chapter FIFTEEN
Ric Van Holtz was no longer surprised when his wife entered a room covered in bruises. Dee-Ann performed a very dangerous job and that meant, over the years, he’d sewn up knife cuts, cleared out bullet holes, and packed more ice than he could think of on bruised and battered body parts.
Yet he wasn’t sure how offering three women a job had led to . . . this.
Her arm in a sling, Dee-Ann sat in a chair across from his desk.
With a painful limp and a brutalized face, Cella Malone made her way across his office and sat in the other chair.
The pair sat and didn’t say a word, which was unusual. Not for Dee-Ann. She’d never been chatty. But usually, when the pair came in together, they were already in the middle of an argument about something.
Yet here they were. Silent and severely damaged.
“Should I assume we don’t have any new employees?” Ric guessed.
Dee-Ann slumped down in her chair. Cella began studying something on the corner of his pristine desk.
Normally he’d ask, “How bad is this?” but he already kind of knew. It wasn’t every day one received a call from the head of the BPC herself to tell him, “Stay away from the MacKilligan sisters. They’re under our protection now.”
“Did the bears do this to you?” he finally asked.
But then something shocking happened. Dee-Ann slumped farther down in her chair, her gaze moving across the room until it focused on the wall behind his head. Cella suddenly became fascinated with the metal band of her watch.
Now Ric was completely confused. He took a moment to study their wounds and realized there was nothing bearlike about them. No giant claw marks across their throats. No obvious signs of head trauma from claws or teeth. They had all their eyes. And nothing had been ripped off them. Like their arms or legs or lips.
No, when Ric studied the damage done to both women, what he saw was a beating. A harsh, you-pissed-me-off beating.
“Are you telling me the MacKilligan sisters did this to you?”
Cella cleared her throat, fussed with her watch band a little more, before finally admitting, “Well . . . one of them.”
Ric’s entire body jerked a little before he attempted to clarify that statement with, “While the other two held you down?”
The pair exchanged glances and Dee-Ann suddenly shot up out of her chair and began to pace. Cella, however, dropped back in hers and blew out a large breath. But neither spoke.
“Oh,” Ric said. “I see.”
* * *
“First there’s Katzenhaus Securities,” the weasel explained to Charlie and her sisters while Berg drove them home. “They protect the cat nation.”
“There’s a nation of cats?” Max asked.
“So many of them are solitary or have small families. They don’t have big Packs or Prides, so they have no choice but to consider themselves a nation of cats. And then there’s the Group.”
“That’s who you betrayed us for?” Charlie asked Dutch and Berg smirked, glancing at his brother in the passenger seat to see the identical smirk on his triplet’s face.
“Okay,” the weasel sighed in frustration, “one more time, with feeling, for the backseat . . . I didn’t betray you! I was trying to get you bitches a job. Well, at least one bitch. And that job has an employer-match IRA and artery care. You won’t find those kinds of benefits in Silicon Valley.
“Anyway,” he continued on, “the Group protects all shifters, including hybrids, honey badgers, and wolverines.”
“Honey badgers don’t want your help,” Max reminded her friend.
“The Group is aware of how the badgers feel, but they’ve still decided to include you, as well as my kind, despite those feelings. And the bears have the BPC. Bear Preservation Council.”
“That sounds like a nonprofit charity.”
“I think I gave them money once,” Stevie said.
“You? ”
“One of my coworkers is a big supporter. She was selling cookies or something to raise money. And you know how much I love a good chocolate cookie. But she’s not a bear.”
“BPC is a charity. They’re all about the preservation and protection of bears worldwide.”
“And they’re the ones protecting us.” Charlie suddenly leaned forward, her head between Berg and Dunn. “And my question is why? Why are they protecting us? Are you paying them?”
“No.”
“Because we’re not bears. I’m barely badger. Stevie’s more cat. Max is irritating.”
“Hey!”
“So why are they helping us?”
“Because I asked them to.” Berg shrugged when Charlie kept staring at him. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth. Have you given them your lives? Do you now owe them a blood debt? Do you have to kill for this?”
“Wow,” Dag finally said. “You are really not used to people helping you.”
“Because they don’t unless they’re getting something out of it. And I don’t want to put you guys at any more risk.”
“You haven’t put us at risk,” Berg insisted.
“You’ve been shot and stabbed.”
“Not because of you.”
“No, because of my father. I have brought his curse into your life.”
“Maybe the bear just likes being helpful,” the weasel suggested, but Charlie immediately pointed a damning finger at him.
“I don’t talk to traitors.”
“He’s not a traitor,” Max said. “He’s just a pathetic, pathetic friend.”
“And thank you very much!”
“Well, dude, what did you expect? You had to know once Charlie found out, she was going to be pissed. You’re just lucky she only beat the shit out of you.” She paused, then added, “You’re lucky you still have your arms.”
“Ungrateful. You’re all ungrateful!”
* * *
“You tried to capture them?”
“Well, if you’re gonna make it sound wrong,” Dee-Ann complained.
“Dee-Ann, these aren’t wild lions we’re bringing in from Africa. These are human beings who have clearly been trained to kill when necessary. Why didn’t you just talk to them?”
“We tried that. They’d already run. And we can’t let that one girl out in the world runnin’ around.”
“You mean Stevie MacKilligan? You’re worried about her? She’s managed to go twenty-four years without rampaging in downtown Tokyo. I don’t see why you couldn’t have trusted her to hold on for a little bit longer.”
“Don’t get that tone with me.”
“Well, when you’re being irrational—”
“Irrational? Me?”
“What do you call it when you try to round up shifters you, and I’m quoting, ‘Don’t much like the look of’?”
“You didn’t see her once she shifted.”
“I didn’t have to. I’ve seen Novikov. He has tusks. Like a goddamn walrus.”
“She’s bigger than he is shifted. She’s gotta be at least twenty feet long. Maybe longer. That ain’t right. That’s—”
“Please don’t say unholy.”
“—unholy.”
Ric briefly placed his head on his desk. “I love how your Christianity only comes into play when you don’t have a rational argument for something you don’t like.”
“I know what I know. And I know what I saw.”
Ric sat up straight again, focused on the head coach of the hockey team he owned. “Cella? Your thoughts?”
“I’m wondering if the two oldest can learn how to ice skate.” She nodded. “They’ve both got mighty fighting skills and the middle one . . . she’s dumb enough to be an enforcer for Novikov.”
Ric placed his elbows on his desk and rested his chin in the palms of his hands.
“So, let me sum up—we’ve got one vote for total annihilation and one vote for forcing them to join the hockey team. Am I correct?”
“Yes,” both females replied.
* * *
As soon as Berg turned onto the street, Charlie knew something was wrong.
“Why are all those bears standing in front of our house?” Stevie asked, panic in her voice rising. “They’ve come to eat us, haven’t they?”
“Oh, my God!” Max exploded. “No one wants to eat your scrawny ass!”
“I have a high metabolism!”
Charlie snapped her fingers. “Stop it,” she ordered.
“How do you do that?” Berg asked when both younger sisters immediately fell silent.
“Years of training and abuse, my friend. Years of training and abuse.”
“You’re like one of those Russian bear trainers.”
“Yeah. It’s great until they suddenly turn on you on live TV and rip your scalp off.”
“You do know we’re right here?” Max asked.
“Shut up.” Berg stopped the car and Charlie got out, ordering her sisters to, “Stay here until I—”
But Max was already out of the car and walking toward the crowd of bears. Stevie had also gotten out and had climbed the closest big tree, where she nonsensically hissed at no one in particular.
Sighing, Charlie closed the car door and rushed to catch up with Max.
“What’s going on, Tiny?” she asked when she saw their landlord.
“Something is in your . . . what happened to your face?”
“It’s nothing. I just got in a fight with a wolf and . . . what was the other one?”
“Siberian tiger,” Max replied
“Yeah. Siberian tiger. Oh . . . and him.” She pointed at Dutch.
Tiny stared at Dutch and back at Charlie several times before informing Dutch, “She kicked your ass.”
“I am aware!” Dutch snapped. “Can we now get back to what you were saying?”
“Something is in your house.” He screwed his nose up. “It tried to cloak its scent. I mostly smell bear spray but . . . who puts bear spray on just to sneak into our neighborhood? I can’t imagine anyone that stupid.”
But Charlie could.
She looked at Max, and her sister’s expression told her she thought the same thing.
“Where’s your dog, Berg?” Charlie asked.
Berg whistled, then called out, “Hey! Shithead!”
Charlie growled a little. “You need to give that dog a proper name.”
“How is that not a proper name?”
“Don’t—” She stopped herself. Now was not the time.
Berg’s dog came around from the back of his house and took his time trotting across the street to reach the group.
Once he stood next to them, Charlie bent over slightly to stare in the dog’s eyes—even on all fours, the dog was goddamn huge—and then whispered into his ear.
With a bark, he ran toward the house and leaped into an open window that Charlie knew for a fact she’d left closed and locked.
“What did you say to him?” Dag asked.
“That’s between canines.” She smirked. “You wouldn’t understand.”
They heard a huge yelp from the upstairs. Then came the sounds of things crashing, running, more crashing, some screaming, a few barks of pain that did not come from a dog until finally her father crashed through an upstairs window, rolled down the shingled roof, fell off the roof, and landed in such a way that should have killed even him. His neck hit the ground first, legs bent up and over his head.
And although the bears gasped in shock, neither Charlie nor her sister were remotely phased when Freddy MacKilligan unrolled himself and got to his feet, seemingly unharmed.
“You,” the asshole said, pointing an accusing finger at Charlie, “sent that vicious bitch up to attack me.”
Charlie answered that accusation by slamming her fist into her father’s face. Max slammed her fist into the other side of his face.
That’s when Stevie moved from the safety of the tree.
“No, no, no!” She scrambled down the trunk and ran over to the group. She had to grit her teeth to make her way through the crowd of bears, but she still did it. And she did it for him.
Stevie planted herself in front of the whining idiot who was busy trying to put his jaw back into place. Not surprisingly, this was not—and would not be—the last time someone punched their father’s jaw out of its socket. It had happened so much in the past, he didn’t even need a doctor anymore. He just had to jerk it back into place. The bears cringed when they heard the snap!
“Ungrateful bitches!” he barked when he could speak again.
Max hissed in warning before unleashing the bladelike claws on each hand. She wanted to bathe in their father’s blood when she took his life.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Charlie demanded.
“A little respect please. I am your father.”
“Fuck your respect, bitch. Do you know what you’ve done? Do you even care?”
“See?” her father asked . . . no one. “This is why I need a son. You’re useless to me. You don’t even know what I’ve been through and already you are accusing me.”
“I’m accusing you because you’re an idiot. And you don’t have a son because your DNA is as fucked up and as impotent as you are!”
It was a low blow. One meant to wound and hurt. But no child wanted to hear that even the father they hated had never wanted them. Simply because they were born with vaginas.
The missile she’d sent over his bow found its mark; her father grabbed her by her T-shirt, curling his fist in the cotton material and yanking her close.
Charlie wasn’t scared. She’d stopped fearing her father decades ago. Plus, she had Max there. Those claws were flying back, readying a strike so brutal the bastard would easily lose his arm. But before Max could finish the attack, Berg Dunn’s big body was between Charlie and her father. Dag on the other side.
And the other bears . . . ? Ready to move. His neighbor grizzlies had allowed their grizzly humps to pop. There were fangs. Claws. All unleashed and at the ready.
Somewhere behind their father, Stevie whimpered and Charlie knew her poor sister was using all her energy not to run screaming from the street, the neighborhood, the state, the country . . .
With utter calm, his gaze lowered, Berg growled, “Sir, I’d strongly suggest you move your hand away from your daughter. And I mean do it now.”
Stupid but always a survivor, Freddy MacKilligan examined what was happening around him with fresh eyes. Stevie and Max might be the smallest ones there, but they were also the least in danger. All those bear eyes were focused on Freddy. And he knew it.
He let Charlie’s T-shirt go and raised both hands, palms out, showing those surrounding them that he was not a danger.
“Now if you’d step back a few feet,” Berg suggested/ ordered, his gaze still not on Freddy, although Charlie didn’t know why.
When her father didn’t move quickly enough, Berg’s dog reappeared, putting his big body between Freddy and Berg, snarling and snapping until her father stumbled back.
Then the dog came around Berg, nosed Dag out of the way, and sat down beside Charlie.
She reached over and patted the dog’s giant head.
“You need to go,” Max said to their father. “Now.”
“I need a place to stay.”
He’d barely gotten that last word out before Max and Charlie started laughing. The big, loud, mean laugh they only used when it came to their father.
“Fuck you . . . go!” Charlie said, still laughing.
“You’re just going to throw me out on the street?”
“Yes,” Charlie and Max said together.
He went for the weak link. “Stevie?” He tried for a sad expression. “You wouldn’t throw your daddy out, would you, sweetie?”
Stevie took off her backpack and dug her wallet out. She yanked out several bills. “Take this. Go.”
“Stevie!”
“You need to go. I can only protect you for so long. And even I am running out of patience here.”
“But I’m your father.”
“I know,” Stevie said on a sigh, tugging the straps of her pack back onto her shoulders. “I double-checked my DNA. You’re definitely my father.” And she couldn’t have sounded more defeated by this information. “But all my therapists say that I need to cut myself off from toxic relationships. And Daddy . . . you’re toxic.”
“This is their fault, isn’t it?” he said, his accusing glare lashing over at Charlie and Max. “They’ve turned you against me.”
Stevie shook her head. “It’s like you don’t even try to listen to me.”
“I’m not going to let these two evil females come between us. I love you, Stevie. You’re my favorite daughter.”
With a cringe, Stevie asked, “How is that a good thing to say? For any reason.” She motioned him away when he tried to hug her. “Daddy, just go.”
Fed up, Charlie pulled her cell phone from the back pocket of her jeans.
“What are you doing?” her father demanded.
“I’m calling Uncle Will and telling him exactly where you are at this very moment.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Charlie briefly held up her phone. “I have an international plan. And he knows you stole his money.”
“I did not!”
Charlie paused to let her shoulders slump in exhaustion. “Really, Dad? Seriously? Of course you stole that man’s money. And I hope he cuts your throat for it.”
Freddy slapped her phone out of her hands and Charlie had her gun pulled and pointed at her father’s head, but before she could squeeze the trigger Berg had picked her up and moved her away. Dag had one hand around Freddy’s throat, moving the much smaller badger back, ignoring his thrashing and curses.
“Get her out of here,” Max said to Berg, tossing him Charlie’s phone. “Otherwise, she’s going to kill him.”
He took Max’s direction and carried Charlie toward his house. But unable to keep her rage in check, she screamed, “This isn’t over, old man! I will hunt you down and kill you! I’m calling Will and telling him exactly where you are! I will have all the MacKilligans looking for your dumb ass! And when he cuts your heart out, I will dine on it with a good Scottish ale, you worthless son of a bitch!”
Berg carried her inside his house and into his living room. He placed her on the couch and sat down beside her, taking the gun from her. He cleared the chamber and dropped the mag, placing all the pieces on the coffee table in front of them.
Done with that, he relaxed back on the couch, his arm touching her shoulder.
For several long minutes they sat like that, in silence until he finally repeated, “With a good Scottish ale.”
Charlie laughed and couldn’t immediately stop. Only her father could make her this . . . psychotic. With every other part of her life she was reasonable, calm, rational. But with her idiot father . . .
She rested against Berg’s big arm, tears of laughter streaming down her face.
“It was so specific,” Berg noted, his laughter joining hers.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“Bringing my family’s crazy to your nice, quiet street.”
“Don’t even worry about it. Bears love this shit.”
She wiped her tears, gazed at him. “They do?”
“We say we hate it, but we’re all so nosey . . .” He shrugged. “We really love watching when it’s not happening to us. Sorry.”
“As long as my father’s crazy isn’t putting you in a bad situation with your neighbors, I don’t care if they watch every second of the drama. It’s the least we can do for you guys. You know, entertain.”
“You sure it’s okay to leave Max with your dad? She looked about as ready to kill him as you did.”
“She reacts to me. If I’m not there, she should be fine. Besides, she wouldn’t upset Stevie by killing him. She knows she’d never hear the end of it. We could be in an old age home, Max on her death bed, and Stevie would find a way to bring that shit up and make her feel guilty all over again.”
“Wow, she’s good.”
Charlie smiled, proud of her sisters for completely different reasons. “Stevie can learn anything from a book. And when it comes to psychiatry, she’s read them all. So she wields guilt like a master swordsman. And Max isn’t nearly as much of a psychopath as the social worker said because otherwise, she wouldn’t feel any guilt at all. At least that’s what I tell myself. All the time.”
* * *
Grabbing her father by the back of the neck, Max dragged his dumb ass into the house, with Stevie leading the way because she was too afraid to remain behind with the bears.
Dag took it upon himself to get the neighbors to disperse, although Max heard a few of them ask if Charlie was upset enough to start baking again.
Once in the kitchen, Max shoved their father away. He spun around, fist pulled back. But all Max had to do was cock her head to the side and stare at him. He quickly changed his approach.
He lowered his fist, smiled, and opened his arms wide. “Honey!”
She held up her hand. “Don’t even bother. Just get your shit and go.”
“I have nowhere to go. They’re out to kill me.”
“Because you stole from your own brother.”
“That’s not—”
“Dad.”
“It was an accident.”
Max glanced over at Stevie, but her little sister just sadly shook her head before dropping into one of the kitchen chairs.
“Okay, well, not an accident,” her father corrected. “But—”
“Where’s the money, Dad?” When her father did nothing but stare at her, Max guessed, “Someone stole it from you, didn’t they?”
“It’s not my fault!” he cried. It was the man’s refrain. According to their aunt, he’d been using it since he could talk. It was his first full sentence. “But Will is blaming me anyway. He’s always been out to get me. You have to help me.”
“No,” Stevie said before Max could. “No, Daddy, we don’t.”
“You’d throw me back out there?” he cried, arm sweeping wide.
“We don’t have to,” Stevie reasoned. “The bears will do it for us.”
She looked behind Freddy, and Max moved so she could see as well. Dag stood outside the open kitchen window, brown eyes watching their father closely.
“Everything all right?” the bear asked. “You guys need anything?”
“Not yet, Dag,” Max said. “But don’t go anywhere.”
Freddy’s head dropped, realizing he couldn’t manipulate his way into a place to stay. Not even with Stevie.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll go. But do you think I can get a little more—”
“Cash?” Max asked, and when her father simply gazed at her, she finally snapped. “How the fuck do you steal over a hundred million and still have no goddamn money?”