Two fingers burrowed into Aviere’s injured shoulder and she stopped objecting. “Says the woman who neglected using her gun.” The familiar silver air pistol landed on her thigh. “I found it by your Ferrari, Mye. Your friends hid… Jet, right?”
She beamed. “Yeah.” Aviere placed the pistol on the wooden table. “But I deserved my injuries. You two got a light reprimand compared to mine. Sanderson graced me with his presence in my hospital room. I swear, I’m asking Raymond to install locks in the ICU.”
“Most bitches aren’t constantly on the run,” Peters whined, flouncing on the pink couch. “Your fashion sense is atrocious. Ugliest couch I've ever seen.”
“Aw, you care, Neuro. But they’re donations from the racing gangs.” A broad grin crossed Aviere’s lips as Peters grumbled. “Lim and Reese are picking matching furniture now. Insurance money cleared. Glad I didn’t go, though—Reese is a fashion connoisseur. Shit drives me bonkers.”
“How the hell?” Peters grabbed Travis’ arm before pointing at Aviere. “Bitch has nine lives and still suffers no repercussions! No being fired, docked pay, nothing! We received two weeks without pay for her screw-up!”
“Neuro, I almost lost my sponsorship from Louis Armandi and split my shoulder open, not to mention reopening my thigh. You missed Travis widening the wound.” Aviere pressed her eyebrows together when regarding Travis. “Raymond said the second shot almost passed through the artery. You practically replicated Vinny’s wound, though. Still, Sanderson’s tirade was more entertaining than Raymond’s. Only difference is I’m used to Raymond’s criticism.” Warm fingers dug into her tender shoulder and neck muscles. “But I would rather deal with Travis than my overbearing brothers and friends. Today’s my first day alone, so your visit stopped my reading marathon.”
A resounding thud startled Aviere, and she hissed as her fingers burrowed further into the wound. A click later, Peters’ leather briefcase popped open. Paperwork dropped on the wooden table as Aviere groaned at Peters’ diabolical grin. “If you’re alone, then we can complete our reports, Mye. I need your signature so we can get paid.”
She pointed to her right arm, trapped inside the sling. “Can’t, Neuro. And I’m not signing without reading.”
“I’m not screwing you, Aviere Mye. There’s no hidden clauses of incarceration or stealing your pay.”
The Poisoner wrinkled her nose when she found Travis’ eyes. “Really, now?”
“Yeah.” Peters’ voice deepened as the single word rumbled. “But if you sign some stuff, Sanderson will restore our pay. Half our check is coming from the FBI—which, I don’t know how, but we’re moonlighting there again.”
Aviere fingered the silver chain to her peridot necklace and whistled. “I may have connections with the director. Your profound speech in my hospital room moved me, Neuro. Besides, you didn’t totally deserve house arrest. I might have pointed out that bit when he visited. Sanderson and the director didn’t appreciate my demands or enjoy seeing each other.”
“Just because you’re manipulative doesn’t make you our leader,” Peters proclaimed, thrusting a pen in her direction. “Though, I guess that’s the second favor I owe you. But how—”
Cerulean eyes stared blankly at the writing instrument. “Limere’s extensive drug history. Your director kept grilling me and was a key witness at Limere’s trial before the judge granted parole. He became concerned about your behavior, so I spoke with him. He’s amazed I didn’t instigate anything, but he hates Lowell Sanderson as much as we do.”
The pen moved closer to Aviere’s position. “Doesn’t explain—”
“Neuro, you’re reinstated. Let Travis sign for me. I can’t move my goddamn arm because Raymond put screws in my shoulder blade.”
“Hmph. Travis’ signature is illegible and Sanderson knows it.”
“Sanderson’s listening,” Aviere stated, rubbing her throbbing left eye. “It’ll be okay. Leave us alone and order food. My fridge is empty and they’re going grocery shopping. Pizza will work—just make sure one’s cheese.”
“I don’t want to stay all day, Mye. Being here’s illegal.”
One arm wrapped across Aviere’s ample bosom. “If you want to be paid, listen. Besides, you’re with Travis, which invalidates your argument. You’re one of us, so welcome to the family.” She slid a silver card from her back pocket and waved it in Peters’ direction. “Take my credit card and order food before I gnaw on your arm.”
“Crazy bitch,” Peters cursed, trudging down the hallway with iPhone in hand.
So they consider me their unofficial leader, Gunther. How charming. You’d disagree, though.
“Mye, I brought something for you.”
A yawn escaped her tiny lips as she shuffled in the recliner. “Other than a scolding, Travis?”
“I’m having it altered, but once your shoulder’s able to withstand the kickback, we’re practicing at the shooting range.” A metal box was propped up on the love seat, where Travis revealed a small, soot-colored .45 Smith and Wesson. “I got this when I started as a detective, but your modified weapons won’t work all the time. A good gun’s scarce.”
“But I prefer my toys,” Aviere complained quietly. “Besides, I tried using my pistol. Just couldn’t after Vinny shot my shoulder.”
“What were you thinking, acting on your own?” With a flick of Travis’ arm, the cowboy hat landed in Aviere’s lap. “Jesus, woman. Sometimes, I’d prefer you were mousy.”
“I was, once.” Aviere’s nostrils flared at the salty smelling hat. “But you don’t, do you? Wish, I mean.”
“You’re better than I expected, Mye. Your reputation’s well deserved.”
“And now?” she inquired, leaning forward in her seat. “Would you consider me a threat or an equal, Travis?”
“You lived, but you’re still a capodecina, Mye. Still opposite of a law-abiding citizen. But…” Travis shifted, then stood and cracked his neck. “I suppose you’re worth trusting. For now.”
Aviere rose, setting a hand on her curvy hip. “We’ll achieve our goals, Travis. Sanderson’s connected and I intend to get my answers. But it’ll be a few more cases till the bastard talks. Till then, just keep working with Neuro. I’ll be out six to eight weeks.”
“Mye, I can’t leave you alone all that time.”
“Sure you can.” Aviere smirked. “I’ll regain my former title. Once a donna, always a donna, Travis. I can’t let Evan Donahue outdo me.”
“You can’t as a Renegade, Mye.”
Her eyebrows waggled as Peters returned to the living room. “Sure I can. Watch me, agent.” She licked her lips, but frowned when Peters texted on the iPhone. “Neuro, set the phone down. I’m not reviewing those documents till I have your attention.”
“Piss off. I’m emailing the director.” Peters’ animosity tapered off as they matched each other’s gaze. “Get cracking. The pizza should show up in a half hour.”
The thick pile of typed papers made Aviere moan, but Travis ushered her next to him. As soon as Travis retrieved one third of the documents and armed himself with a ballpoint pen, Aviere slid next to him, allowing a saucy smile to glide over whitened canines. While reading over fine print seemed as appealing as watching paint dry, the Poisoner thought of worse ways to spend her day without her companions.
When she lowered her glasses, Aviere chuckled at Peters, contemplating how to irritate the human without pushing Travis’ patience. The thought of hours with her partners almost made her stomach churn until Peters gasped at a black and white stripped cat entering the living room.
As Travis crossed himself, Aviere laughed, calling her newfound pet while amused at her partner’s growing agitation. After a few caresses, she crooned to the cat, who promptly clawed Peters’ knee before heading back toward the corridor.
The Poisoner laughed to herself. Her cerulean eyes sparkled when Peters glared and complained under his breath, clinging to ripped clothing. She waggled an eyebrow and returned to her paperwo
rk, hoping the cat would entertain her during Peters’ company that afternoon.
Despite the interruption, Aviere couldn’t displace the foreboding lingering inside her heart. Even with Travis’ exasperated groan and Peters’ grumbles about concentrating on work, Aviere Mye thought of one person.
If Lowell Sanderson dragged his feet and avoided Aviere’s questions, she’d have to ask the Underground once she became Central Baltimore’s donna again.
Her lips widened and canines gleamed against the light, hungry for her next challenge after her injuries healed.
If you enjoyed
TURBULENCE,
Look out for
DRIFT
By E.M. Whittaker
Keith Travis hated chasing vehicles through the dark streets of Charm City. The bright lights distracted him, but Travis grew concerned at the silver Stingray’s erratic speed. He slammed the accelerator and glanced at the speedometer, capped at a hundred miles per hour.
Mye needs to work with me on driving. Karyn Greene emulates her style.
The silver Stingray almost eluded him. Travis heard the Focus strain to keep up its momentum. He grabbed the automatic gearshift and thrust it down, hoping to go faster. The agent longed for his Corvette and cursed when he remembered Richter confiscated the vehicle to make modifications.
“Don’t stop!” Travis heard his partner yell. “Greene’s getting away!”
“Stop screaming, Peters!” Travis snapped, gritting his teeth. “The Focus is too slow! Hold on!”
Headlights veered to his right and Travis whipped around the corner to follow the Stingray through a red light. Travis held a tense breath and narrowly missed oncoming cars, heartbeat racing in his chest. Once he locked onto the Stingray, Travis blocked out Peters’ complaints, determined to catch up to Karyn Greene.
Excitement took over and Travis understood why Mye loved street racing.
Travis’ body trembled as adrenaline spiked and sounds heightened from the opened window. The engine almost attuned to his thoughts. The Focus moved in tandem with Travis’ steering and he followed Karyn’s Stingray into an abandoned gas station.
What is Greene doing?! Doesn’t she realize we can impound her Stingray and arrest her?
Travis checked his mirrors for other cars before slamming the brakes and fighting back nausea. Once he secured the parking brake, Travis barreled out of the driver’s seat. As Travis slammed the door, he caught Peters’ complaints and snorted when the specialist pitched forward, shielding the black laptop.
I wish I chased Mye’s vehicle, but silver’s not her color, Travis thought, spotting dents and scrapes in the Stingray’s body. She’d have a coronary. I’m glad Mye’s not here.
The driver’s door opened and a short blonde-haired woman emerged, curling her lip as she glared with chilling blue eyes.
“Karyn Greene?” Travis asked.
She parted golden-blonde bangs and remained silent, groaning when offending strands returned to block her vision.
“I’m with the—”
“I don’t give a shit where you’re from,” she snapped. “I filled up Speedy yesterday, and you chased me around the goddamn city. I just got paid today and one third of my check’s going into his tank.”
Jesus, not another one. I’m still not used to Mye’s obsession with her Ferrari. At least Mye’s name fits him. Speedier than a bullet and more upgrades than I can count.
He remembered Aviere Mye’s jubilation over the older Ferrari and shook his head. Despite its older model, Travis knew Aviere sunk thousands of dollars into keeping the vehicle race-worthy. Compared to the Stingray’s beaten frame, Travis credited Aviere for her tenacity and dedication at the underground sport, gaining newfound respect for Aviere’s racing sponsorship.
Mye would have a conniption at seeing this Stingray. All the dings and scratches—she’d go insane.
Travis focused on Karyn, studying her profile while she jammed greasy hands into ratty jean pockets.
Bobbed haircut hiding hardened navy-blue eyes—tank top accenting her large chest and greasy jeans—not much to go on.
He glanced inside the Stingray, catching a matching navy-blue mechanic’s jacket on the passenger’s seat. Grease stains covered her name tag and the bottom portion of the denim material. However, Travis blinked, doing a double-take at the black and white kitty seat cover adorning both driver’s and passenger’s seats.
Hell of a combination. The greasy clothes indicates she’s a mechanic. But it doesn’t explain the Stingray’s condition if Greene fixes vehicles.
A orange flash captured Travis’ attention before the gas pump beeped. The agent noticed the confident smirk and cold eyes as Karyn reached for the gas pump. “Crappy car you got, detective.”
“Aren’t you worried about police impounding your car or arresting you?”
“You haven’t,” Karyn said, drawling her last word in annoyance. “So tell me what you want, detective. I’m meeting someone soon.”
“Answer some questions and I’ll overlook the Stingray, Miss Greene.”
Once the gas pumped, Karyn rested a hand against her hip and scrutinized him. “You’re the guy spying on the Vipers, aren’t you?”
Travis furrowed his eyebrows together and held his chin in thought, recalling the name from past conversations. “The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place where, Miss Greene.”
“Their leader’s a snooty bitch who drives a Ferrari and carries a superiority complex. Thinks she knows everything and everyone kisses her ass. I’ve seen you hanging around her brothers every once in a while, detective.” Karyn leaned against her car, arms splayed against the dingy frame. “You rub people wrong. The gangs don’t like outsiders invading our sport, you know?”
Travis snorted, agreeing with Karyn’s description of Aviere Mye. Thinking of his partner made his heart flutter before his stomach knotted with dread.
I forgot, she’s coming back tomorrow off medical leave. It’s back to bodyguard duty, where Mye’s nothing but trouble.
“Besides, why should I tell you anything?” Karyn continued, combing sweaty fingers through her hair. “Aviere’s supposed to meet me, yet never showed.”
Travis pointed to the Stingray. “You expect Mye to consider you with a banged-up Stingray, Miss Greene?”
“Not everyone can afford a fancy set of wheels by breaking the law. Now, you on her side or not?”
What is Greene ranting about? Travis asked himself, hazel eyes dulling as Karyn fidgeted with objects on the gas pump. I’m stuck with Mye. Freaking foot fungus, I swear.
Travis gazed at Karyn again and straightened when a yellow aura revealed itself, crackling with darkness. He lowered his head while Karyn turned away and tilted his head, eyes widening at the aura surrounding her hand. Scant dark flakes flickered in the golden hue, intertwining together at random intervals.
I heard of electric mages, but Greene’s the first I’ve witnessed. Hmm.
“Miss Greene, I’m not on anyone’s side,” Travis answered, phrasing his words carefully. “Just answer a few questions and you can leave.”
“Fine, but only five minutes. I’m waiting for Aviere.”
“I’m investigating a man linked to the Zodiac Cartel. One source referred me to you, Miss Greene.”
Travis expected surprise and a pleased expression passed when Karyn held a fist to her chest and pressed into the concrete railing supporting the gas pump. He jutted his chin before raising an eyebrow.
“You seem familiar with their name.”
“I haven't heard the Zodiac Cartel in years, detective. Left them behind when I lost important people.”
“But you know of them.”
Electricity sparked against tanned flesh. “Yeah.”
“Tell me about Reginald Rodriguez, Miss Greene.”
Icy blue eyes widened before Karyn covered her mouth, singing part of her cheek as magic cackled from her fingers. “Why? Nothing good will—”
“I didn’t mean to upse
t you, Miss Greene. But stop using magic before we’re both discovered.”
The gas pump clicked and Karyn’s lips quivered. “Reggie’s dead. He died five years ago. When you mentioned the Zodiac Cartel, I thought you meant his friend—the one running the cartel. He stopped, though. So I hear, anyway.”
Golden energy dissipated as Karyn grabbed the olive-green gas pump. Shaky hands dropped it against the asphalt before sniffling. Before Karyn knelt down, Travis retrieved the pump, but brushed against her bare hand. Sympathetic hazel eyes met with mournful blue ones, locking on for mere seconds.
Travis’ eyes widened when a cinematic image popped inside his head.
I’ve never done this before! When did my powers grow?
The question remained unanswered while the tragic scene played before him. The large, tan Latino reminded him of his associate, Jemina Rodriguez. He didn’t picture Reginald in a cartel with his neat, military styled haircut and soulful chocolate orbs.
Then Travis remembered Aviere Mye, who deceived him at their first meeting.
The scene unfolded and Travis witnessed Reginald’s final moments in a tragic car accident. His heart panged hearing Reginald whispering gentle words to the blonde attempting to pull his crushed body out of the vehicle. Karyn’s anguished cries and bloody fingers invoked another image in the agent’s memory—one he harbored inside his heart.
Lyssa, I haven't forgotten you, sweetheart. I’ll use Mye and get your killer.
Travis returned to the present when Karyn’s soft moments caught his eye. “Is something wrong, detective?”
Travis cleared his throat. “You mentioned someone else, Miss Greene.”
“Ah, yeah. People liked Reggie.” She set the pump in its spot and sealed the Stingray’s gas tank. “Reggie drew people to him, you know?” A moment later, Karyn’s voice dropped to a murmur. “ Hard to believe it’s been five years. It’s like it happened yesterday, really. But if the cartel is active again—”
“Yes. That’s why I’m asking who your other contact is, Miss Greene.” Travis pressed. “Several high-profile killings revealed the victims died by homemade concoctions. While I’m aware of Aviere’s profession—”
Turbulence: Book One in The Renegades Saga Page 32
