Turbulence: Book One in The Renegades Saga

by E. M. Whittaker

  “Hmph.” Jemina’s heels clicked as she advanced toward Aviere. “Can’t eat healthy while working. Need muscle, energy. Never get day off, you know.”

  “I thought Sundays you stayed home,” Aviere countered, limping back toward their vehicles.

  “No, errand day.” Jemina pushed her waist-length black curls behind her, bordering close to Aviere. “Surprised Travis not helping you. Useless cleaner.”

  “If he leaves the Corvette, I’m afraid he’ll arrest our competition.”

  Boisterous laughter resounded in Aviere’s delicate ears. “Travis? You kidding. Joseph here. Wolves here. Reese, Limere. Doubt Travis get far.”

  The Poisoner shot Jemina a skeptical expression. “Travis surprises me occasionally, Jemina.”

  “He strange. Goddamn moron, wearing trench coat and hat in July. Almost like western movie.”

  As they arrived at their vehicles, numerous people approached them. Aviere hissed, letting her voice carry over the gentle breeze. Several bystanders backed away, then talked in hushed whispers, warned to maintain their distance. By the time she reached her Ferrari, Aviere’s head pounded from a faint headache and she thumped a fist against Jet’s frame.

  “Aviere, you bashed Jet,” Jemina pointed out, squeezing her bottom lip. “Least no dent—”

  “Stop bitching.” Aviere walked to the passenger’s side and unlocked the door, signaling to Jemina’s dumbfounded form. “Step inside, Jemina. Fifteen minutes is plenty of time to relay information.”

  The heavy, perfumed scent intensified, matching Jemina’s stuttering voice. “H—here?!”

  “Either sit inside Jet or I’m blowing your tires, Jemina.”

  Aviere flexed her fingers one at a time in a circular motion, groaning when the short Latina remained in place. Claws pierced through ruined leather, shining against the street lamps’ light. She spotted Jemina’s car and sauntered over, kneeling beside one of her rear tires.

  Before she pierced through rubber, Aviere’s arm jerked backward, popping from the pressure. As Aviere used her clawed hand to strike, Jemina countered, wrapping thick fingers around Aviere’s delicate wrist. The two met face to face, and the stalled crowd inched toward them.

  “Ballsy, kitten,” Jemina murmured, accent dropping as her irritation grew. “Before we gather a crowd, follow me to your goddamn Ferrari.”

  Aviere yanked her throbbing wrist and held it, baring her canines at Jemina.

  “You’re drawing attention, hellcat—not I.”

  As the Latina flounced to Aviere’s vehicle, the Bluetooth chimed again. Aviere turned her head and spotted Travis leaning against a tree, shaking his head. When another sequence of chimes rang in her left ear, Aviere presented a single finger salute, ignoring Travis’ snickering as she stormed over to Jet’s opened door.

  The light remained dimmed inside the Ferrari and Aviere almost screamed, hoping she hadn’t killed Jet’s battery in her maddened state.

  Tension defined Aviere and Jemina’s relationship, but eerie silence punctuated their dangerous game.

  The CB radio grew tedious as they listened to the competitors complain about their continual hostility. Aviere fiddled with her glasses, hoping to polish the scrapes from her lenses. A bare hand tapped her forehead before trailing to her left eye, wincing when she felt burning skin. Her cheek met the same result, causing irritation under her eye.

  “Maybe I come too hard, Aviere,” Jemina said, scraping manicured nails across her voluptuous chest.

  At least Jemina tried apologizing, Aviere mused, patting her swelled flesh. Suppose I’ll accept to maintain the peace.

  The Poisoner inched her head toward Jemina, lifting her good eyebrow. “I’m worried about my wrist and ankle, Jemina. But, I’ll accept your half-hearted apology.” She leaned her seat backward and cracked her neck. “I met with someone and they suggested a potential sponsor.”

  “Oh, that.” The sympathetic tone disappeared, replaced with resentment. “You speculate sponsor, sí?” Jemina fished in her cleavage and produced a scarlet and white box. After lighting a cigarette and propping it between her pouty lips, Jemina continued. “Or is it something else, I wonder?”

  “Well—I—”

  “Cute, Vi—but horrible liar, you are.” A wisp of smoke floated in the Poisoner’s face and Aviere coughed. “Word spread fast. Still avoid advice, I see.”

  Once she recovered, Aviere fanned the lingering smoke aside. “I totaled the Accord and took out the goddamn shooters, Jemina. Think it’s a blessing, considering the family vehicle reeks of weed.”

  Aviere expected a disturbed reaction or for Jemina to drop the cigarette on Jet’s floor, not outside her opened window. “You have nine lives, puta. Well played. But watch Limere, Aviere. He being shady again.”

  The accusation stung, considering Travis’ last words at the townhouse. “I’m aware, Jemina.”

  “Fortunately, he contacted Vulture—sorry… Evelyn, my cousin. Didn’t know Limere knew Evelyn. More your contact, since she Eisen’s replacement.” The Latina folded her hands across her lap and Aviere noticed her ragged breaths. After adjusting her breathing, Jemina closed her dark chocolate eyes. “Vinny still hiding, Vi.”

  Aviere reached toward her rival to console her, but paused, examining her shivering form. Muscles twinged underneath tanned flesh. The vein against Jemina’s wide neck pounded while her forearms twitched involuntarily. Genuine fear tinged her perfumed scent and Aviere reached for her, but stopped before connecting with her shoulder.

  No wonder Jemina’s concerned, but I can’t apprehend Vinny without support inside the Underground. The faster I learn about Louis Armandi, the quicker we’ll catch Vinny.

  “You can vent about Limere later,” Aviere promised, clutching her neck at the forced commitment. “Right now, advise me about Louis Armandi.”

  “Eh, one second.” The hushed tone seemed whispery as Jemina hugged her shoulders. “Almost went twelve hours without ciggy, Aviere.”

  Explains her shaky disposition. In any other situation, I’d bask in Jemina’s vulnerability—but not now.

  Aviere placed her hand on Jemina’s shoulder, shivering from the damp sweat glistening on tanned skin. “You can’t help your involvement or Evelyn’s, Jemina. But how can I complete my assignment if you’re withholding information?” The gloved hand retrieved the card against her rear pocket, flashing it under Jemina’s nose. “Louis Armandi ordered Darren Wisenthal to give me a personal business card, but I can’t remember him.”

  Ruby lips quivered and Aviere assumed Jemina pouted, but the Latina’s eyes flickered with jealousy when she glared at Aviere. “Armandi here, Aviere. When Limere push meeting back, Armandi show himself to find you. He never compromise position, even for Evelyn. Then again, remember how Armandi be with Myra.”

  “I’m not looking for Louis because of Myra, Jemina,” Aviere said with clenched teeth. “Racing is supposed to reflect skill, not personal ties.”

  “How naïve, Aviere. Yes, you possess skill… but Armandi expressed interest and offered $50,000 to anyone capable of apprehending you.”

  The Poisoner’s face paled at the revelation. Lithe fingers plunged into Jemina’s fleshy shoulder. After Jemina’s soft whine, Aviere retracted her hand, growling when warm blood trickled through her leather gloves.

  Bloody fingers felt insignificant compared to being captured for the Underground—even if Louis Armandi was a colleague.

  Darkness and rumbled thunder suited Aviere’s darkened mood as something thumped against Jet’s frame. Sensitive ears picked up Jemina’s muttered remarks, some bordering on murder, while others promised dismembering Aviere. When flinty chocolate orbs regarded Aviere, the Poisoner’s fears lifted.

  The feisty Latina returned, dispelling the pathetic woman sitting in her passenger’s seat minutes beforehand.

  Jemina’s busty chest heaved, and she patted it twice. “Armandi give more than money, Aviere. Armandi teach—provide. I preferred him—but—”
>
  “You wanted the bounty,” Aviere interrupted. “I know you, Jemina. You’d hand me to Louis Armandi for $50,000.”

  “At first, till I remember Lil’ Vinny.”

  In their experiences, Aviere never noticed Jemina’s defining characteristics. She acknowledged her hefty frame and muscled physique, but never the hardened jawline or worry lines underneath chocolate eyes. Yet as Jemina’s face turned rosy, Aviere wondered how long Jemina carried her cousin’s and Sanderson’s secrets.

  “Aviere, Vinny want you for contract.” Jemina’s eyebrows squeezed together as she creased her forehead. “Special contract, sí. How little weasel word request when he bumped into Evelyn.”

  “I went from sponsorship to stable employment,” Aviere said in awe. “Instead of Lowell Sanderson, I have Vinny McSeeten trying to initiate a contract. Christ, what’s my world become, Jemina?”

  “You mysterious, Aviere. People gravitate—want you. But promise to stay safe, sí? Joe’s bitching, and it’s effecting intimate time, if you follow my meaning.”

  Stained gloved fingers covered Aviere’s pale lips as Jemina exited the Ferrari, snorting when she shut the door.

  That bitch, Aviere fumed, rubbing dry eyes. She would catch me off guard with sexual innuendo. How can—

  A distinctive series of chimes sounded in Aviere’s ear and she responded before over-thinking Jemina’s actions. Cerulean eyes regarded Limere as he approached the car, hand shoved in his back pocket. “What is it?”

  Ragged breathing pounded in Aviere’s ear. Then her door opened and Limere dragged her from the vehicle. She barely shouldered her handbag and grasped her iPhone when Limere shoved her forward.

  “What the hell, Lim?!” Aviere spun around and planted her hands on rounded hips. “We’re about to—”

  The Poisoner’s voice was silenced as cars exploded, accompanied by wails, screams and gunshots.

  Sinewy arms tried holding Aviere in place under Limere’s force field, but she drew the modified air pistol from her holster and charged into the chaos. Limere’s cries seemed distant as another blast jolted the parking lot, two cars away from the Ferrari.

  Terror and hysteria scented the air, laced with hopelessness and sorrow.

  Aviere scanned through the anxious crowd for Travis’ familiar trench coat, but discovered her friends directing people to safety. She met Joe’s sienna eyes, smoldering when he detected her with Limere. He almost motioned to Aviere, but ceased when a young woman crashed into him, bellowing about causalities near the boarded mall entrance.

  Okay, there’s Joseph—Lim’s with me—Jemina’s somewhere… where’s Maurice?!

  Aviere locked her legs and positioned her gun, flitting around the cleared space for her brother-in-law. She gazed at the burning automobiles and wounded spectators, but zoned on a flashy figure sliding against a black and white Audi R8. The light from the lamp post helped identify the victim clutching his chest, struggling to stop gushing blood from his wound.

  Silver cuff links gleamed under the light, accenting his deep purple suit.

  Aviere snatched Limere’s wrist and sprinted toward the victim, using her armed hand to cross herself mid-run. She set the gun by his side, cradling Maurice’s form as Limere stood above them. Blood soaked through her blouse and bellbottoms, but Aviere investigated the wounds, stomach turning from the copper permeating the air.

  Bullets rang closer as a cacophony of bursts, shrilled cries, and wailing sounded around them.

  Panic drained from the Poisoner and eerie calm filled her, despite the symphony of disturbed noises in the background.

  Travis, Vi. Call him—let Travis know you’re safe.

  Aviere placed the call from the Bluetooth and thrust her hands on Maurice’s chest, blood soaking through leather as she tried staunching the wound. As Aviere’s eyes swept across Maurice’s injured body, she chewed her cheek at the blood gushing from his abdomen. After several rings, the call continued to voicemail, a generic greeting specifying the phone number she called.

  Above her, Limere remained planted, hands extended as bullets ricocheted off an invisible force field.

  “Reese, hold on,” Aviere whispered, drawing shallow breaths. Cold sweat coated her body as her stomach plummeted. “The regeneration should kick in soon. Maybe it’ll staunch the bleeding.”

  A shaky hand brushed her jaw and Aviere noticed Maurice’s ice-cold fingers. “Avi—Aviere—”

  “Stop talking and preserve your strength,” she instructed, staring at Limere’s trembling form. “We’ll survive this.”

  A bubbled groan escaped her younger brother before his hand dropped beside him.

  “Limere, drop the shield and take Reese! He won’t live if we just deflect bullets!”

  “It’s either Reese or you, Aviere!” Limere’s strained voice carried through the ricocheted bullets off the force field. “You’re their target, not Maurice! And your rent-a-agent should—”

  “Travis won’t answer!” Aviere cried, applying her body weight as she pressed into Maurice’s chest. “The one time—”

  A single bullet punctuated the air before all noise silenced.

  Aviere sniffed around her and discovered the source—tainted, burning aftershave. The scent dried her nostrils and she returned to her task, eyes softening at each low groan Maurice made. She used her teeth and dragged off a ruined leather glove, shoving two fingers against Maurice’s frigid neck.

  Shit! His pulse is dropping fast!

  “Lim, take Reese! He’s losing too much blood and his pulse’s plummeting!”

  Aviere covered her mouth, heaving into her hand as Limere picked up Maurice’s limp form. She remembered their last exchange, and how she left the townhouse when Maurice yelled in frustration about her activities. As Limere shimmered and disappeared, Aviere’s free hand passed through the figures, eventually holding her head.

  It’s not like I chose to work for Lowell Sanderson, Reese. God, I—wait, a Porsche?!

  The car in question sped toward Aviere’s kneeling form and she defended herself as the Porsche exploded fifteen feet away from her.

  Fire kissed the metal frame and the driver’s blood-curling screams echoed in the humid night air. The collective panic subsided, but some continued, protesting against the developments before them. Aviere forced herself up and disposed of the last glove, glaring at the drying blood soaking through the leather. The copper-tinted blood reminded her of broken pacts and crushed dreams.

  Reese, I’ll find McSeeten and murder him myself. Don’t die on me.

  Heels thudded against the blacktop and an accented voice carried across the parking lot. “Aviere! Get away from the car!”

  Commotion and distraction died as cerulean eyes concentrated on the flaming Porsche. Instead of dashing to Jemina, Aviere strode to the vehicle, seeking evidence. Before she reached the Porsche, someone snatched her aching wrist and Aviere cried out, whirling and meeting Travis’ narrowed eyes.

  As heels clomped louder and surviving people inched toward her, Aviere grasped her shoulder, managing pain while quelling her hysteria. Fingers throbbed and legs ached, fighting off extra adrenaline pumping through her body. The Poisoner’s throat burned, and she gulped twice.

  Losing control isn’t an option. Find McSeeten, Vi. Otherwise, we’ll have more causalities like Maurice.

  Dejected eyes met Travis’ hardened ones and Aviere hung her head, using stringy brunette hair to mask her face. Breathing taxed Aviere’s lungs and long hair held heat from smoky, stuffy air. Wordlessly, Aviere followed Travis after he pressed a hand into her back and escorted her from the Porsche.

  “Travis.” Aviere held her shoulder, revealing claws with her free hand. “I preferred leaving the name of donna behind me. I’m tired of ruling—killing in the shadows. But Vinny’s earned his death and I intend to deliver.”

  “Somehow, I doubt it, Mye.”

  “Running operations and leading people isn’t glamorous.” She kicked pebbles and scuffed her fl
ats. “This isn’t the first assassination attempt, but it’s the first time someone’s attacked Maurice. They know he’s not connected. I expected Limere, not Reese. So I can’t leave, even if I wanted to.”

  “Peters mentioned Clouse Rutherford and sent an address to investigate.”

  “Good. Then let’s move.”

  Despite the orchestration of voices and outbursts, Aviere thought of Maurice’s terrified eyes and tears rolled down her feverish face. Two fists clenched by her sides as she stormed away from the scene, one sticky from the blood coating her leather gloves. She straggled to the Ferrari and leaned against Jet’s frame, looking at the forlorn woman reflected in the window.

  A heavy cloth draped around the Poisoner’s shoulders and Aviere shook her head, brushing Travis’ trench coat off her body. She squeezed her eyes shut until a composed expression showed on her face. Once Aviere focused on her circumstances, she shifted positions until her legs locked in place and pale pink lips flattened in a narrow line. The air gun slammed into its holster before footsteps thudded away on the blacktop.

  After a few seconds, Aviere lingered on Travis’ tense form, forcing himself into the cramped Ferrari from the passenger’s side.

  A clammy hand wiped away scalding tears as she drew a heavy breath, donning the mask she craved to forget. Once Travis situated himself inside, Aviere followed his lead, starting Jet’s engine as she relaxed in the leather driver’s seat.

  She waited thirty seconds before changing gears and escaped Annapolis Junction, eager to put the memory of heartache behind her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Travis’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the bottom of his seat, locked his legs, and mouthed prayers through soundless lips. He scrutinized the GPS, praying the distance would drop more than 3.3 miles. Even at Aviere’s blazing speeds, scanning the GPS equated to a turtle crossing a busy highway. The screen continued advancing, but stopped warning him about Aviere’s frantic speed.