Drift: The Renegades Saga: Book Two

by E. M. Whittaker

  The teenager squealed again, thrashing against Chelsea’s grip.

  I had better not find Limere here. Christ, they’re selling to fucking kids now. Even Limere left them alone, and she’s almost eighteen.

  Aviere shouldered her purse and dashed out of the Cobalt, cracking her knuckles as she raced toward the distressed teenager. She noticed Armandi lingering behind her but suspected he’d requested reinforcements. A hurried glance confirmed Aviere’s suspicions after hearing Armandi’s demanding voice on his cell phone.

  Shut them down, Vi. If the police arrive and you’re here…

  Icy-blue eyes fixated on Chelsea’s black dress, checkered stockings, and oversized combat boots. Aviere’s gloved hand rested against the holster on her waist, debating if she needed her needle gun to subdue Chelsea. After careful consideration and another sharp cry, Aviere snuck behind the Goth woman while the teenager fought Desmond’s actions.

  If one teenager is saved, my job is done, Aviere reassured herself as she yanked Chelsea’s ponytail. I’d rather rip out her throat, but Armandi’s watching.

  The thought stopped when Chelsea stumbled backward, winced, and yelped within fifteen seconds. Then the Goth rubbed her scalp, growling when the teenager sprinted toward Armandi’s towering form.

  Aviere nodded when Armandi shielded the youth and escorted her inside the building. Seconds later, a swift hand signal satisfied Aviere.

  Good. Armandi’s okay with me handling Chelsea and Desmond.

  As Aviere watched the bouncer escort them inside, blurry movement registered in her peripheral vision. The shifter faced Desmond, scoffing at his brass knuckles and sloppy posture. For a moment, she considered giving the human mercy.

  Then an electrical discharge flickered from the Poisoner’s right side.

  Aviere spun, strands of hair trailing as she removed the slim silver pistol from her holster. She pivoted before facing Chelsea, aiming the pistol at the Goth wielding a taser. Another electrical discharge sizzled from the device, making Aviere’s knees wobble.

  Her pulse raced as Aviere remembered Travis rescuing her from his associate’s shock treatment.

  “Aviere Mye,” Chelsea drawled, doubling the voltage on her weapon. “I wondered when you’d show.”

  “You’re out of your territory,” Aviere said, angling her pistol at Desmond when he crept toward her. “South Baltimore’s off limits for pushers.”

  “More reason to come here, you know.” Chelsea’s hazel eyes brightened. “Market’s getting stale. I remember Limere’s clientele, and some are grateful we’re selling. Might convince Armandi once we show the money’s worth the cost.”

  My god, Aviere thought, scrunching up her nose. Between Chelsea’s flowery perfume and Desmond’s stench, I’m not sure who’s worse.

  Hardened eyes flitted between the figures as Aviere debated whom to shoot first.

  Then she pointed her weapon at Chelsea’s chest.

  Chelsea, Vi. You can deal with knuckles, but not a taser.

  “Chelsea, we’re here for Limere,” Desmond said in a cautious tone. “Wait till he comes for Aviere. Then we can negotiate. I’m sure he’ll accept a good cut, since—”

  “Drop dead and stay inside Central Baltimore, Des,” Aviere snarled, crouching while she aimed. “Or did you piss off people dealing to underage children?”

  Aviere winced when the taser’s voltage changed, setting off her sensitive hearing. “Market’s stagnant, bitch. We’ll sell to anybody if they buy. That’s the trade. However, I forgot you’re a dealer with morals, Aviere. Most of the Underground’s gone soft where children are concerned.”

  “They’re kids!” Aviere yelled. “Until they’re capable of understanding, we—”

  Mid-yell, Aviere felt Desmond’s knuckles collide with her shoulder, sending her backward. Aviere’s foot stabilized her before she landed on blacktop, but she remained vigilant as the taser came closer.

  “Limere sold to children before he developed a conscience.” Desmond removed his weapon and ran a hand through his greasy hair. Dandruff landed on his black leather coat. “But since you’re here, Aviere… I need Limere for one last job.”

  Aviere’s eyes blazed dark with revulsion. “Drop dead, Des.”

  “He’ll make more money working for me,” Desmond said. “Your medical bills aren’t cheap, and he only took ten percent of his cut.”

  “I don’t accept blood money.”

  “Never bothered you before, Aviere,” Desmond interjected. “Isn’t racing blood money?”

  “No,” she spat. “I’m not killing people to earn my wages.”

  “I think Aviere’s afraid her rogue agent might get carted, Des,” Chelsea taunted. “Or are you scared he’ll arrest Limmy?”

  I need to get Travis better clothes, Aviere reminded herself as she detected fear underneath Chelsea’s flowery perfume. Christ, I don’t need everyone knowing he’s a fed. Bad enough Travis’s behavior—

  The screeching noises from the taser heighted and the feline winced, shoving one hand over her right ear. When Chelsea rushed toward her, Aviere sidestepped, sneering when Chelsea crashed into Desmond and tasered both of them. They screamed for a few seconds before Chelsea dropped the weapon, convulsing as she kissed the ground.

  Aviere leaned toward them before sheathing the handgun. Before the Poisoner thought of a witty retort, a loud shriek pierced the air.

  Steeled legs hurried as Aviere shoved the double glass doors open and examined the bar for any unusual activity. She resisted using her gun and watched panicking patrons pointing and jeering while some screamed about the unfolding events.

  Someone tried shoving Aviere aside, but instead, she veered to let them pass.

  Fear spiced various odors, such as expensive cologne, mixed drinks, and harsh alcohol. Body odor became obnoxiously poignant, but one smell popped to Aviere.

  Blood. Someone’s dying, and people won’t move!

  Wailing cries and chaos fed into the patrons’ fear, almost overwhelming her keen senses. It took restraint to focus and block out the hysterical conversations and the smell of the food patrons were eating before the crisis. Before she honed in on the collective fear, Aviere focused on a group of people trying to help a spasming woman outside one of the booths.

  No one moved, except to swarm the gurgling lady reaching a hand in the air.

  Aviere protested trying to move, but the complaint fell on deaf ears. She met the woman’s glassy brown eyes and thrust an anxious man aside. Another one elbowed her shoulder, but she head-butted him under his chin.

  When the portly man thudded to the floor, the crowd scattered, leaving behind the dying woman.

  Aviere grabbed the victim’s hand, hoping to comfort her before she passed. She couldn’t tell if the woman noticed with her milky vision. Bloody foam trickled from her mouth as she convulsed before taking one last gurgled breath before falling limp.

  Shit, nothing I could do. Just concentrate on getting a blood sample before Travis arrives. I’m sure Louis will call him to investigate this fucking mess.

  Aviere ignored the babbling sobs and dug in her purse for her black, padlocked box. Once she unlocked it and removed her tools, Aviere wrapped a tourniquet around the lifeless woman’s arm. She assessed the butterfly needle before drawing four test tubes, holding them carefully in her gloved hand.

  After she found a satisfactory vein, Aviere hooked up the vial to the needle and drew the woman’s blood.

  Limere, I hope you’re innocent. Otherwise, the entire Underground will hunt you and I won’t be able to cover you.

  Adrenaline coursed through her tense muscles and throbbing veins while her mind honed in on the terrified anguish from patrons and employees. As each tube filled, Aviere sealed and changed them with urgency. She kept each one separate to label accordingly before leaving the Tethered Mistress.

  Aviere’s eyes rested upon the victim’s face before shaking her head.

  She suffered, despite her swift death.
It’s almost like cyanide, but she didn’t cough up blood. Whatever it was mimicked a seizure to make her bite her tongue.

  Aviere closed her terror-filled eyes and rested a hand on her chest as she prayed. The stinging smell of aftershave assaulted her nostrils as she gathered the last sample. She twitched her nose before tugging at a dangling star earring. When Aviere peered up at the clomping footsteps, she saw the bald Italian bouncer turning people away from the scene.

  “Thanks, Marco,” she called. “I’ll be finished in a minute.”

  “Good.” He straightened his dark black blazer, pointing toward the entrance. “Boss called your fed. He’s meeting you here.”

  Aviere glowered while rooting through her purse, wishing she could stab Marco and Travis with her fat Sharpie marker.

  Chapter Three

  Screaming and pounding footsteps greeted Travis when he appeared at the Tethered Mistress, cradling his head as he peered at the scene before him.

  Cloudy shapes gave him clues through his squinted eyes, but the overpowering emotions forced the mage to his knees, challenging his growing headache. Travis landed in front of a set of fleeing women, shrieking as they climbed over him. Someone cursed as they shoved him aside, then bellowed orders in hysteria.

  More people panicked and the thunderous footfalls increased Travis’s headache tenfold.

  The mage’s hazel eyes darted around the parking lot as he rose, taking deep labored breaths. He squeezed them shut before holding onto an automobile to support his quivering body. A piercing scream forced one eye open, but cerulean blue registered instead of the woman in question.

  Travis blinked at the Ferrari before him before narrowing his eyes at the familiar vehicle.

  Why am I not surprised, Mye? You’re always caught in these situations.

  Before Travis assessed Aviere’s role, he seized his temples in a vice-like grip, croaking as a mother’s fevered prayers invaded his mind. The woman’s voice grated his senses and he swore his ears would bleed.

  More people rushed toward him and Travis’s gaze stayed on Aviere’s Ferrari. Quivering turned to full-blown shudders as he debated commandeering the Ferrari for a temporary refuge. He recalled Aviere’s fervent behavior toward the Ferrari, but picturing her wrath didn’t stop Travis from fetching his copied key.

  With one eye closed, he unlocked the Ferrari and scooted into the driver’s seat. Travis ignored the cold sweat dripping down his neck and forehead as he leaned against the leatherbound steering wheel. It took a few moments to adjust to the collective panic, but once he recovered, Travis extended his energy and probed the victim’s thoughts.

  Amusement crossed Travis’s face once he realized he’d mastered his new power.

  No wonder humans fear mages, he marveled, furrowing his eyebrows. Once I’m comfortable with this, I won’t need Peters to gather all my information. I’ll be able to find out everything as I talk to witnesses… or Mye, when she’s hiding things.

  Travis ignored his climbing headache as he connected with each individual, ecstatic about his magic for the first time. His heart rate increased the more he used his newfound power but stopped when he pieced the situation together. After releasing a tense breath, Travis sneered with a satisfied smirk.

  Right. A drug bust went wrong… one dead person inside. Mye’s huddled by the victim, probably causing trouble. Jesus, I need to—fuck me!

  Travis jumped when he caught a clean-shaved, brown-haired man knocking on the window. A tight-lipped scowl crossed the man’s face, accenting the worry lines on his forehead. One crooked finger beckoned Travis to exit the Ferrari.

  Great, now the director will ask questions, starting with why I am sitting in Mye’s Ferrari when it should have remained impounded.

  Travis put two fingers to his temple as he stepped out of the Ferrari, flinging the door shut behind him. He didn’t miss the director running his fingers through his goatee or his darkening face.

  “I thought Peters told you I was coming, Director,” Travis started. “Should have, anyhow.”

  His boss pointed to the cerulean Ferrari. “What is Mye’s car doing here?”

  “Ah… well—”

  “She’s just like her goddamn mother,” the director rambled, kicking a tire. “I thought Mye would steer clear from this shit. Then she runs into you.” Another kick and the man settled his frustration. “But then, Mye’s never listened to me and I’m her father.”

  Travis’s eyes widened before studying the director’s bulky frame. The discovery made Travis understand the resemblance his boss bore to Aviere—the same pointed nose and facial structure. He thought their eyes were similar, but darkened sunglasses hid them.

  As his boss scratched his scalp, Travis shuffled backward.

  “Sir, with all due respect—”

  The director sighed. “Since you guys won’t identify anyone by letters, I guess Roland will do.”

  Travis brushed his stringy dirty-blond hair out of his face with an inquisitive look in his hazel eyes. “Fine. But you didn’t mention your family relation when you assigned us our last case.”

  “I didn’t think you’d arrest her,” Roland retorted.

  “She poisoned me,” Travis declared before grunting under his breath. “She resisted arrest and almost achieved vehicular homicide, sir.”

  “You deserved it since you both got Mye involved with Lowell Sanderson.”

  The hell with diplomacy, Travis fumed, fisting his hands in anger. If only he knew the truth. Still, why can’t I read him? I should be able to probe—

  “If I had my way, you wouldn’t be working with her.”

  “What the—”

  Travis’s question was silenced when Roland dragged him to the double glass doors by the collar of his trench coat, shoved the agent against the glass, and kept his weight on him until Travis’s face turned beet red. He prayed his face didn’t go through the window as he took in a shallow breath.

  “What the hell’s going on with you, Travis? Peters freaked on me this morning and now you’re acting weird.”

  Travis pushed against Roland for space, but the larger man towered over him.

  “I’m tired of games with you two,” Roland said, punching through the glass. “Answer the fucking question.”

  A heavy accented voice screeched in the background, and Travis suppressed his trembling. “Ah—I’d—I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Now.”

  “Just tell me what you want and I’ll be on my way, director.”

  The two locked gazes and Travis’s eyes dimmed as he gathered power in his hand. His breath caught in his throat, expecting Roland’s next attack. Instead, the director backed off and gave Travis space.

  Quickly, Travis dropped his power, knocking Roland back further. The man steadied himself and chuckled before fetching a large iPhone, tossing it to Travis.

  “All the files are on there. Reference them for your case. Sanderson already provided your next assignment. This is easier, considering we’re working on the same thing.”

  Travis unlocked the phone and thumbed through the documents. “Peters could’ve given this to me.”

  “He’s been avoiding me since our meeting this morning.”

  “I see.” A PDF caught Travis’s attention with its official seal, followed by the order in the document. He blinked a few times and reviewed the file twice before expanding its view. “You’re giving Dalara a protection order?”

  From his ear, Travis heard Peters clear his throat. “I’m not honoring that. The guy keeps breaking parole to smoke marijuana.”

  “Tell Peters to answer the fucking phone,” Roland growled. “I deal with it enough from you.”

  A snapping noise and a cat hissing ended Peters’s connection.

  “Now, if he’s done bitching—”

  “Jesus, you are one of them,” Travis whispered, pressing himself against the doors. “You’re not like Mye, are you?”

  Roland grinned sadistically. “There’s
a few of us littered throughout the feds. But no, I lack her unique handicap.” Then his eyes darkened. “Dalara will break the protection order the moment he tokes up, but he’s your only link to the Zodiac Cartel. He won’t help us unless we offer something in return.”

  Travis coughed, hoping to stop the argument. “I guess the Zodiac Cartel caused the chaos inside.”

  “Brilliant deduction.” Roland’s voice oozed sarcasm. “I see you use your powers after all, So if you’re confident in your abilities, maybe you can do your job better instead of having my daughter use a handgun.”

  “Jesus Christ! I never asked to work with Mye!” Images of their earlier case made Travis groan. “She’s crazy. The good kind of crazy, though.”

  “Debatable.”

  “Mye should defend herself,” Travis continued, undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, exposing a silver collar with a LED screen in the center. “If Aviere wants to learn, I’ll teach her. I like breathing every day and she loves having driving hands.”

  “Doesn’t justify why you poisoned Louis Armandi.”

  Confusion flitted through Travis’s eyes as Roland snorted with glee.

  Everyone Mye knows lost their sanity a long time ago.

  “It was ballsy, I’ll give you that. You all could’ve died.”

  Travis covered his face with his hat and shook his head. “Mye acted on her own.”

  “What?”

  “That was Mye,” Travis repeated, twisting his hat before continuing. “I didn’t lie about her drugging Peters before she got shot. He added that minor detail to the final report before screaming at me about covering for her.”

  “Christ. That girl’s just like her goddamn mother.” The hardened voice softened at Roland’s next remark. “I stayed away to avoid getting her involved with Sanderson. Her bounty is higher than yours or mine. But if Mye’s working for him—everything I’ve done was pointless. Even cutting ties with her.”

  If the director is this worked up, how will Mye act inside the Tethered Mistress? Travis recalled Aviere’s volatile temper and placed a hand over his eyes.