“No.” Aviere’s voice strengthened as she stared in Maurice’s gray eyes. “He’d never abandon us. That’s why I have to continue—no matter what the cost.”
“Even if we die, Aviere?”
“We might.” She withdrew her slim hand from Maurice’s chest. “The Underground’s a dangerous place. But Lowell Sanderson’s manipulative, Maurice. He holds pieces I can’t access unless I work for the Renegades. Since I’m sacrificing myself and running for Lowell, I need you and Limere to support me—even if it’s just keeping an ear to the ground.”
“You need adequate protection, baby girl.”
Aviere nodded, facing the opened door. “I have it.” She shifted Maurice’s body, and they peered at Travis’ rugged appearance and fatigued expression. “Not the man I’d choose, but Travis is a suitable bodyguard. Besides, I think Travis understands me well enough.”
“Mye, the doctor’s discharging you in an hour.” Boots thudded on the floor as Travis stood by the cushioned chair. “Hurry up and shower. Even I can detect your stench, so you’re probably beside yourself.”
Aviere chuckled and slipped her arms around Maurice’s waist, mindful of his injury. “Maurice, we’ll figure things out. Just take care of business while I finish catching Vinny. I don’t need anyone else suffering because of me.”
“Well, I’m investin’ in weapons. Not gettin’ shot again. That modified piece isn’t decent and you’re clumsy with guns, baby girl.” Despite Maurice’s stern comments, Aviere relaxed when his fingers massaged her itchy scalp. “Limere and I will buy concealed weapons other than vial guns and claws. May help you feel comfortable with shiftin’ again.”
Her heartbeat fluttered at her weakness and Aviere tensed. “Don’t discuss my shifting, Reese. I need some confidence right now.”
“Fine. I got us a showin’ for an apartment Monday. Insurance man felt awful after I called about the hospital claim.”
Aviere chortled as she moved away from Maurice. “Better have security.”
“Underground.” The fashion designer drawled the single word. “Already looked. Seems nice and quiet. But if you’re meetin’ with Louis Armandi—and I’m jealous, cause his cologne is bangin’—I’ll hunt for apartments in South Baltimore. No reason to remain in Central or East Baltimore anymore if you’re takin’ his offer.”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Aviere. Louis Armandi’s been hangin’ around your mama since you were a teenager, and you waited on the stairwell till Armandi left, every time.”
She patted Maurice’s shoulder and nudged him toward the door. “Because I wanted to find out about Ma’s racing, not gawk at a guy three times older than me!”
“Baby girl, you adored Armandi and you still do. Lim and I agree you’d be foolish to refuse Armandi’s offer. So, I’ve decided we’re movin’ to South Baltimore. Nicer places, cleaner neighborhood, and sexier women.”
Maurice had to mention fine women, Aviere thought, pressing a finger against her nose. Whatever it takes to stop Maurice from raising my cable bill with porno channels, I suppose.
“Fine, Reese.”
Aviere didn’t miss Maurice’s captivating smile. “I knew you’d come around, baby girl.”
“I’ll call you after the meeting. Maybe I’ll convince Louis to snag some recent samples—add-ons for the fashion business.”
“Listen to you, gettin’ all formal with an Underboss,” Maurice teased. “But if you snag a sample, that’d be marvelous, baby girl. I’m almost out of the expensive stuff.”
“Good. And while you’re here…” Aviere grabbed her iPhone and pulled up a picture, producing the balance of a cable bill. “Stop ordering porn. The cable bill’s $350 again.”
The Poisoner yawned as Maurice stormed from the room, dropping the small smile when Travis helped her. “I thought Maurice—”
“You and everyone else thinks Reese swings for men.” Aviere threw her arm around Travis’ neck. “I don’t blame you—Leo teases Reese about dressing like a fop. But Reese’s standards are high, so he remains single.”
“After your family, I don’t doubt it.”
“Reese is waiting for his crush to quit obsessing over her fiancé’s death years ago. I mean, Reggie died in a tragic car accident and—” Aviere gasped when Travis abruptly halted and covered her mouth, recognizing her mistake. “Travis, I—”
“Forget it, Mye. No harm done—you didn’t mean to upset me.”
She wanted to believe him, but detected the pained hiss before Travis spoke, the way his cheek ticked when reflecting on her words. Resentment crossed in angry hazel eyes before casting Aviere’s arm aside.
“We’ll find Lyssa’s killer, Travis. The two of us—we’ll achieve our goals. But we have to catch Lil’ Vinny first. Otherwise, Sanderson won’t tell me anything.”
“I know who killed Lyssa.” Travis’ voice turned frosty. “But I can’t kill them. I’m not strong enough. Once I gain more power, I’ll take her killer and keep a memento.”
“Then level with me.” Aviere stood on her tiptoes and pushed her cool nose to Travis’ chin. “Christ, I’m too short and you’re hunched over.”
“Go grab your shower, Mye. We’ll discuss it when I’m not so emotional.”
She scampered to the shower, but used the door frame to rotate and face Travis. “Why, Travis—I think you’re trusting me.”
“Foot fungus.” Yet Aviere spotted the slight smirk beginning on Travis’ lips. “You’re like untreated foot fungus.”
“I preferred hellcat. Fungus sounds like Neuro’s thing.”
“Fifty minutes, Mye. Hurry and grab your damn shower.”
Aviere hummed under her breath and leaned against the closed door, fist against her heart as her chin settled on bony fingers. When she was alone, Aviere stifled sniffles and turned on the warm water.
Only as scalding water cleansed her tainted body did Aviere remember the cocktail dress and flats lying on the hospital bed.
Hot water felt divine against chilled, stinky skin and Aviere lathered shampoo, digging fingers into her greasy hair. After the last few days, a steamy shower seemed luxurious. Soapy suds foamed and the tea tree shampoo tingled against her itchy scalp. The hot water relaxed aching muscles, warmed frigid digits, and stopped twinging muscles from spasming.
A series of taps made Aviere glower, annoyed at being disturbed from her momentary nirvana. The only sound which registered was a door shutting closed. When she narrowed her eyes and discovered her clothes in a plastic bag, Aviere smiled at the familiar candy bar wrapper lying on top the ebony cocktail dress.
The Poisoner returned to humming, then beatboxed to a song as the tea tree shampoo warmed her senses and encouraged her to focus on her impending meeting. After besting Lowell Sanderson, Aviere would match wits with Louis Armandi to achieve the results she desired. As soapy suds ran down the drain, Aviere chuckled, determined to sway the businessman to her side.
Gunther… I hope I’m heading down the right path. Once I get support, I’ll find more answers. Hold out till I do.
With renewed resolve, Aviere lathered soap on her skin. She danced in place while lathering up, weighing the developments leading her to this crucial moment. She thought of poker and her face darkened when she recalled her horrid losing streak.
Then Aviere grinned and realized why she lost, confident she understood bluffing enough to succeed.
As soon as Aviere looked dressed to impress, Travis handed her the discharge papers, her large faux leather handbag, and her gun. They whisked through the discharge station, thrilled to proceed in their quest. Aviere tiptoed on the balls of her feet while Raymond talked, but she dashed through the hall the minute she signed the last form.
Riding as a passenger in her Ferrari felt unnatural and her muscles tensed as Travis drove, admonishing her about her reckless behavior. The Poisoner blocked out the passing scenery, fixated on her hammering heartbeat and knotted stomach. Every time Travis
turned or followed the speed limit, she braced herself, arms crossed under her elbows in case Travis damaged Jet’s frame.
Aviere blocked Travis’ comments until he acknowledged the Underboss. Then she leaned forward and her ears perked with interest.
“What’d Louis say, Travis?”
“You’ll find out. We’ve arrived.”
Scenery zoomed through Aviere’s vision as if lifting blinders from her glasses. Familiar overhanging street lights guided the Ferrari through the underground burrow. Aviere cracked Jet’s window and released a hollow sigh as clean air greeted her nostrils.
“We’re close, Travis. Armandi paid a fortune to install good air filtration systems.”
Aviere huffed when hazel eyes squinted in confusion. “What?”
“Roll down Jet’s window and you’ll understand.”
The Poisoner leaned her seat backward and propped her arms behind her head, enjoying clean air and waves of intimate memories. Aviere smiled at the memory of her first date, sneaking inside the Tethered Mistress with Gunther and Joe because the werewolf wanted to try different beer. The date itself proved disastrous, and they were tossed out for being underage, but the thought counted.
She snickered at the recollection and paused when Travis gazed at her.
“Sorry, old memories, Travis. First date and all.”
“Happens sometimes.” The Ferrari pulled into an enormous parking lot graced with lamp posts and marked spots. “I pass certain spots and recall something Lyssa said or did. Hurts.”
Grateful for her gloves and peridot necklace, Aviere clutched the trinket with both hands. “I understand. It’s been years since I visited the Tethered Mistress.”
“Tethered Mistress sounds like a pirate ship.”
“Nah.” Aviere sloshed her tongue, wetting her mouth. “Ma had various admirers. Course, you met Raymond—think Raymond regrets forcing Ma into a one night stand. But Louis admired Ma, even though he was married. Wife became jealous and divorced him, if I remember correctly.”
“You picked up your rebellious streak from your mom, Mye.”
“No, I was the good child.” She lowered her glasses before raising them, pleased to identify once-blurry letters. “The Tethered Mistress—not sure if it’s named after Ma or the literal meaning of alcoholics. You know, how drinks seem glued to their hands and all.”
“You know Randolph’s got a drinking problem, Mye.” The Ferrari parked and Travis returned the stick shift to its proper gear. “Wolfman snuck alcohol into a freaking hospital. Carried no shame downing a cold one while interrogating me.”
Aviere gazed at the metallic red Ferrari parked four spaces from them. Then she pointed to a familiar black Mach I Mustang. “Yeah, don’t call him Wolfman. Joe’s against superheroes and people saving the world. He’s pissed I went on a personal crusade and involved him without permission.”
“I’m surprised Randolph hasn’t hurt you. He scares the shit out of me.”
She nodded. “Joe’s good for scares. Effective in fights, too. Think that’s how he met Jemina.” One finger rested against Aviere’s lips in thought before shouldering her purse. “Eighth grade, Joe said. Bunch of guys hassled her for sexual services and she was a virgin.”
By the time Aviere locked Jet’s door, Travis slammed the driver’s side. “Explains so much, Mye. But Rodriguez doesn’t strike me as innocent. The woman oozes sex appeal—like a greasy sausage about to burst from its casing.”
Aviere busted out in mirthful laughter, stopping when tears reached her eyes. “My god, Travis. I’m rubbing off on you.”
“Rodriguez’s code name suits her. Dresses like a harlot and teases every man inside the Renegades’ compound.”
“Sexual trauma either makes one reject sex or become wanton.” A limousine rested near the bar’s entrance and she grumbled. “Christ, Armandi gathered the dons and donnas. I’m so screwed.”
The Poisoner jumped when Travis’ hand clamped on her shoulder. “Mye, you’ve got nine lives and you’ve skinned by on two. You’ll be fine.”
“Remove your hand.” Aviere swallowed before spinning to meet Travis. “I keep explaining—”
“I’m not afraid, Mye. But you should get over your phobia of human touch.”
She smacked Travis’ hand away and concentrated on the Italian bouncer waving her toward the glass double doors. “You’d sing a different song if you’ve seen people become paralyzed by accident, Travis. Intimacy wasn’t possible until Gunther developed an immunity.”
“You watched me kill, but lingered at my side.”
“Not by choice,” Aviere whispered, clinging to the faux handbag. “Look, stay here. Marco’s waiting. Don’t do anything stupid—Martinez and Maurice are lingering in the parking lot. The rest of them are probably inside the Tethered Mistress.”
“Why’s Maurice on patrol, Mye?”
“He doesn’t quite trust you yet… do you blame him?” She raked bony fingers through brunette hair as she sauntered toward the glass doors. “Besides, Limere said you were thrilled meeting Maurice’s shifter form. Perhaps you can become better acquainted, Travis.”
Aviere straightened her back and settled a hand on her chest when she chortled, waving to Marco as Travis fumed several feet behind her. As the dark-haired mustached bouncer opened the entrance for Aviere, she kissed the Italian’s cheek and pressed her lips close to Marco’s ear.
“If Travis tries sneaking inside, immobilize him. No killing, understand? Same goes for Martinez.”
Marco twirled on his mustache and nodded. “Understood, donna. Should I let Maurice handle your agent?”
Aviere slowly grinned. “As entertaining as that sounds, no. Use the vial ammunition. Travis belongs to Lowell Sanderson and executing a Renegade would prove problematic.” She exposed the bracelet hidden under her right wrist. “Travis isn’t screwing up an opportunity to partner with Louis Armandi. He’s a dream sponsor—”
“I don’t expect the agent will,” Marco interrupted. “But before you ramble, head inside, donna. Armandi’s concerned you arrived an hour later than planned.”
Jazzy music trailed from the bar and Aviere headed inside, straightening her posture as she ran a hand ran through her shiny, brunette hair. Soft beats keyed majestically as she flipped hair over her shoulder, calculating the weapons hidden inside her gloves and various pockets. Aviere patted her purse as she paused at the entrance, steeling herself against memories tugging the recesses of her mind.
Nostalgia and memories wouldn’t sway Louis Armandi into backing Aviere’s cause. The fond recollections of the businessman served as a foil, suppressing the businessman’s true occupation.
She followed the game and donned her poker face, expecting the wager she played proved fortuitous against Lowell Sanderson’s manipulation.
The design of the Tethered Mistress reminded Aviere of old bars she’d frequented as a teenager and with Gunther as his donna. Contemporary furniture, clean booths, and the nice brick wall created a new-age vibe while providing adequate protection. High definition televisions showed coverage of various sports and Aviere recognized popular past-times banned from the nation.
Ice hockey played on a forty-two-inch screen while capoeira and boxing played on two others. One television played news stations broadcasted by humans, relaying news unrelated to the scene inside the Tethered Mistress. Half the establishment remained reserved for diners while the other displayed alternative activities, such as blackjack, roulette, and Keno.
The laughing couple cheering at winning a game of poker seemed trivial compared to the four classy figures sitting before the granite bar.
Aviere lowered her spectacles and skimmed the visitors, considering which person to greet first. She fanned herself as sweat glistened her brow, then thrust a hand in her pocket, reassured by the spare blowgun.
Darkened saffron eyes rested on Aviere as he leaned against the bar, drifting a hand toward his holster.
Evan Donahue—he worked with Limere
in the Zodiac Cartel. The man still dresses like a mobster, down to the pinstriped fedora and Beretta hanging from his holster. While Evan fits Central Baltimore’s stereotype, I’m tired of suited professionals trying to assassinate me. He better not force Limere to peddle drugs again.
The Poisoner scratched her neck before clearing her throat, shaking her head at the long-haired blond sleeping on the bar top. She rubbed throbbing neck and shoulder muscles before crooking a finger against her pointy nose and silver rimmed frames.
Oh dear… the long-haired emo child. Hard to determine his age from behind, but the permed blond hair and trench coat’s a trademark style for Sebastian Klapna. But Sebastian moved to Germany for college. Why return to West Baltimore?
After battling throbbing neck pain, Aviere flicked a silver star earring, lifting an eyebrow as she continued her thoughts. Once again, Aviere fanned herself, seeking a logical explanation for Sebastian’s arrival.
Poor Sebastian. He tried running away from the family business. But I’m concerned about the Vulture sitting next to Sebastian. Evelyn benefits if I’m assassinated.
Aviere grunted as she glowered at Evelyn Rodriguez, chatting casually on her cell phone. The woman almost copied Aviere’s black dress ensemble, but Aviere detected subtle differences. While Aviere chose flats, Evelyn’s tanned skin puffed from merlot-colored heels. The classy Latina ran manicured nails through cherry and golden highlighted hair, wiggling thinner fingers as tresses fell on bare shoulders.
When their eyes clashed, Evelyn finished her call, tossing the cell phone on the granite counter. Then she fingered the laced fabric against her black parasol, muttering underneath light, accented breath.
“You kept us waiting, Aviere Mye. Doctor discharged you two hours ago.”
“Bossy as Jemina,” Aviere countered, rounding an eye when thunderous footsteps shook the wooden floor. “There’s no point in stomping, Jemina. Sulk if you must, but I’m speaking the truth.” Once footsteps stopped, Aviere faced Jemina and choked, sweeping over the navy business suit Jemina wore. “You’re wearing modest clothing. I’m amazed you own pants.”
Turbulence: Book One in The Renegades Saga Page 27
