In a Badger Way (Honey Badger Chronicles #2) - Shelly Laurenston Page 0,1
legs, spinning away from the men, screaming wildly before she took off running.
“Grab her!” the nurse ordered while the orderlies chased the child around the large lab. But every time they got close to her, she’d duck under their legs, jump over their grasping hands, or throw something at them so she could make her mad escape.
Rolling his eyes, the general nodded at one of his men. That soldier closed the door, cutting off the child’s exit route. The general motioned to two others.
With precise movements, those soldiers went for the girl, one sweeping the child up into his arms and holding her with her back against his chest.
“If you will,” the general said to the nurse.
She placed the tray down on a lab table and uncapped the syringe. She moved toward the child.
Struggling and screaming, the girl tried her best to fight off the man holding her body while another soldier held her arm out, but these trained men held her easily without harming her.
Grateful this disaster was almost over, the general exhaled and let his gaze roam the room. That’s when a metal grate in the ceiling was kicked away by a sneakered foot, slamming into an orderly’s head and dropping him to the ground with a serious head wound.
The Asian half-sister of the prodigy jumped from the duct and down to the floor; the older sister followed. When her feet hit the ground, she grabbed the second orderly and tossed him across the room with amazing ease while the other girl charged the soldier holding her sister. As she moved toward him, she suddenly brought up one foot, placing it against the lab drawers. She pushed off toward the other lab station, slammed her other foot against the granite, and launched herself toward the soldier.
She wrapped her entire body around his head, but the soldier continued to hold on to his captive. The second soldier went for the oldest sister, but she grabbed his outstretched arm and swung him into the lab table. Then she grabbed him by the back of his neck, pinning him facedown to the table. She raised her leg and slammed it down on the back of the soldier’s calf, breaking his knee. His scream echoed out across the room.
The general sighed in aggravation. He would deserve a medal after this assignment was over. Because this was goddamn ridiculous!
The soldier at the front of the room yanked the door open and yelled out, “I need help in here!” to the ones who stood guard in the hallway. They rushed in. They had their firearms pulled, but they stopped as soon as they entered and immediately lowered their weapons.
The general didn’t know why until he felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.
“Let my sister go,” the eldest calmly stated, loud enough for them to hear but without the panic of her baby sister, “or I’ll blow the motherfucker’s brains out.”
It was a sad day when trained military couldn’t handle three little girls, the eldest not even eighteen yet.
With the middle sister still wrapped around his head, the soldier released the little girl. Stevie MacKilligan stepped away from him, brushing blond hair off her face and out of her eyes.
When she was done, she focused on the nurse, who was still holding the syringe.
“You were so ready to give that to me,” she said.
“It’s just something to help you,” the nurse asserted softly, rationally. “To keep you calm.”
“Really?” The child snatched the syringe away from the nurse. “Then you try it.”
The psychotic little bitch went up on her toes and slammed the syringe into the nurse’s neck, pressing the plunger once the needle had entered flesh.
Screeching, the nurse fell back against the lab table. The general understood, though. That had to hurt.
But then the nurse kept screeching, falling to the floor, rolling to her back, and suddenly foaming at the mouth, her entire body spasming wildly.
Until she stopped. Everything.
Moving, breathing . . . living.
The general slowly looked from the nurse’s corpse back to the girl.
Her expression smug, she said, “Told you she was trying to kill me.”
* * *
Charles Taylor ignored the complaints from the She-wolves in his Pack. They wanted him to call the cops. The FBI. Call the White House. Call anybody! “Do something!” they’d demanded in order to get little Stevie back.
But Charles knew better.
Some things you just had to let play out in their own time. And this was one of those times.