”
It was the silence Berg noticed first. It was never silent in the Sports Center unless it was closed for the night. But here it was early evening and the place was dead silent.
He looked up and saw that their small group was surrounded by armed men and women. Shifters of different species and breeds. Dee-Ann Smith, bloody and bruised, her arm in a sling, standing behind them.
And, as soon as Berg noticed it, the sisters, Dag, and Dutch noticed it, too.
Dutch raised one finger and offered, “I know this looks bad . . .”
* * *
Charlie laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I know this looks bad?” Yes! This looked bad. Very bad.
But she wasn’t exactly surprised.
Whether it was what Stevie shifted into, Max’s ability to decimate with a blade, or her own skills with guns, the MacKilligan sisters were more often seen as a liability than an asset. Unless, of course, one needed a brilliant scientist to create designer meth—then people were happy to overlook Stevie’s issues.
Berg gazed at her and Charlie wondered if he was worried that she’d lost her mind. Her ill-timed laughs often caused that sort of concern. But ludicrous things would always be funny to her.
Berg raised a brow and now she understood that he was asking her what she wanted to do. He was ready to back her play despite the risk to him and his brother.
Before Charlie could make a move, however, Dutch focused on the wolf whose ass Charlie had kicked.
“What are you doing, Dee-Ann?” he asked. His voice was calm but Charlie had known Dutch since the idiot was a kid. He was a “calm before the storm” kind of wolverine.
“I think we all need to go to our offices and have us a nice, civilized little talk. Y’all wouldn’t mind that, would ya?”
Charlie cringed. That accent. Oy!
“That wasn’t the deal, Dee-Ann,” Dutch reminded her.
“I think you need to mind yours, little man.” Mind his what?
“Dee—”
The wolf pushed past the others and stepped in front of Dutch. “Don’t test me, boy.”
That’s when Max moved. All Charlie could see was a flash of steel and, a moment later, a blade was pressed against the wolf’s throat . . . and another blade was pressed against Max’s.
The wolf and the badger eyed each other, both appearing impressed by the other’s knife skill while each was ready to kill at a moment’s notice.
Charlie said, “Step back, Max.”
Max looked at her over her shoulder.
“Now,” Charlie pushed. Then she jerked her head toward the Dunn brothers.
“Wait,” Berg said before Max could move. “You’re worried about me?”
“I can’t fight them and look out for you, too. Or your brother.”
The two bears glanced at each other and back at Charlie.
“You’re kidding, right?” Dag asked.
“No. You two are used to military rules of engagement. We’re MacKilligans. The only rule for us is to leave no witnesses.” Charlie moved her attention to the She-wolf. “We’ll go with you,” she said, shrugging. “It’s just as easy to leave no witnesses there as here.”
With Max’s blade still pressed against her jugular, the wolf’s eyes narrowed on Charlie.
Her expression told Charlie the She-wolf was remembering how the three MacKilligan sisters had wiped out that room full of armed men. What thin, compact little Stevie shifted into. What Max had pulled. What Charlie had done just five minutes ago.
And now the She-wolf was debating whether she should have them all killed right here. Right now.
“Berg Dunn?” a female voice called out. “Is Berg Dunn here?”
Frowning, Berg looked over the heads of the shifters surrounding him and raised his hand. “Yes?”
“Hi! I’m Tanya. Bayla Ben-Zeev sent me.”
Charlie had no idea who that was but she saw Berg’s shoulders relax a little.
“Your request has been approved,” Tanya went on. “Just let us know if you need anything else.”
Tanya, busy looking at her phone, began to walk away but Berg’s, “Uh . . . actually . . .” stopped her.
“Uh-huh?” she asked, glancing up at him.
He gestured to the armed shifters surrounding them.
“Oh. Right. Sorry.” She motioned to someone Charlie couldn’t see. “Over here, ladies.”
Charlie heard a growl and realized it had come from the She-wolf. A growl of annoyance.
Laughing and chatting, a number of super tall—and some very wide—women surrounded the group gathered around Charlie and the others. These women were armed but none of them had pulled their weapons yet. Instead, they just kept talking among themselves.
Stevie whimpered and she suddenly crept behind Charlie and buried her head against her back. She was panting.
All these women . . . they weren’t just shifters. They were bear sows. Something that seemed to concern even the She-wolf.
But she wasn’t giving up the MacKilligans without a fight.
“Excuse me, Tanya,” the She-wolf practically snarled, “but these ladies are under our . . . um . . . protection at the moment. So we’d appreciate if y’all would—”
“Sorry!” another female voice called out, as a six-foot-nine female rushed up to the group. “So sorry. I had to get the kids from skating practice.” And the kids were with her. Three of them. One in hockey gear, the other in a skating dress, and the third, so small she was hanging from her armed mother’s big shoulders.
The mother sow happily looked around the group before cheerily asking, “So what are we doing?”
That’s when the She-wolf’s compatriots lowered their weapons and one of them said, “Sorry, Dee-Ann. We’re out.”
Not clear on how disgusted she should be, Charlie softly asked Berg, “Did your bear friends just use that woman’s children as shields?”
“Not at all. I know Stephanie. She’s a big multitasker. She brought her kids because she’s trying to do a lot of things at once. The beauty is . . . the other breeds instinctively know not to startle or upset a sow with cubs. None of them would be left standing and they know it.” He winked at her before focusing back on the action.
The She-wolf stepped away from Max, both eyeing each other as they slipped their blades back into the holsters.
Without another word, the She-wolf walked off; those who’d come with her long gone.
“Tell Bayla,” Berg said to Tanya, “thank you.”
“Sure, sure,” she replied, texting into her phone. “Just keep in mind, they’re only under bear protection for as long as they’re living on Carthage Street. Understand?”
“I understand.”
“Okay. Great. Uh . . . Bayla will inform the other organizations.” Still focused on her phone, she started to walk back the way she’d come. “The others will get you to your car since that Smith is not to be trusted. Okay? Great. Thanks!”
She walked into one of the sows, who pushed her away with a good amount of force. But Tanya didn’t stumble or let the shove tear her attention away from her phone. Apparently, nothing could do that.
Berg smiled down at Charlie, but then frowned. “Charlie. . . are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You look like you’re in pain.”
“Oh.” She motioned behind her. “Stevie’s attached herself to my back. Her claws are digging.”
“Should I pry her—”
“No.” Charlie shook her head. “If you do that, there will be tearing and ripping. So let’s just pretend that we’re all normal. That this weird situation—my sister attached to me like a spider monkey and all of us surrounded by the players of the WNBA—is completely commonplace.”
She clapped her hands together. “Okay. Let’s go!”
* * *
The group started off toward the exit but Max grabbed Dutch’s T-shirt and pulled him back.
“That was the group you were trying to get me to work for?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Sweetie,” she said, laughing. “Seriously?”
“So you scare them, Max. You scare everybody.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. That She-wolf . . . ?”
“Dee-Ann Smith?”
“You ever watch those dog trainers on TV who handle pit bulls?”
“Sometimes.”
“They always say don’t put two male pit bulls together. Don’t put two female pit bulls together.” She gestured between where the She-wolf had been standing and herself. “Her and me? Two female pit bulls. You put us in the same cage, Dutch . . . one of us is not coming out.”