Drift: The Renegades Saga: Book Two

by E. M. Whittaker

  “Limere,” Aviere said, accenting the three letters with a growl. “My brother’s name is Limere, you neurotic prick. And it’s his ex-girlfriend instigating, not him. He dated Chelsea Nichols… or Gemini, if you prefer.”

  Aviere licked her lips in anticipation as Peters stormed in her direction. Lavender spiked with the specialist’s resentment. Two steps later, Peters towered over her and gripped the armrests until his knuckles were white.

  She suppressed her sinister laughter, but suspected it was the serum calming her frazzled nerves.

  “Dalara should be in jail, Mye. He’s a pusher. They never change.”

  “You need a breath mint,” she spat, waving her hand across her nose. “There’s only a few places with onions on their breakfast sandwiches at 8 a.m.”

  At her remark, the specialist forced hot breath in Aviere’s direction until she gagged and glanced away.

  “Burger King… the closest drive-thru near the compound.”

  “I’ll stop at PetSmart next time I drive by,” Aviere retorted, mouth contorting as her eyes teared. “Maybe you’ll appreciate some doggie breath mints. Perfect for someone like you.”

  “Shock collars are a great investment for strays, Mye. I have one on standby.”

  Cerulean eyes narrowed before Aviere wiped tears from her eyes.

  “Imagine… a tracking bracelet and a little collar, like a good kitty.”

  Aviere opened her mouth and hissed loudly, squeezing her nose to Peters’s face despite the onions, lavender, and garlic permeating from his breath. “Limere’s not thrilled about teaching Travis magic as part of his protection order. Orders from Roland, so thank him for the arrangement.”

  Peters leaned backward before discarding his black Ray-Bans, pinching the bridge of his nose with malice in his coffee-colored eyes. “We can find someone else, Mye. I’ll ask around.”

  There he goes, thinking he knows everything again. Self-entitled prick.

  “Neuro, you don’t just ask for that kind of shit. Most mages are part of the Red Coat Society, like how most shifters are Sanderson’s eyes and ears.” She smelled Peters’s apprehension and drew her claws when he attempted to lift the chair. “Travis being rogue makes things dangerous. The only reason Limere’s off their radar is because he isn’t a genuine mage and he’s too powerful. They’re stuck up about lineage, you know.”

  From the side, Aviere raised an eyebrow when Travis tensed. Seconds later, she growled when Peters spat on her.

  “You’re showing your ass, human.” She scrunched her nose when she flicked the hot saliva from her glove after wiping off her cheek. “Be smarter, if you like living.”

  “I’m aware of this Red Coat Society. They hunted Travis for a few years, and we were on the down low. Then you showed up.”

  “We’re back to blaming me for your shortcomings, Neuro?”

  “You’re the one holding us back, Mye.”

  Aviere snickered. “Okay. See how long you last on your own, Shawn Peters. You’re outnumbered in an organization full of ruthless killers.” She grinned, baring her pointy teeth. “I’m the least of your worries, human. Other Renegades are chomping at the bit for Sanderson to stop protecting you.”

  Peters aimed the .38 caliber at her skull. “You’d be the first in line.”

  “I admit, if I wasn’t with Travis, you’d be dead.” The Poisoner’s eyes glittered mischievously before she counted her fingers, the action corresponding with her next sentence. “Ricin, cyanide, nightshade, natural causes… the list goes on. So many possibilities, but only one chance to create a masterpiece.”

  “First chance I get, you’ll get a bullet between the eyes, shifter. You and everyone else in this godforsaken organization.”

  Aviere widened her smile and flexed a hand, bolstered by the leather encasing her fingers. “You did. Not my fault you missed a stationary target tethered to an IV and a hospital bed.”

  “You’re tied to Travis,” Peters explained. “I don’t want to kill him. You’re a different story.”

  She ignored Travis’s disapproving glare, bared her pointy teeth, and licked her lips. “I’ll consider you a threat once you beat my werewolf, tiger, and mage. Oh—and the Black Widow. She’s not fond of your kind, either.” Aviere leaned forward until the gun barrel pressed against her forehead, her expression unchanged. “If you get that far, then you’ll have to stand against the dons and donnas who run Charm City. But remember what happened to the last bastard who tried—iced by his own assassin and a devious, reckless panther pretending to be a hellcat.”

  Peters retracted his gun, kicked Travis’s chair, and stormed off, gun resting against his thigh when the door slammed behind him.

  Neuro won’t last long with his mentality. Christ, the human is more precarious than my partner.

  “Thank god the two of you rounded out,” Sanderson said before cracking his neck. “I couldn’t tolerate all three of you squabbling like catty women.”

  “Peters always has a chip on his shoulder,” Travis explained, flopping in Peters’s seat. “He’s used to ordering people around behind a desk. But Mye doesn’t help her case, either.”

  Aviere huffed. “Excuse me for defending Limere.”

  Sanderson pushed his finger against his forehead. “Mye, your family’s always had drama. You cursed your husband with it, too. He’s the reason I rebuilt half the compound—I got tired of replacing floors because of indented large paw prints and his unreasonable temper. He’s broken so many doors, people placed bets on how long the new ones would last. Now that I think about it, I should garnish your paycheck for repairs.”

  Aviere rose and shouldered the duffel bag while Travis slung the purse over her arm. “Gunther should’ve broken you, Lowell.”

  She didn’t miss Sanderson’s left eye twitch when he pointed to the door. “Get going, Mye. Down the hall, three doors to the right. Travis, take Peters and check out the nightclub. I expect reports no later than tomorrow morning. If I don’t receive them, I will hunt people down. Dismissed.”

  Wait! Aviere paused and furrowed her eyebrows. Sanderson said “he’s broken”—didn’t refer to Gunther in past tense. So does that mean…?

  Aviere turned and started to ask Sanderson about his statement, but paused when she saw him on the phone. She stared at her feet when they left, but removed the silver necklace around her neck. The simplistic silver band hanging off the delicate chain gleamed before they entered the dim corridor.

  Focus, Vi. Confront Sanderson later. Two useless men are a handicap… and you need them, despite their hesitation.

  “Travis, I have something for you before you go.”

  “Not now. My head’s splitting in two.” Travis squinted, his voice barely audible. “The thoughts—everyone’s thoughts—no one shields them. I don’t want to hear them.”

  She rubbed his back after putting the necklace and attached ring in his palm. “The ring will help. Take it.”

  “You sure?”

  Aviere nodded, raising a lip at the hesitancy in Travis’s soft voice.

  “It’s yours, though.”

  “I have other talismans to protect me, thanks to Lim and Gunther. It’ll take some time to adjust to your power, considering it was Lim’s. Just bear with it until the ring calibrates.”

  She waited until Travis removed the chain and slipped the ring on his finger before continuing.

  “We can’t catch them yet, so we’ll wait for the Zodiac Cartel to make their next move. The best we can do is continue our investigation. I’m sure between Limere and Maurice, I’ll be able to find something before Peters.”

  “Fine, but stop fighting with Peters.” Travis shuffled his feet until they got to the lab, raising his voice when he started again. “Sanderson will make us participate in ‘team-building’ exercises and make us work overtime if it gets out of hand again.”

  “Sorry.” Aviere pulled her glasses out of her pocket and slipped them on. “It’s just—everything’s connected. The Red C
oat Society—the cartel—all of it. Not just with this case, but with my personal ambitions.”

  “And what are those, Mye?”

  She pushed the door open, gazed into his tired hazel eyes and kept the answer to herself, promising not to tear up. The icy metal door reflected her heartache and the mask she cast upon herself.

  Aviere’s hardened cerulean eyes softened, then widened when Travis brushed his calloused palm against her cheek.

  “It’s all right, Mye. We’re the same, you and I.”

  With a huff, Aviere slammed the door in Travis’s face and clung to the peridot necklace underneath her violet top. She shoved her glasses against her nose before releasing a heavy breath. The thought of her boisterous, athletic husband made her imagine his spicy scent and loud, raucous voice.

  Then she considered Travis’s warm hand against her face and sharp burning aftershave and bit her lip at her split second vulnerability.

  Remember your limits. There’s nothing romantic between you two, but… for Travis to break your persona in seconds warrants caution, Vi.

  “Aviere.”

  She stopped trembling and stared at Cray’s irritated golden eyes, matching his with her own blazing stare. The persona returned once she remembered her place, embracing her roles as a Renegade, racer, and donna. Self-pity and tears held no place when her loved ones or subordinates were in danger. She ran operations. She coordinated takedowns. She led her team to victory more than once.

  Aviere locked her jaw, nodded to the chiseled, long-blond-haired scientist, and lifted an eyebrow at the dark feather he plucked out of his hair. “Cray.”

  “I thought you were Myra. You’ve aged well, dear.”

  “I’m here to work, not hear your comparisons about my mother.” One hand nearly crushed the peridot as she stopped her voice from cracking at sudden memories. “Sanderson directed me here since my workshop exploded this morning. Show me where to set up my station. I have a cartel to take down and rogue mages to catch.”

  She followed his finger to a vacant room and clasped the strap to her duffel bag, beaming at the prospect of extracting revenge against the Zodiac Cartel.

  They wouldn’t be granted another opportunity to destroy the dreams she’d worked so hard for.

  Chapter Six

  The near debilitating headache had almost subsided by the time Travis approached the compound’s main elevator while contemplating the results of their briefing.

  Dank air greeted him as he headed toward an atrium on the other side of the underground lobby. Travis groaned when he recognized several familiar shifters crowding around the elevator before joining them in the narrow space. Wayward thoughts probed into the mage’s mind before he brushed them aside. He glimpsed at the smooth silver band warming his ring finger.

  Real silver… such a rarity in today’s world. Enchanted rings cost a fortune.

  Before Travis speculated further, a man’s irritated huff drew his attention, accompanied by a familiar Spanish accent behind him.

  Jesus, Lyssa… my morning is jam packed with drama, yet God’s thrown Q and Rodriguez at me again.

  The agent rubbed the silver ring as he turned his head and glowered at his rowdy coworkers. He lifted an eyebrow at another man trailing behind Jemina, then gaped when the hulking shifter went sailing into the stone wall seconds later.

  As Jemina brushed thick, bare hands, dress shoes resounded on the concrete and Q’s seven-foot form loomed behind the short Latina.

  Travis caught the universal nod between the two before Jemina folded her arms across her enormous chest. When Travis rested his eyes on Jemina’s form, he covered his face at her blue flowery sundress, which scarcely reached mid-thigh.

  “Rodriguez, how many sexual harassment complaints do you take from human resources?”

  Jemina snorted and grinned, counting her fingers. After reaching eight, the woman laughed. “Enough. I settle most of them. But not why I here… we here.”

  “Then get on with it,” Travis demanded, keying in his access code by the elevator. “I’m running behind.”

  “We overheard your meeting.” The Jamaican’s voice dipped to a rough burr as he moved Jemina aside. “Your human bitched and attracted attention. I admit, seeing him squirm while Mia Vasquez eyed him like candy was hilarious over breakfast, but tasering a shifter takes balls.”

  “More when voltage wrong,” Jemina added, chocolate orbs twinkling as her scarlet manicured finger lifted mid-sentence. “Think neurotic one still learning about partnerships here. Red Rooty almost beat him with metal chair.”

  “Peters missed his morning cappuccino,” Travis said, completing his passcode. “And Mye’s good at pushing his buttons.”

  “Won’t argue there. Mye push everyone’s buttons lately. Thank god she out of apartment, but Mye easy to handle.” Jemina’s pudgy fingernail poked the side of Travis’s ribs. “Your human… the paranoid one… not so much. Grate my nerves, as you say.”

  I swear to God, Lyssa… Shawn’s worse every time we’re reassigned.

  The machine beeped and the reflective elevator doors parted. As Travis stepped inside, he lowered his head, closed his eyes, and held his fists to his sides, forcing deep breaths as his colleagues stepped in behind him.

  Stay calm, Keith. Q won’t crush your gun this time.

  Despite his mental pep talk, Travis shuffled his feet and opened his eyes to Jemina’s plump finger pushing the button for the surface floor. Each second the elevator doors narrowed, Travis’s lip twitched, followed by the muscle inside his thumb.

  Before the elevator started, the larger man flipped another metal switch, and the elevator powered down, finalized by a sequence of beeps and whooshes.

  “I said I’m running behind,” Travis reiterated, reaching for the switch. “Sanderson—”

  “Is she all right? Mye, I mean.”

  The curt question startled Travis, and he turned his head, straightening his trench coat as he considered the bulky man. “I wouldn’t be alive if Mye blew herself to kingdom come.”

  “I know she’s alive,” Q answered as his gray eyes narrowed. “I meant injuries. Explosions—”

  “Seemed fine, other than sentimental.” His eyes shot to Jemina before pointing to Q. “You said you’d tell me about Q a month ago, Rodriguez. Who is he?”

  “Point again, and I’ll shatter your finger, mage.” A fist collided with metal as Q sent his fist through the elevator wall. Blood dripped from Q’s knuckles as he pulled his arm backward through the jagged metal hole. “I said the letter’s enough.”

  Despite standing opposite his coworker, Travis stiffened, calves twitching at the Jamaican’s actions. Startled eyes flashed back and forth between Jemina and Q as Travis’s neck cramped from his jaw locking.

  As blood dripped on the floor, Travis hummed at Jemina’s objections, utilizing their banter to analyze them.

  “Every time we meet Travis, you punch something, Q. Tired of paying for objects you break. Remind me of another person here once… forget his name, but you’re on par for record.”

  “Jem, enough.”

  “You crossing lines. Sanderson uses elevator daily. In fact… lunchtime, he use this.”

  Travis tapped his earpiece while following the exchange, shaking his head as the large bruiser eyed him. “The banter’s charming; but why are you interested in Mye’s well-being, Q? You’re known for ditching Sanderson to visit strip clubs and hookers.”

  “Not everyone kills for pleasure,” Q responded, voice scathing as he grunted. “And my woman knows. Hell, she encourages it… understands a man’s urges. Bane of my existence, really. Think my woman has rescued me a few times ’cause of my stupidity.”

  “Hell of a woman, but it doesn’t answer my question.”

  “You asked last time, and my answer hasn’t changed.” After flicking blood off his knuckles, Q flipped the switch to the elevator. A series of sounds carried before the elevator lifted. “But you’re a peculiar story, mage. Every source
I ask gives conflicting statements about you… even the hookers on Baltimore Street.”

  Travis lifted his cowboy hat. “Oh?”

  “For some reason, every hooker loves you, despite never sleeping with you. Hookers remember their customers, so you bought them off somewhere along the line.”

  “Most aren’t prostitutes by choice.” Travis’s eyes settled on Jemina, who scowled next to her partner. “I’m not convinced about Rodriguez, though.”

  “You baffle me. You act differently for a sociopathic killer. I can’t verify your history since someone’s blocked access. Hard to vet you otherwise.”

  Travis noticed the vein on Q’s broad neck pulsate as he spoke and swallowed.

  “Mye vets her people. The first thing we learned… vet your contacts for criminal records. Never know when a rapist or pedophile will show up, so it’s better to check beforehand. Of course, some mistakes slip through the cracks, but we’re pretty good about vetting.”

  A calloused hand reached for Travis’s waist, but the Latina cleared her throat and made a singular motion across her throat.

  “Normally, I don’t care about such matters, but you’re a wild card, Keith Travis. Not good when you’re affiliated—”

  “I get it,” Travis interrupted, staring at the digital number above the elevator. “So you’re Rodriguez’s bodyguard. Explains the scrutiny on Mye.”

  The elevator dinged and rocked when they reached the correct floor. As Travis steadied himself, ebony tresses trailed behind Jemina when she zipped out of the narrow space. He followed the woman but paused when icy fingers slammed between his shoulders and neck.

  “No, mage. I used to be one of Mye’s bodyguards. But things got heated between us and I couldn’t stick around.” Travis felt something drop inside his trench coat. “I liked her man better, but he hates people around his woman. Jealous fucker.”

  “I gathered that from Mye’s description once.”

  “Woman’s impulsive as hell. She’s better undercover. This shit Sanderson has her doing… seasoned agents die, Travis. You understand, though.”