Turbulence: Book One in The Renegades Saga

by E. M. Whittaker

  “Shawn, you should be honored to even be considered,” Travis said softly. “The Renegades think humans are the scum of the earth. If Sanderson’s considering you—”

  “Just talk to Mye while I get your bloody Desert Eagle back, Travis,” Peters retorted with a snarl. “Hurry before I change my mind and force you to use a standard issue pistol.”

  If Peters and I can book Mye and keep her in custody, away from Lowell Sanderson… there’s a great chance she could lead us to the person who murdered you, Lyssa. I can’t let him have Mye until this case is over, at least.

  Travis adjusted his leather cowboy hat, straightened his trench coat and ignored the knot in his stomach as he left the observation room and entered the interrogation room next door, almost captivated by the Poisoner’s cold, calculating eyes.

  But Lyssa’s death and Peters’ involvement made him clear his throat as he slammed the door behind him.

  Aviere dropped the digitalized photograph on top of the strewn papers and crisscrossed her leg when the mage slammed the thick, metal door shut. She flicked a dangly, silver star earring, lifted her eyebrow and scrunched her nose, trying to resist gagging from his harsh scent. Immediately, Aviere tried covering her mouth with her left hand, but growled at the handcuff restraining her left arm.

  Christ, sickness still plagues him, even with overwhelming amounts of disinfectant and medication. I’m impressed he managed to capture me and handle his powers with poison in his system.

  Cerulean eyes rested on the approaching agent, but she raised her free hand to stop him. “Don’t. The scent of vomit and disinfectant curls my nose hairs, agent.”

  She grinned when he halted, but softened her eyes as he wobbled back and forth.

  “The fact that you’re alive astounds me. Impressive, to say the least.”

  Aviere rested a hand on her chest, troubled when the agent steadied himself, despite his handicap. She examined his dilated pupils, almost tempted to help her new interrogator. Instead, he propelled forward, stopping when he banged his hands against the concrete table.

  The stench—trailing from his movements and panting breath—made Aviere gag before she shuffled in the gray, plastic chair.

  “You really shouldn’t be here,” she chided, brushing dirty-blond strands behind his ear. “At least the neurotic asshole interrogating me could stand straight and belt out questions, even if they were asinine. Pretentious prick.”

  “You’ve got balls poisoning a federal agent, Mye,” he said, accenting his last word with a rough growl. “But after all these years, you finally slipped. You poisoned me with hemlock and pranced around in that illegal muscle car—enough to keep you here without requiring bail.”

  Aviere’s frosty eyes widened at the revelation.

  Hemlock?! Christ, I haven’t used hemlock for assassination orders in years.

  The back of her throat tightened when she forced herself to breathe, recalling Eisen’s meeting the day before.

  Yesterday. That stupid runner… he grabbed my handbag and declared it looked like his bosses. I should’ve followed my gut and checked it afterward. Goddammit…

  “What’s wrong, Mye?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Cat got your tongue?”

  The Poisoner removed her glasses and suckled on the earpiece. “I don’t use hemlock anymore, agent. Someone switched my vial before I met you.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t believe you, Mye.” He locked his trembling arms and raised his upper lip, baring his teeth. “I know about you, capodecina. Or do you prefer donna, instead?”

  Aviere’s eyes twinkled before chuckling with delight. “My, an informed individual. You certainly did your homework, agent. Maybe you won’t ask me irrelevant, tiresome questions.”

  Travis lifted his head to match her sparkling, blue eyes. “But it’s the end of the line for you, Mye. It’s a shame we didn’t catch—”

  “Look, I don’t blame you for being suspicious,” she interrupted, straightening in her seat. “But honestly, I quit using hemlock years ago. Too traceable, if you know what I mean.”

  “Nonetheless, you’re mine.”

  Damn, I can’t kill this guy. Maybe he knows what happened to—

  “Obviously, you’re here for attempted murder,” the agent continued, squinting his hazel eyes. “Besides me, there’s four other people we’ve linked you to for murder.”

  “You want me to talk, remove this stupid handcuff, agent,” Aviere demanded, pointing to her left wrist. “It’s not nice to restrain ladies, you know. Even I wouldn’t stoop so low.”

  “You tried stabbing Peters with a blowgun, Mye.”

  She glazed over the photograph again before she recalled the prim-suited, nasally voiced agent interrogating her earlier. “Agent Neuro deserved it. Pompous asshole tried pushing me out of the chair when I wouldn’t answer his questions. A shame the vial didn’t stick him in time, though.”

  “Peters comes off like an ass, but killing him—”

  “I use paralysis liquid,” Aviere interrupted, dramatically flipping hair off her shoulder. “I can’t use my other concoctions if an elimination is not ordered, agent. Even we have rules we adhere to.”

  Silver gleamed from his enormous coat pocket before dangling the key in front of her. “I’d consider it, but restraint’s appropriate for you, little hellcat.”

  “Christ, I’m not even armed anymore,” Aviere huffed, cracking her left wrist. “There’s better things to do than argue when we share a common enemy, agent.”

  “Travis.”

  “Whatever.” She cleaned her glasses with her violet scarf, removing offending specks and scuffmarks. When she noticed a few scratches, her right eye twitched. She rested her glasses on her face before shifting in the chair. “You’re investigating high-profile deaths in the Underground and somehow think I’m responsible. Reasonable enough, considering the detailed deaths inside this dossier.”

  Aviere pretended to look at the file, noticing his flushed face and the twitch in the corner of his lip, reflected through her lenses.

  “Then I’ll get straight to the point.” Travis flicked pages in the dossier until he showed Aviere the photograph of Edith Eisen, transfixed in horror from her position on the carpeted, bedroom floor. “Eisen died a few hours ago at home. What do you know about it?”

  “Not much, from a glance,” Aviere answered snootily, glancing at her former boss with glazed eyes. “All I can see is she’s stiff as a board and she finally got to the stylist after yesterday’s meeting. I thought she’d have a heart attack, showing up with bright orange tint instead of scarlet in her braided hair.”

  “Have some respect for the dead, Mye.”

  “I do.” A gloved finger ran over Eisen’s sea-green buttoned blouse. “She was a good woman. Treated everyone fairly, even those who didn’t deserve it. Some believed Eisen too soft-hearted to run operations properly because of her good nature.” She whistled at the Italian-style contemporary bedroom set and the hand-sewn lion rug resting by the bathroom door. “But it’s not what you think.”

  “Well, she wasn’t the only causality.” Travis pulled one more photograph out of the dossier, tapping his head, chest, and shoulders in a cross symbol. “Her boys died in their own vomit.”

  Aviere placed her spectacles on the table, processing the two photographs. Eisen was well dressed, her milky, sullen eyes transfixed on the ceiling. Parted lips revealed foam on her bottom lip, dribbling down her chin. Graying skin replaced Eisen’s radiant, olive complexion. When she noticed familiar bluish-green bruising around Eisen’s neck, Aviere tapped her fingers on the table.

  This wasn’t a few hours ago, moron. She’s been dead at least a day. I’ll be surprised if the Vulture doesn’t put a hit on me by morning.

  “Eisen’s been dead for a day,” she stated. “The tinted-colored flesh tells that much.”

  “And what were you doing yesterday?”

  She looked upon the brighter photo of Eisen’s teenage boys, choking at th
e crimson walls of the bathroom and matching colored toilet. “Christ, that’s horrid, Travis. This bathroom should be—”

  “Answer the fucking question.”

  “I met Eisen,” Aviere said, hissing at the deceased children. “It started around eleven in the morning and continued till about one fifteen. We talked shop, then headed our separate ways.” Two large pools of vomit ruined the pristine tiled floor, but she identified the fractured glass fragments Limere retrieved from the scene. “I bought lunch on the way back to work and didn’t get in till two. Since I lost valuable time because of the meeting, I remained until seven.”

  The agent tipped his cowboy hat and snorted. “Well, your alibi matches the other three suspects we’ve interrogated.”

  Aviere took a sharp breath and held it, noting to grill her associates once she arrived home. Then she protested when Travis snatched the photographs, putting various items back in the manila folder.

  “But—as much as I prefer to book you—I need your help with this assignment, Aviere Mye.”

  The Poisoner blanched at his suggestion. “You’ve got to be kidding. You two morons can’t handle a simple investigation or interrogate your suspects properly. Christ, you haven’t even baited me to tell you how she died.” She put her glasses on, flushing at his bewildered stare. “My subordinates perform better, and one’s stoned most of the time.”

  “Look, the orders are from higher up,” Travis reiterated in a rigid tone. “If I had my way, you’d be processed as a felon.” He placed the file under one arm before turning his back to her. “I know you killed Eisen and those kids, Mye.”

  Well, at least I can use his ranting to get out of these stupid handcuffs.

  Aviere rose, meticulously extracting a bent bobby pin from the top of her long gloves. “I don’t murder kids unless the order requests it.” The pin slipped into the tiny keyhole, but Aviere paused to gauge her questioner’s actions. “Children aren’t supposed to be involved, though.”

  “Yet, you went and did it, anyhow.” Travis stiffened, reaching for an empty holster. “Damn it, people like you justify death, not clemency.”

  I could try goading him into telling me who’s inquiring, but I can look into that once I escape.

  A rewarding click slipped past Travis mid-rant. Slowly, Aviere removed the cuff and cracked her wrist, holding it in place when the agent spun to confront her.

  “In fact—until you confess, I’m not letting you leave this room.”

  “You’re wasting your time, agent. I don’t answer to invisible powers or supposed Underbosses.” She waved her right hand away quickly. “If that’s your threat, I want my ten-minute phone call. My contact can dispel your misconceptions for me.”

  Booming laugher exploded in the interrogation room and Aviere cocked her head to the side. Then she stepped back, trying to dodge the agent reaching for her right hand. However, he grabbed the left one trailing behind mid-sidestep and pulled her close.

  Aviere gasped from the harsh alcohol stinging her nose and coughed in place.

  “You’re not in a position—fuck!!”

  She turned her body and smirked, masking the claws stabbing Travis’ shoulder from the surveillance cameras. Blood smeared the leather fingertips as her adrenaline spike surged. Tiny lips widened in a devious smile when Travis weakly pushed her hand.

  The claws retracted before Aviere shoved him away with both hands, casually strolling to the panting agent pressing against his left shoulder. Before she approached, the Poisoner stumbled, cursing her sharpened, feline vision.

  A guttural growl emitted from her throat when she tossed the spectacles on the table next to her. Then she hissed after noticing the agent had disappeared.

  Christ, I had to get a mage with teleportation powers. I haven’t fought against one of them in a while.

  Adrenaline peaked and cerulean eyes swept the room, trying to locate the mage. She forced herself to breathe slower, fighting against her tightening chest and hammering heartbeat. Every few seconds, they darted back and forth, to anticipate Travis’ new location.

  I don’t understand. The paralysis poison from my claws should’ve—

  Before she finished her thought, Aviere propelled backward, crashing against the drab stone wall.

  Air whooshed from her lungs after the impact and white spots danced behind closed eyes as she crumpled to the floor. After a few painful gasps, Aviere stood, ignoring the dancing spots. Animal instinct guided her thoughts when her eyes zoomed in on the agent, resisting the urge to pounce and tear him limb from limb.

  Instead, Aviere flicked her shoulder with a self-righteous smirk, watching the agent’s legs bucking when he dropped to the floor.

  “You surprise me, Agent Travis. Even my mage can’t teleport with paralysis liquid in his system.” She cackled when Travis’ form flickered, struggling to complete his spell. “You won’t get away a second time, agent. But you won’t die just yet.” Hatred blazed in Travis’ hazel eyes, fueling her triumph when she stalked his limp form. Muscles twinged and rippled as she continued to fight her prey. Aviere cupped his chin in her gloved hand, gripping it tight between her nimble fingers.

  “To think, I’d reconsider if you could stop me, agent.”

  Aviere yelped when her body hovered above Travis’ form. When he rose, she gasped and snarled, spotting a familiar vial in his hand.

  That’s how! They must have broken into the shop, and he—

  The epiphany ended mid-thought when she collided with the wall a second time. She tried gasping out a name, only uttering an unspoken cry. Her eyes flickered and rolled back, struggling to remain conscious and escape.

  Instead, Aviere plunged into darkness when she slid to the floor, body lolling to the side like a broken puppet before landing on the cold floor.

  Chapter Three

  Damn it, I didn’t mean to use my trump card, but Mye left me no choice.

  The vial stung when Travis’ forearm flexed and he scratched his neck, trying to stop his racing, scattered thoughts. He removed the antidote before shaking the vial, satisfied the contents reached his bloodstream. Hazel eyes rested on the shifter snoring on the floor, hoping she didn’t suffer from a concussion. He stepped toward her and hummed when his body moved at proper speed.

  I’m glad I swiped this when I bugged her workshop a few days ago.

  Travis stopped and stared at his arms, noting when his forearm stopped twitching. The agent scratched the back of his head, trying to make sense of the serum coursing through his bloodstream.

  How did she make something this complex? All my aches—the slow speed—everything’s gone.

  Speed returned to once-tired limbs. The tingling sensations disappeared, allowing full, fluid movements. A cocky smirk replaced Travis’ perplexed look when he banged on the metal door, signaling for Peters to help him process the unconscious shifter.

  Lyssa, Mye’s a freaking genius. No wonder her reputation’s well deserved.

  Travis paced the room’s perimeter, banging again when Peters didn’t answer.

  Come on, Peters. I don’t get paid enough to get in death matches with shifters.

  He watched the door, tapping his foot against his boot. Time stopped while he waited. Thirty seconds later, Travis banged on the door for the third time.

  A loud sneeze behind him caused Travis to jump. After another sneeze, Travis spun on his heel to face the sleeping shifter. The serene look on her pale face made Travis tilt his head, casting aside their differences momentarily.

  She’s—well, I suppose those shifters are like humans. But—

  Footsteps clamored toward the door and a lock clicked behind him.

  No. She’s a shifter, Keith. You’re not supposed to like them.

  The door opened and Travis faced his partner, groaning at Peters’ tinted sunglasses. “Take them off, Peters. You don’t need them in here.”

  “You never know what creatures lurk around here,” Peters replied haughtily, diverting his attention to
the sleeping shifter on the floor. “What the hell happened to Mye?”

  Travis slid the right side of his trench coat down, pointing to the bloody shoulder of his alabaster dress shirt. “She picked the lock on the handcuffs and stabbed me.”

  “What the—you know what? I don’t want to know.” Peters reached behind his back and produced a fresh set of handcuffs. “Check her to see if she’s got any other tricks, Travis. I’m not being surprised again.”

  Travis held out his hand. “Give me those. I need you to destroy the footage on the security camera.”

  The handcuffs dug into his palm when Peters slammed them in his hand. “What did I tell you?!” Peters’ face reddened. “I can’t keep—”

  “I said if she attacked me… never mind. Remove the footage. I’ll get her in a holding cell.”

  “What happened to our original orders, Travis?” Peters grumbled.

  Travis strode over to Aviere, kneeling next to the unconscious woman. “She killed Eisen and those kids. I’m sure of it.” He propped her up against the wall. “I can’t let her go without repercussions, Peters.”

  “This seems too easy, Travis. I mean, if Mye’s so good at this, she wouldn’t let us catch her.”

  “Something seemed off when I interrogated her,” Travis agreed, brushing chestnut bangs from Aviere’s tranquil face. “She seemed knowledgeable and self-assured. The opposite of someone involved in a messy killing.”

  “Hm.”

  “She almost escaped, too,” Travis added. “Little bitch got me going on a tangent and used it to pick the fucking handcuffs so I wouldn’t hear her.”

  “I told you she’s crafty,” Peters said, lifting a sage finger. “Mye seems good at pushing people’s buttons, and shows the patience of a saint. Seems odd she’d get caught, that’s all.”

  The corner of Travis’ mouth twitched. “Peters, I only caught her because of what I am, even if I detest using my abilities.” He lowered his voice when she moaned again, then put a finger to his lips.

  Seconds later, she snorted and fluttered her eyelids before soft snoring resumed.