Drift: The Renegades Saga: Book Two

by E. M. Whittaker

  Jesus Christ, my life’s a soap opera, and God’s laughing at me, Lyssa. Why can’t you scold me when I need sanity?

  “If you fancy him helpin’, stop gangin’ up on him,” Maurice suggested, voice muffled from behind Limere. “Can’t imagine the neighbors like hearin’ this.”

  Another woman’s voice carried through the hallway and Travis dug his nails behind his head at Karyn Greene’s conceited tone. “I can hear you guys by the stairwell. Hurry up. This place gives me the creeps, especially hearing the lecherous old man down the hall on his cell phone. He’s not getting the hint.”

  Everyone’s here but Mye and Rodriguez. Jesus, the screwed-up version of the Munsters, only slightly altered.

  “What the hell do you people want?” Travis demanded, unsure where to point the Desert Eagle. “Besides harassing the shit out of me.” Hazel eyes narrowed as he glared at each person standing outside his door. “Don’t you people have hobbies outside of stalking everyone?”

  An empty glass beer bottle waggled in Travis’s face. “I do. But I’m out and my best friend’s avoiding me. I could take the brew Limere made, but I’m betting I need something stronger if you’re involved.”

  “No, that’s a lifestyle choice, not a hobby,” Travis answered. “But I can understand your—”

  “I’ll let you people talk with Karyn, but she ain’t staying alone.” Joe thumbed behind him. “Maurice and I will watch her and your human.”

  Travis snickered. “You’re afraid of Peters?”

  Sienna-colored eyes shifted, then darkened. “The asshole shot at Vi in a hospital room. My best friend poisons food if she hates someone—including my woman a few times. You’re stupid enough to shoot at shifters a foot and a half taller than you. I put nothing past any species, no matter their temperament.”

  Travis hummed. “I can’t fault your logic. But how can Greene hear my neighbor’s conversations?”

  “Her abilities.” He caught Joe turning toward Karyn’s direction before facing Travis again. “You’re aware of them, I’m sure. In this case, the vibrations from electronic devices help Karyn decipher voices and mechanics. It’s one reason she’s good at fixing automobiles and hasn’t lost her job.”

  Jesus Christ, Lyssa. This day’s getting weirder and weirder. I’d prefer Mye’s bitching to hearing about more magical abilities.

  “However, Karyn understands not cooperating means the termination of her employment. But there’s another reason I’m putting my family through this bullshit.” A malicious grin passed over the werewolf’s lips. “Despite the human’s temperament, he seems good at his job. I have something for him that he won’t get access to anywhere else.”

  “You won’t kill Peters, will you?”

  Several knuckles cracked and Travis peeked at the Latina next to her father. “Hmph. If the human’s not collared, maybe. But his arctic fresh deodorant might stop someone.” She waved an open-tipped gloved hand over her small nose. “Same with the mage. I’d stop after one whiff of cheap aftershave.”

  “Wait till you hear the human’s voice, Cel,” Limere called. “Any telepath alive would stop mindreading or possessing him after listening to that asshole talk.”

  There is not enough spiked coffee in the world to deal with Mye’s crew. But Dalara’s right—never thought of Peters’s voice as protection, though.

  “Now now, kids,” Joe chided, his voice rumbling in a dominant tone. “That’s why Maurice and I came with you two. You take the mage, evaluate his powers while looking for Aquarius, and pray Aviere calls. He’ll cooperate if we hold the human hostage… again.”

  Travis’s left ear almost exploded as choice expletives bellowed through the earpiece. Hazel eyes widened before one squinted shut. “Mye’s at work going through blood results. But I’m not comfortable allowing you guys inside my apartment.”

  When the woman scoffed, Travis took one step toward her.

  “Something funny?”

  “People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. But you’re funny, thinking you can block me from kicking in your precious metal door.”

  To illustrate her point, Travis watched her slam a tennis shoe into the door next to his shoulder. While he crouched, the door gave way and sailed several feet into the living room.

  “Hold your fire, Shawn,” Travis directed as he rose to one knee. “Mye’s whole crew is standing outside. Dalara’s girlfriend kicked in the door to make a point. Randolph’s got a present for you - if you play nice.”

  “I’ll go back on house arrest if it means life returns to normal,” Peters said as his footsteps echoed on the broken door. “Hell, I’ll deal with your coffee addiction, Travis. But someone’s going to call the cops about the noise.”

  “They probably bought them off, or have someone downstairs to drive them away.” Travis stood and moved from the exposed entrance, granting certain parties entrance into the apartment. “Look, you get a chance to interrogate Greene, a present from Randolph, and you get rid of the mage brigade.”

  “Great. Find out why Mye’s traveling to the Port of Baltimore, then.”

  Travis lowered the stolen sunglasses, but covered his eyes again at the double aura surrounding multiple people in his peripheral vision. “What?”

  “You heard me. She just left the compound. Tracking program pinged two minutes ago as the door flew into the apartment.”

  As his vision improved, Peters slammed the tracking watch into Travis’s palm.

  “Get moving. In the meantime, I’ll order you a new couch—the back ripped as the door landed.”

  Power surged through Travis’s trembling body at his reaction. Before he sent dark magic through the apartment building, the agent stalked down the hallway, brushed past Karyn as she yelped, and drew out a set of keys, snickering under his breath.

  “Agent man, if you’re going to catch Sis—”

  “We’re driving.” Travis jiggled his extra set of keys and dashed down the stairs. “If you want Peters to stay put, we’re taking his Focus.”

  “Vindictive move, agent man,” Limere remarked, laughing halfway through the sentence. “Since when do you drive?”

  “Since Mye speeds away in cars and pukes when you teleport anywhere. I’ve never seen a woman so contradictory in my life. Between puking and bleeding from her injuries, your sister’s taking care of my next dry cleaning bill. It’s three times more expensive, but perhaps she’ll stop being so reckless in the future.”

  “Yeah… and Sis will eat meat the next time we cook hamburgers and hot dogs, too. But that might happen once you give up coffee.”

  “Bite me.”

  “Look, if you don’t want people knowing your business, don’t buy punctured coffee containers.”

  Travis blinked, but kept his pace as the mage’s companion scoffed from behind him. “What?”

  “What Limmy said, agent.”

  “Which meant what, exactly?”

  “Coffee grounds smell,” she answered, waving a flimsy grocery bag with a punctured container inside. “It’s warmer than usual for this time of year. You had some grounds leak onto your seat, so the scent trailed out from your open window. Dark roast coffee is rancid…almost as bad as artificially perfumed tarts and candles. Makes my eyes burn, I tell you.”

  “Damn shifters and their bloody noses.”

  “What kind of man tries twelve kinds of coffee? I thought my father was picky about his beer until we kept watching you come back from the store all afternoon.”

  “The same kind that doesn’t explain to his family about chronic brain damage and demonic creatures inhabiting their bodies,” Travis replied, gritting his teeth. “And stop spying on me! I’m entitled to some privacy!”

  “Aviere was right, Limmy. No wonder she’s not keen on sharing information.”

  Every clipped response from Celene’s perfect accent grated Travis’s nerves, but he continued toward his car. He jammed one hand in his pocket and clutched onto the tracking object, praying for some level
of sanity while dealing with another element of Aviere’s wacky crew.

  “Look, I can’t help being a tracker—my father graced me with a keen sense of smell. But no sane man spends all afternoon trying coffee like a whore goes through panties.”

  “Don’t remind me about your mother. I’m surprised you don’t follow her example.”

  A thunderous crack jolted Travis’s balance, and he steadied himself after glaring at Celene.

  Then he stared at the two-inch hole in the middle of the apartment entryway and the way her weight shifted on one leg. Her broken heel rested beside her foot, but was half buried in cracked asphalt.

  Beside her, Travis glanced at her embarrassed boyfriend standing several feet away from the damaged pavement.

  Well, there’s no disputing whose child she belongs to. You’re a better man than I, Dalara. Maybe you’re not as horrible as Peters leads everyone to believe.

  “Mini-Rodriguez—”

  “Celene. I’m not my mother.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Stop running up my repair bill. I rent here, you know.”

  “Every time you mention her, the demoness attacks someone else. Don’t do it around Aquarius and Aviere, or Limmy will get punished. You don’t need somebody else blessed with dark visions without a way to change the future.”

  Travis stared at the dirty silver Focus further in the parking lot, unsure of how to comfort the indignant woman standing beside Limere. Before being caught in awkward silence, Travis busied himself and widened his pacing to get to the Focus faster.

  “I’m sorry you’re having a hard time being thrown into Aviere’s life, but when you’re in our line of work—or with the government, I should say—there is no privacy,” she called. “However, there’s no point in arguing over shit you and Limmy can’t change, so let’s hurry to Aquarius. She’s the cartel’s most recent test subject and might explode if we don’t deliver supplies to the safe house.”

  The agent turned at Celene’s clipped tone. “Explode? What the hell’s in this drug?”

  “My sister’s poisoned blood.”

  “There’s the missing piece,” Travis muttered as he entered the Focus, rolling down the window after Limere pulled out his ornate silver box. “Mye’s avoiding everyone to get to Aquarius.”

  “You know what Sis’s blood does. Imagine if the wrong people market this thing. Aquarius should be able to fend it off—her regenerative properties give her a better chance.”

  “What the hell is Aquarius, Dalara?”

  “A three-hundred-year-old vampire.”

  The agent revved the accelerator as he sped from the parking lot, only realizing afterward that he left Celene behind at the apartment complex. He caught chocolate-colored eyes glaring hatefully in his direction through the rear-view mirror. As he hurried, Travis’s stomach lurched, hoping he didn’t break speed limits racing through the city.

  He ignored Limere’s chuckles and focused on the road, trying to get Aviere’s patronizing voice out of his head. However, instead of words, Travis smelled Folgers coffee with his favorite creamer.

  Travis cursed under his breath, swore vengeance against the Poisoner for ruining his signature drink, and rubbed his sticky hands together as the speedometer reached sixty-five miles per hour. His queasy stomach settled once his mind centered on revenge tactics against his partner.

  After settling on the perfect plan, Travis grabbed the wheel and concentrated, lips widening in a wicked smirk at the idea of making Aviere squirm.

  Chapter Eleven

  Aviere’s earpiece crackled as she exited the Ferrari, holding her breath while remembering various details from the report she had skimmed an hour before.

  Her hands shook as she reached for her handbag, and the weight of the modified Beretta-turned-air gun against her hip partially reassured her. Behind her back rested the .45 Smith and Wesson, virtually forgotten until she moved to adjust her handbag against her shoulder. She counted the bullets in each weapon before checking her sleeves, discharging a tense sigh when lock picks and slim vials rested in their makeshift holders.

  However, Aviere bared her canines once she smelled the rancid odors and waved a hand over her sensitive nose.

  Sunglasses protect against vampires, but Summer Watson’s not your typical vampire, Vi. Religious to a fault, she developed a resistance to holy methods. Find a stake or something. You’re here to take their samples and destroy her, even if she’s Limere’s “friend”.

  She rubbed a gloved hand against Jet’s metal body and sniffed again, wrinkling her nose once she identified burnt flesh. Aviere tightened her lips while sifting through the abandoned wooden lumber, determined to draw her perfect weapon. Before swallowing bile, Aviere reached for the debris, chuckling when she found a collection of makeshift stakes.

  I guess Chelsea thought the same thing. For once, I agree with her. Never trust a vampire.

  After careful inspection, the Poisoner clenched a stake, her cerulean eyes darkening the longer she smelled the decaying bodies and felt the humidity pushing through the domed port. She proceeded toward the double-gated doors, kicked them apart, and huffed after the extensive effort.

  Aviere rested a hand on her thigh and inhaled deep mouthfuls of contaminated air, fighting away nausea as a fiery breeze swept past her body.

  The cartel has never burned bodies before. What kind of results are frightful enough to hide the evidence? Is it like the results I found in my laboratory? If so, it explains Donahue’s sudden fascination with marketing this drug.

  Leather creaked as Aviere tightened her grip on the stake and focused on the surrounding scenery. The lack of guards chilled her, despite the heat from the large pyres. When Aviere glanced toward one display, she counted several bodies stacked on top of each other. Despite the smoke’s attempt to limit her investigation, she endured the burning sensation as it dried out her eyes.

  Once her regular vision blurred, Aviere relied on her feline senses, shifting her eyes as they teared. After her vision cleared, Aviere gasped, noticing vivid details as the bodies started charring.

  The discolored flesh didn’t bother her. She expected bluish-green lines from where some victims struggled. However, Aviere’s eyes paused on a solitary victim lying on their back. She noticed the way the hairless person’s stomach split apart, exposing a hollow stomach cavity.

  Goddammit! It exploded, like a parasite escaping its host!

  Aviere closed her eyes and reeled, lightheadedness caused from the swift vision change and the flames dancing higher than she expected. Once the dizziness passed, she opened her eyes, blinking away the moisture from forcing her eyes closed.

  The image of the victim stayed embedded in her mind, she shuddered from the unexpected heat wave passing through her body.

  I can’t see any further because of the flames! Poor people, victimized by a cartel pretending to play God.

  She wiped the sweat from her forehead and rushed past the pyre, brandishing the stake until her fingers hurt. Sky-blue eyes flashed back and forth for any open warehouse bays or sheds until she remembered how Limere had traveled while running the cartel years ago.

  Ships! Lim, you goddamn genius, I forgot about the ships! But which one would Chelsea choose—the cruise ships or the cargo barges?

  The fire crackled, the sweltering heat fogged her glasses, and smoke obscured the area. Aviere’s face flushed, despite her freezing extremities from her illness. The hand carrying her makeshift weapon covered her nose as she barreled through the port, lungs screaming for fresh air as she breathed in each contaminated lungful.

  She didn’t find any relief from the smoke inhalation, but instead caught sight of a long pearly white and blue cruise ship anchored at one port. Two lampposts illuminated where the ship sat, as its light wavered through the sooty smoke that hovered in the atmosphere.

  Screw it, Vi. Run inside, breathe for a few minutes and search again. You told no one where you were headed. It’ll be at least an hour before Travis or Neu
ro even realize you’re gone.

  The handbag thudded against her back as Aviere bolted toward the ship, but she dismissed it after launching herself over the locked fence. Her claws impaled the sheet-metal barrier as she hurried, panting the higher she rose from the smoke. After leaping from the ten-foot fence, she carried on, cursing after discovering no gangplank to guide her inside.

  There has to be a way inside. I’m not keen on swimming through the Inner Harbor, especially without a change of clothes. Goddammit, my head aches. Maybe I should have waited, but there’s no point in lamenting now.

  Aviere raised her upper lip and growled after noticing the stinging scrapes against her fingertips. The thought of scaling a cruise ship for a hunch and possibly falling into water caused a series of cold chills through her arms and neck. She fought another wave of vertigo before turning her head to the polluted Patapsco River, debating whether it was worth ruining her clothes to cool her flushed body, or if she should continue sneaking onto the ship.

  Her muscles cramped as she rocked back and forth, fanning herself and losing track of her thoughts. Blood pounded in her temples, ears, and jugular vein. Her mouth turned into an ashen wasteland as her tongue stuck to the roof of it.

  Vi, this is one situation you can’t continue alone. When you told Cray you’d investigate, you didn’t anticipate burning corpses.

  “For once, I wish I waited,” Aviere said, groaning and coughing while she fanned herself using her soaked cotton shirt. “Swimming with the fishes isn’t ideal.”

  “You can’t go a full twenty-four hours without mischief, hellcat.”

  Aviere jumped at the voice snickering in amusement inside her right ear, accompanied by banging keys and ice inside a metal cup. “I didn’t—”

  “Whatever trouble you got into, stay still until Keith arrives. Your brother tagged along and they left his overbearing woman at the apartment. She kicked in his door, by the way… and ruined Travis’s comfortable leather couch.”