Turbulence: Book One in The Renegades Saga

by E. M. Whittaker

  “You speak as if this Gunther fellow’s alive, Rodriguez.”

  “I prefer believe.” The accent thickened as Jemina’s voice quivered. “I miss my best friend, you know? I hate he married Aviere, though. Puta doesn’t deserve someone kindhearted like Gunther.”

  “You can’t change the past,” Travis chided. “But if he’s dead, Mye’s a widow, right?”

  “Y… yeah.”

  “Rodriguez—”

  “Travis, Aviere’s coming out of Tethered Mistress.”

  The agent whipped his head, affirming his colleague’s report. He squeezed his eyebrows together at Aviere’s glowing cheeks and facepalmed. “Mye’s wasted.” Travis’ voice soared higher with with each sentence. “How much did she drink?”

  “Enough.” Cackling came from Travis’ left side. “Aviere lightweight. Armandi’s ploy to get information.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Better meet her, Travis. She tipsy. Maybe pass out in parking lot. That’d be interesting.”

  “You’re so cruel, Rodriguez.”

  “Your suffering entertainment, Travis. Aviere part of package. Besides, seeing her grow—mold into proper woman—it worth some discomfort.”

  “One day, I wish someone gives you hell,” Travis responded, throat tightening as his pulse raced. “A hell so painful that living is torturous.”

  As Travis hurried to Aviere’s side, Jemina’s reply carried through the air. “We have, estúpido. All of us, even you. You carry weight of your precious, murdered puta.”

  A vicious smile danced on Travis lips before grabbing the swaying Poisoner. He recognized the Spanish insults but ignored Jemina as heels clomped against the asphalt. Part of him sought to stop cramped muscles from spasming while another worried that Aviere’s flushed face signaled a hangover.

  Lyssa, why me? Jesus, I don't deserve this shit.

  Travis ushered Aviere inside the passenger’s seat and plucked the keys from her pocket, snorting when the tiny woman snored after being buckled inside. Her head settled on her chest and Travis adjusted Aviere so she wouldn’t suffocate against the seatbelt.

  I suppose one drink wouldn’t hurt. God knows Mye needs to unwind a little.

  He wandered to the driver’s side and started the Ferrari, programming the GPS to his apartment before heading toward the tunnel home.

  A heavy weight disappeared from Travis’ chest after completing his report for Lowell Sanderson.

  Seven blissful hours had passed and Travis relished the peaceful atmosphere, utilizing the time to finish his leftovers and catch up on neglected paperwork. He skimmed through the document twice before smirking, sipping coffee from a maroon and black ceramic mug. The bitter taste warmed his weary body, but loud clamors from the living room caught Travis’ attention.

  The agent shrugged it off and returned to work, operating a gray stylus to sign the late documentation. Soft jazz music played behind Travis and a saxophone solo blocked scuffling noises from the other room.

  I swear, if Peters and Mye destroy my apartment, they’re paying for damages. I don’t care if Peters is upgrading his Alienware next paycheck, and Mye can gripe about the Ferrari all she wants.

  The stylus returned to the signature pad and Travis signed his name, reviewing his scrawled cursive before pushing the accept button.

  Before he forwarded the document to Sanderson’s email, several heavy thumps stopped Travis’ finger from clicking send.

  I knew Peters staying here with Mye wasn’t ideal, Travis thought, contorting his upper lip. She’s still salty about Peters shoving his revolver against her skull. I can’t blame Mye, but instigating fights will attract Sanderson’s attention. The last thing I need is more freaking overtime for team-building exercises. Every other partner Sanderson gave me bitched, and he forced it down my throat.

  A strangled cry ended Travis’ thought, and he charged out of his office, coffee mug in hand.

  Raised voices and banging came from the cramped hallway, but Travis strolled through, savoring the last of his afternoon coffee. The bitter dark roast warmed his throat as Peters’ voice softened before silence followed. As Travis stopped in his enormous contemporary living room, the mage blinked, hazel eyes glittering at Aviere’s ingenuity.

  Then Travis chuckled into his steamy drink, breathing in the scent of his coffee.

  Clever hellcat, Travis praised, chortling as Aviere retrieved Peters’ scattered items across the wooden floor. You got Peters to throw his laptop. Only woman I know who ruffles Peters so quickly.

  He leaned against the stucco wall and watched Aviere strategically place Peters’ things near his colleague’s fallen body. The snide smirk didn’t leave Aviere’s lips, but Travis caught her humming an overplayed pop song. Seconds later, it switched to beatboxing, and she shoved an item inside her rear pocket.

  How ironic, Lyssa. Sanderson and Mye downed Peters with tranquilizers twice in two days.

  Another quiet sip later, Travis cleared his throat, licking his lips when Aviere jumped. “You were wasted when I brought you inside my apartment, Mye.”

  “Yeah, well… after waking up, I injected myself. Better than chasers and orange juice to take away hangovers.”

  What drugs doesn’t Mye have, Lyssa? Travis’ gaze drifted to Aviere’s attire and shook his head. Everything’s either inside her boots, gloves, or concealed. No wonder Mye never uses guns—she’s skilled at her profession.

  “Travis, I’m always prepared,” Aviere said, speaking his unspoken thought. “Always carry a paralysis, sedative, and heart-stopping drugs. If you understand this stuff, you’ll realize that some drugs mimic functions in the human body.”

  “While fascinating, your confession scares me.”

  “It’s how I survived,” she said, brushing hair behind an ear. “You’ve picked up on the act, though. Feigning stupidity does wonders for collecting information.”

  The steam from Travis’ drink warmed his nose as he tsked under his breath. “Yes. However, you weren’t covert. Sloppy execution for a shifter priding themselves on stealth.”

  “Neuro swore about tranquilizer darts before chucking his laptop at me.” Aviere dropped Peters’ metal laptop against the glass rectangular table. “Almost hit me, too. I don’t understand his animosity against me, thought. After lockup, I did nothing other than use my cute nickname for him.”

  “Your existence triggers him,” Travis answered, finishing the coffee. “But I doubt you’re innocent. You thrive on conflict, Mye.”

  “Neuro’s discomfort is amusing, Travis. I’m surprised he hates tranqs, considering he’s on strong doses of Xanax and Prozac.” She waggled two bottles in her gloved hand. “Not efficient to pair a downer with an upper, but humans love medicating each other.”

  Travis nodded, eyeing the bottles. “Give them to me, Mye. Peters needs his medicine.”

  “I can create better remedies, though. I don’t like Neuro, but he needs to mellow. Weed might work in capsule form. Least he can get rid of the freaking Prozac. Horrible on the mind.”

  “It’s illegal!”

  “So are controlled substances, yet psychiatrists prescribe them to people who shouldn’t receive them.” The bottles dropped against the immaculate rectangular table. “Yet for people who need meds, they deny them, so we have to adopt alternative methods to survive.”

  “Did I mention Sanderson shot Peters with sedatives when telling him about his unplanned transfer?”

  “Explains Neuro’s attitude.”

  Travis stepped near the cushioned couch and set the mug on a wooden coaster. Then he took Peters’ pulse, nodding after several strong beats. “You can’t keep instigating fights with Peters, Mye. Sanderson will insist on team-building exercises. It’s unpleasant, because the assignments are things no one wants.”

  “Neuro shoved a revolver into my fucking skull, Travis. I don’t trust men who assassinate people unable to defend themselves.”

  “Peters did worse to me, but I haven�
��t murdered him.” Travis shifted Peters’ body until his limp form rested snugly on the dingy brown couch. He plucked reports buried underneath the senseless man and crammed them inside a fantasy-themed messenger bag. “But then, I haven’t needed to. Everyone picked up on his attitude years ago.”

  Wiry hands rested on small hips and Travis snickered.

  “It’s amusing how animated you become when you’re annoyed,” Travis continued, padding toward the front door. “When you’ve have time to reflect, you’re distant and calculating. But when you’re flustered over a long-term problem—”

  “Being nice to someone I detest gets old. I never played that way. It’s one reason I’m feared, Travis. I didn’t play games to get my point across. Problems got solved quickly.”

  “Shawn got me imprisoned and placed on trial for a felony I didn’t commit, Mye.” Travis bent and snatched his mail, grimacing at unpaid bills in unopened envelopes. “It’s been four years since the Renegades released me. Peters’ capture is punishment for the crime he committed—not to mention, his untimely transfer.”

  The sadistic grin widened. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  “But Shawn’s suffered enough.”

  “No.” Aviere’s tone turned raspy. “He hasn't understood his mistake or delusions. Truth be told, some adopt the same phrase against me. But I’m wise enough to understand all species kill.”

  “You mentioned,” Travis replied as he sat down in a matching armchair. “But it doesn’t justify why you tranquilized Peters.”

  As Travis cracked his knuckles, Aviere thrust her brightened iPhone toward him. From the distance, Travis squinted, interpreting Aviere’s call log against tiny text. The agent growled after realizing her phone directory consisted of specific letters instead of first and last names.

  Clever, Mye. Even if we accepted it as evidence, calling every number is time consuming.

  “What's the point of showing me if your directory is single letters, Mye?”

  “Louis Armandi called twenty minutes ago. I overslept and I’m meeting him this evening.”

  “Mye.” Travis turned, straightening his posture. “You’ve got a death wish.”

  “No, I’m efficient.” Her voice sharpened when her cell vibrated. “One second, Travis.”

  “Aviere, go down the corridor.”

  “Oh my god, one second!”

  He rose and released a shallow breath when Aviere answered. After the first few remarks, Travis snatched the phone and disconnected the call, jamming the bricky iPhone inside his suit. “You’re not taking off on me again.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “You’re glued to your smart phone, Aviere. Quit playing hero and get your shit together. We’ll leave Peters here, but you’re filling me in while we’re driving.” Travis snatched his Desert Eagle and strapped the holster against his pants. “In this case, drugging Peters was smart. However, going off on your own—”

  “You’ll interfere with my plan.”

  “I’m not sure I would, Mye.” He pointed to her purse against the closet doorknob. “You’re smart."

  “Yeah, but you’d consider it immoral, Travis.”

  “Peters sent me your file. Ironically, someone encrypted it. Fascinating information, though.”

  Travis noticed the way Aviere played with her glasses and how she clutched onto the necklace resting between her breasts. Cerulean eyes averted their gaze and Travis gripped his chin, gauging his partner's defensive reaction.

  It’s easy to fluster Mye if Peters is involved, Travis mused, scratching smooth flesh while Aviere flung her hands skyward. Something about Peters rubs Mye wrong.

  “Asshole probably hacked into my goddamn bank account, too. You keep complaining how we always have money.”

  “I hear biochemists make a decent salary. Adding pharmacology to the mix and you should be a millionaire, Mye.”

  Travis grinned when Aviere trudged to him, balling tiny fists against her thighs.

  So, Peters sent the right dossier. He mentioned one was a plant. But it doesn’t explain her money problems. If she’s making bank to where they’re getting a different apartment and racing fancy cars, something’s not adding up.

  The agent sidestepped when Aviere reached for his tie. Instead, he grabbed his wallet from a metal desk and jammed it inside his suit pocket. “Our people in toxicology and forensics make double an agent’s wage. You’d be golden.”

  He feigned boredom while watching Aviere’s blazing eyes shift, piqued by her feline features. Since Travis expected the transformation, he noticed Aviere’s intensity and seething rage. Forest green illuminated against tan skin as Travis read her body language, but darkness seeped into the burning aura seconds later. When Aviere revealed her claws, Travis stepped forward and coarse fingers ruffled through Aviere’s stringy hair.

  “You’re patronizing me, agent.”

  “Maybe, Mye.”

  “I offered a hefty bribe to protect my dossier. My source assured me the encryption’s flawless.”

  One hand swiped Travis’ side, but he pinned Aviere’s wrist against her spine. “Peters hacks into security databases for practice. I haven’t discovered an encryption he couldn’t crack. May take time, but Peters manages sooner or later. The stronger it is, the more enthusiastic he becomes.”

  Wide cerulean eyes narrowed before Aviere’s claws stuck Travis’ bicep.

  Burning liquid seeped into the wound and Travis gasped, spinning Aviere’s captured wrist until she stopped moving. After a strangled cry, Travis shoved her against the wall, capturing her other wrist. He maneuvered her arms until one giant hand seized both slim wrists.

  The entire time, Travis shivered, determined to block the image of Aviere’s shifting eyes simmering in anger.

  She won’t attack if you cuff both hands, Travis convinced himself, reaching behind his waist. Just let Mye calm—my arm!

  His arm hung limp before he connected with the metal object. Travis willed his left arm to move and fingers to clench, but neither command registered. Heavy breathing echoed his panic as Travis released her wrists, but held a gasp when her eyes shifted to the floor.

  Violent spasms started seconds later, shaking until pain affected his fingers and shoulder. Travis gripped the convulsing limb, struggling to steady it before feeling his free fingers tingle from infected blood. Copper-coated fingertips hardened and Travis’ breathing quickened as his eyes dilated.

  “You should’ve learned by now, Travis.”

  “My arm’s paralyzed, but convulsing,” he confided in horror. “Mye—”

  “Don’t hyperventilate. My blood levels are still abnormal.” Leather-bound fingers gripped Travis’ spastic arm, and he felt a pinprick against his bicep. Then a heavy sigh followed. “Give me space when I’m pissed, all right? You used my last paralysis antidote.”

  After a minute, the spasticity and burning ceased. The heavy limb tingled with a familiar sensation, as if asleep. Travis let his arm hang before cradling it with his working arm, scowling at Aviere.

  Sarcastic words snagged in his throat when he spotted Aviere’s grimace as she grasped the empty vial in her stained hand.

  “Goddammit, I almost exposed myself again. I’m stronger than this.”

  I can’t imagine living a life without touch. He patted Aviere’s shoulder and tried offering a consoling smile. All species crave touch. To only allow those with a tolerance—no wonder making friends is tough for Mye. But—

  No. Stop thinking of her, Keith. Mye’s just a business associate. Nothing more.

  Travis steeled his hazel eyes and pursed his lips, yet couldn’t find justification to be bitter toward the Poisoner. Thinking of their adventures, he understood the distinction between walking across black and white lines. The misery in her cerulean eyes spoke volumes and Travis thought of Lyssa’s last words. Her haunting eyes etched into the agent’s memory.

  It’s not romantic, thank God—but Mye shouldn’t be a shining beacon. But why—

&nbs
p; “You’re quiet, Travis.”

  “It’s hard, isn’t it?” The question popped before Travis stopped himself. “Living alone, despite all your support. No matter the sympathies, the well wishes—you’re still a woman no one understands.”

  “No, I’m a biological experiment.” Bitterness laced Aviere’s statement. “Being normal wasn’t an option. But I’m wiser than this, Travis. One mistake—one kill this way—and everyone will realize. People will bid on me for the tainted blood. Humans would experiment and dissect me. Other shifters—well, I’d be on a registry and I’d rank higher on the bounty list.”

  “That’ll happen anyhow, Mye.”

  “Yeah, well—the Red Coat Society’s hunting you. They’d love to get their hands on biological warfare. I’m a walking weapon, for the right people.”

  Well, it’s a shitty reason Sanderson wants her, but Mye’s not stupid. She’s not an evil person, Lyssa—just misguided. Maybe she’ll round out after all.

  Even with a tingling hand, Travis registered Aviere’s trembling. Fast breaths sounded from her nostrils and tiny lips remained shut.

  Jesus, no one should cringe at human contact. But when you’re a possible weapon…

  “So, did you obtain your degrees to reverse Sanderson’s—”

  “No. Removing the taint would destroy who I am.” The sardonic grin dropped and Aviere’s eyes turned back to normal. “I did it for myself, Travis. I became fascinated with lethal poisons and the human body after countless trips to the hospital. The objects you can manipulate are endless. And that’s what we’re about to accomplish with Vinny McSeeten.”

  “We?”

  “You’ll accompany me anyway, and the beeping collar will kill the element of surprise.” Shattered vulnerability disappeared when Aviere met Travis’ gaze. “So I’ll trust you. But rest assured, one screw up will hasten your death.”

  “Tell me your intention.”

  Depression lifted and Travis shared Aviere’s mischievous grin.

  “What are you proposing, Mye?” Travis pressed again. “That expression brings trouble.”