knew it sounded cruel to those who didn’t know her father. Who didn’t understand why she disliked the man so much. But she had her reasons and those reasons were all she needed.
If nothing else, she hoped his death would end the bad luck that seemed to follow the man around and, in turn, follow his daughters around as well.
Daughters who hadn’t asked to be born. Definitely hadn’t asked for him to be their father. Three girls who’d had no say in what they’d already been through.
Yes. She blamed her father for all of it, but she wasn’t about to let that get in her way. Because it was a new day! She just had to be cool about it.
Stevie didn’t like their father any more than Charlie and Max did, but she took the fact that he was their sperm donor much more seriously. She would want to mourn his death, and they had to respect that.
Which reminded her . . .
Naked, Charlie walked out of the bathroom, where the shower was now running. She went into the living room and found that Max and Stevie already had each other in headlocks. Max grinning. Stevie cursing Max.
“The never-ending, battling sisters,” was what the Pack had called Max and Stevie. And it was true. The pair of them could and would go at it until someone separated them or an ambulance had to be called. The thing was, an ambulance rarely had to be called for either Max or Stevie. If there was one thing that was true about all MacKilligan females . . . they could take a beating. But teachers, coaches, strangers on the street, anyone who thought it was a good idea to get between the sisters to stop them from fighting always found out the hard way that it was not.
But Charlie wasn’t some stranger on the street. She knew how to handle her sisters. It was the first thing her mother had taught her when she realized how poorly the two got along.
Going behind both women, Charlie grabbed Max by the tough skin of her back and swung her one way, then the other. Poor Stevie forced to go with her.
And while Charlie swung, she kept chanting, “Let her go, let her go, let her go.” Until Max did what she was told to do.
“On the couch,” Charlie ordered, pointing at Stevie. “You, on the chair.” She motioned to the leather armchair until Max sat down.
Once both her sisters were sitting away from each other, she said, “Now listen up. I’m going into the shower. It will be a long shower. A luxurious shower.”
“Why not a bath?” Stevie asked.
“I don’t like baths. I don’t like soaking in my own filth.”
Max started laughing but stopped when Charlie snapped, “Shut up. Now, while I’m in that shower, you two will not argue. You will not fight.” She pointed at Max. “You will not startle.” She pointed at Stevie. “You will not throw things. No matter what she says to you,” she added quickly before Stevie could argue. “Let’s just be glad that we made it back to the States without killing each other or getting arrested. Let’s enjoy this moment for what it is.”
“The death of our father?” Max asked.
Charlie glared at Max for a moment before they both raised their arms in the air and cried out, “Hurray!”
“Ladies!” Stevie barked, disgusted.
“Sorry. Sorry.” Charlie didn’t want to upset her sister. She wanted a shower too badly. A nice, normal, relaxing shower. And she couldn’t have that if she was worried the two of them were attempting to kill each other in the next room.
“We’ll get through this, Stevie,” she promised her baby sister.
Stevie nodded and moved deeper into the couch corner until she couldn’t move any farther. She placed her feet on the cushions, wrapped her arms around her calves, and rested her chin on her raised knees. Charlie pointed at Max one more time, letting her know in no uncertain terms that if anything happened while she was showering, Charlie would absolutely blame Max for it. Because most likely it would be Max’s fault.
Max reached for the remote and turned on the enormous, high-end TV in the middle of the room.
“Oh, look,” Charlie pointed out. “Law & Order.”
“Thank God,” Stevie muttered. Funny, since Stevie always went on and on about how she didn’t watch TV.
“Excellent!” Max chimed in. “One of the early episodes. Before cell phones and social media!”
Knowing they’d be entertained for a few hours at least, Charlie headed off to her very hot and relaxing shower.
* * *
Max was so tempted to fuck with her sister, but Charlie’s warning had been very clear. Charlie was all about being clear. She didn’t like vague. She didn’t like subtle. She didn’t like when people weren’t direct. Why? Because Charlie was always direct.
When Charlie had told her once, “If you bother Stevie while she’s taking that test, I’m going to break your arm,” she’d meant it. Max had been forced to wear that cast for, like, two days, the break was so bad. But she’d learned her lesson. A Charlie warning was serious stuff, and you ignored it at your own peril.
Deciding to help make this easier for everyone involved, Max got up and grabbed Stevie’s backpack. They’d run by that CERN place and picked up a bunch of her stuff so that she’d have things with her to keep her calm, like all her notebooks. And, at this point, it was all about keeping Stevie calm. Not a small order either. “Calm” was as foreign to Stevie as “uptight” was to Max.
She placed the bag next to the couch Stevie was on and started back to her chair. She didn’t look at Stevie or smile. Because Stevie would assume Max was mocking her—and let’s be honest . . . she probably was—and react accordingly.
But just as Max was about to drop her ass in the big armchair, both sisters looked at each other and then at the front door a few feet away . . .
* * *
Vic Barinov stood by his mate and smiled. They were finally home, and he couldn’t be happier. They’d had to run over to Italy in a private jet to retrieve just one jackal. But that jackal was like family to his mate and she’d insisted that Vic and his panda partner be the ones to go pick him up. Then she’d insisted on going with them. It seemed like a big deal for nothing until the news hit the states about the brutal “hotel invasion” in Milan, involving Maestro Cooper Jean-Louis Parker. Suddenly Vic understood why everyone was freaking out.
But for someone who’d been through a horrible attack—one so bad his bodyguard had been shot and stabbed—good ol’ Coop had seemed fine. More than fine. He’d still got to perform at Vatican City for the Pope and he’d flatly refused to fire the three grizzlies who’d been the core of his protection. Despite his older sister’s near-hysterical rantings about cutting them loose. But nope. Coop wouldn’t hear of it, which basically told Vic all he’d needed to know.
That whatever was going on, Vic didn’t want to know.
Instead, he’d let his mate and her best friend get crazed about protecting a jackal old enough to breed.
Vic glanced behind him and saw the elevator
