Turbulence: Book One in The Renegades Saga

by E. M. Whittaker

  “Business.” Jemina rested on her tiptoes and used Aviere’s shoulders for balance. “See you arrived for meeting. I’ll be outside—keep Travis company. Marco and Martinez—they rile Travis for fun.”

  Aviere’s temple throbbed, adding to the twinging pain. “I explained matters to Marco.”

  “They fierce, possessive. Good, strapping boys.” Jemina’s last sentence dipped to a sultry tone. “Man, Marco—”

  “Jemina, stop ogling Marco and head outside,” Aviere ordered. “And refrain from fighting with Travis. You create enough arguments with Limere.”

  Angry clomps signaled Jemina’s departure, but her voice carried through the bar. “Limere have break, Aviere! But whatever, puta!”

  When the double glass doors slammed closed, Evelyn snorted before fetching a pipe from her charcoal latex purse. “If I didn’t trust Jem, Mye—”

  “I’m surprised you do.” Cerulean eyes flitted toward a tall, graceful man moving behind the bar. “Jemina’s only worth trusting for specific situations. I never know where Jemina stands, considering our fragile relationship.”

  “We’ll see, Aviere Mye.”

  Ice clanked behind Evelyn and Aviere sniggered when finding the mysterious man’s twinkling indigo eyes. He tweaked his black goatee before passing a hand through styled jet-black hair. A checkered blue and white tie stood out among the leather vest and long ebony dress shirt, accenting the indigo eyes resting on Aviere.

  Louis Armandi. Still a sharp-minded fellow with an impeccable fashion sense. No wonder Armandi became Maurice’s idol.

  The businessman turned bartender moved with confidence, navigating through glasses and bottles like a hardened pro. Within a minute, Armandi produced four glasses with differing liquids. He slid a Bloody Mary in Evelyn’s direction, meticulous about not spilling the precious liquid.

  Aviere chuckled when Evelyn sipped, murmuring in appreciation.

  “Divine, Louis. But should Mye meet you?” Evelyn dangled her drink between manicured fingers. “There’s a contract from Vinny McSeeten. It’s common knowledge Vinny hired Mye as his hitman.”

  “Excuse me!” Aviere’s eyes enlarged as she dropped her jaw and slammed a hand over her chest. “Vinny’s tracked me, ruined my home, and hired guns to blow up my vehicle. But I never met Vinny McSeeten, Evelyn. In fact, I’m going after him.”

  “Aviere, Evelyn’s like Jemina.” Armandi poured slushy, pink liquid inside a wine glass before shoving it in Aviere’s direction. “They love to agitate people. Effective, but I expect you to act with dignity.”

  The dozing man lifted his head and rubbed sleep from bloodshot hazel eyes. “Armandi, I’m sure Mye’s stressed. You ordered this meeting after the poor girl underwent surgery and killed Harrow Aravice.”

  Aviere continued to study Sebastian as he watched her, spotting crease lines on the man’s forehead and cheeks. He reads like a typical college kid. Jeans, cotton black tee—even nerdy, boxy glasses. But Sebastian denounced the family business. So why—

  “Aviere Mye, you performed a remarkable service,” Sebastian continued. “I’m not ecstatic about returning to Baltimore, but Gregory Trenabour would be honored. Dad thought you a fine cleaner and was disheartened when Dalara forced you to surrender your position as donna.”

  All these people praising me… it’s painful. Still, a little gratitude wouldn’t hurt, Vi. Just accept their solemn declarations and Armandi will demand private time.

  “Thank you. Limere wasn’t the entire reason I left Central Baltimore.” Aviere fought against clutching the peridot in front of her other employers. She settled for jamming a fist in her pocket, relieved by the cool metal blowgun against her gloved hand again. “But Trenabour advocated for my eviction. So did Irving and Rutherford.”

  “Dalara sold drugs in their territory.”

  The Poisoner growled under her breath, strangling the snide comment she almost flung at Evan Donahue.

  “Evan, Evelyn, Sebastian—I think you’ve made your points,” Armandi said. “Thank you for visiting, but I’ll converse with Mye in private. I’ll find you after our meeting.”

  “Louis, Mye brought her federal agent,” Evan interjected. “You never allow police or feds near the Mistress.”

  “Evan, this is a delicate situation. If Evelyn’s holding her tongue, you should as well. Besides, I talked with Agent Travis. He’s one of Sanderson’s men—as is Aviere. I asked him to escort Aviere today.”

  Aviere smirked when Evelyn shattered her Bloody Mary on the counter. Broken glass littered the ground and along the granite. Precious red liquid coated her phone, dripped down the bar, and stained the wooden floor, trickling inside Evelyn’s merlot heel.

  As Evelyn removed her shoe, a rigid pointy finger waved in Aviere’s direction.

  “Mye?! I thought Dalara lied so I’d assist him!” The Vulture recoiled after noticing her cell phone coated with alcohol. “Shit, I just bought this phone a week ago!”

  “Limere told the truth for once,” Aviere said, brushing stringy hair behind an ear. “But yes, Lowell Sanderson. Ruthless bastard. Holds no qualms for human life, even the associates working underneath him.” She stepped away from the dripping Bloody Mary and strode between Sebastian and Evelyn, splaying her palms against smooth granite. “Louis, you’re acquainted with Sanderson. Send the others out and we’ll discuss our options.”

  “Feisty bitch,” Evan retorted behind Aviere. “You still bark orders like you’re running Central Baltimore, Aviere Mye.”

  “I’ll take Central Baltimore again, Evan,” Aviere promised, narrowing her eyes at Armandi’s mischievous twinkle. “You don’t deserve half the resources you gained. My husband’s businesses belong to me and I’m sure you’ve ruined my empire with drug hustling.”

  Aviere stopped when Armandi’s nose practically pressed against hers. “Enough, Aviere. Stop arguing with Evan. Your quarrels aren’t welcome inside my establishment.” From her side view, Armandi gestured toward the exit. “Evan, remain here with Sebastian and Evelyn. Help yourselves, but no more broken glasses, understood?”

  “Armandi, Mye’s a cleaner.” Distress laced Evan’s voice. “I know Mye. She’s damn good at covert killing—on par with her posse.”

  “Evan, Aviere’s not foolish. I knew about your feud prior to meeting. But Aviere won’t execute me. I have something she wants.”

  “Louis, I don’t trust Mye.” Evelyn flounced out of her barstool and snatched the black parasol sitting next to the stool. “She’s hostile to my cousin over a fucking dead man, one which—”

  “Evelyn, I don’t tolerate Jemina’s bullshit, and I won’t tolerate yours,” Aviere warned, drumming her fingers until they ached. “Jemina’s earned the right to bitch about Gunther, considering he was her best friend. So, before I lose my temper, withdraw your statement.”

  “I told Limere helping you wasn’t a good idea,” Evelyn spat, tossing the parasol over her shoulder. “I don’t understand how Jem or Limere tolerate your entitled attitude. But then, Gunther showered you with attention and gifts, Jemina said. Even now, my cousin’s jealous you stole her man.”

  “If you hadn’t taken Eisen’s place, I’d kick your ass,” Aviere said, hissing after her sentence. “I said this discussion’s off limits, Evelyn.”

  The parasol opened, and the sharpened blade rested an inch away from Aviere’s chest. “My, my. I wonder if you’ll act on your threat about reclaiming Central Baltimore from Evan. That I’d pay to see. But don’t threaten me, hellcat. I can pierce your throat before you claw me.”

  Well, we’ve went from Latino brawling to dueling in the feudal era, Aviere mused, drawing shallow breaths to avoid Evelyn’s blade. Christ, I should’ve let Travis accompany me, but he’d shoot Evelyn and create more complications.

  “Might be a blessing,” Aviere muttered, planting two fingers against her forehead. “Christ, this week’s been exhausting.”

  “Consider sparing your life a favor for eliminating Eisen’s killer.” S
teel retracted and Evelyn’s lips extended in an evil smirk. “But the next time you attract unwanted attention, I’ll come after you myself.”

  “I’m amazed you didn’t set up the contract, Evelyn. I assumed you hired the assassin.”

  Aviere steeled herself when Evelyn’s grin expanded. “The thought crossed my mind, but Jemina wanted the honor. She declared if she couldn’t, no one else should either. But then, you’re too proud to thank Jem. She’s saved you for years, along with her sweet wolfman.” Evelyn nudged Sebastian and cast a remorseful expression. “Sorry, but come outside with me. We’ll watch Jem—see if she riles up the agent into being naughty and sneaking inside. You too, Evan.”

  “No killing,” Armandi warned. “I hate dealing with Sanderson and I’ve exercised enough restraint with him.”

  Aviere’s eyes drifted around the bar and she bowed to Sebastian when he mumbled an apology for his colleague’s behavior. As they took off, Sebastian mouthed a silent thank you before allowing Evan to usher him outside. The youthful man brushed blond hair from his face and pulled it into a ponytail, earning a snicker from Evan.

  Sebastian rolled his eyes, straightened his trench coat and waved to Armandi, ducking when Evan shoved him aside.

  After Sebastian left the Tethered Mistress, Evan lingered and pointed two fingers at Aviere before kicking the door shut, snarling something vulgar under his breath.

  One day, I’ll wipe the sneer off Donahue’s face, Aviere vowed, clenching a fist before locking her jaw. I’ll discover a way to make Donahue—

  “Aviere, sit. Don’t crack any glasses and stop getting pissy when people mention your dead husband.”

  “He’s not dead,” Aviere insisted, following Armandi’s order. “Gunther’s alive somewhere and I’ll find him.” She pitched forward until her elbows bore her upper weight. “But we have other matters to discuss.”

  “Wait until I start the jammer before you begin,” Armandi said, pushing a switch on his right side. “The last thing you need is Lowell Sanderson targeting your new sponsor.”

  “I haven’t agreed to anything, Louis.” Aviere eyed the delicate pink drink, unharmed by Evelyn’s fury. “What makes you assume I’ll consider, anyway?”

  “Aviere, I’m the only person capable of supporting your crusade against Lowell Sanderson. My offer isn’t just sponsorship… it’s about retribution for all the misery Sanderson’s caused your family. They’re not the only victims of Sanderson’s power.” A miniature black felt box drifted on the counter top. “But Myra was important to me. Your father ran away when Myra passed and left you and Limere alone.”

  She nodded and snagged the box, hands trembling as she spotted the personal object inside.

  “The jamming device is active, Aviere. Now, if you’re finished lamenting over Myra’s wedding ring, close the box and we’ll examine our options. You can instruct Agent Travis if you wish, but the weasel human is to remain oblivious.”

  Aviere laughed and savored the mixed drink. “Neuro. Agent Neuro, Louis. But weasel’s just as appropriate. Weasels are neurotic, too.”

  “No first name for the efficient agent, Aviere?”

  The Poisoner scowled as she swallowed sloshed ice. “Neuro fired five bullets in my hospital room. He doesn’t deserve a first or last name until he earns my respect. But don’t sour my strawberry daiquiri by mentioning Neuro, Louis. A few hours reprieve should be enjoyed, not tarnished.”

  Aviere almost spit her drink when Armandi snorted in response. “Fair enough. Now, let’s begin.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Peters, Mye’s been inside the Tethered Mistress for three hours and I can’t pinpoint any suspicious activity,” Travis complained, shuffling his feet as he leaned against Aviere’s Ferrari. “Everyone’s on edge. Evelyn Rodriguez stopped throwing a tantrum and fled in a limousine with two strange men. I can’t find Mye’s brother or her bodyguards. Hell, I’d take Rodriguez’s bitching over waiting with nothing to do.”

  “Stop whining, Travis. Armandi blocked the frequency on Mye’s bracelet.” Annoyance laced Peters’ voice. “Stupid bitch keeps outwitting me. We’re supposed to share information, damn it!”

  Sweat dribbled down Travis’ neck as he removed the trench coat, cramming it through the half-open window. He gazed at the spacious parking lot and marveled over its natural landscape, compared to other establishments underground. While Aviere’s shop was in an area comprised of dirt streets and damp air, Armandi’s Tethered Mistress could pass for an ordinary bar in Baltimore City. Even the air seemed sweet compared to the metropolis’ smoggy and muggy environment.

  But the bar didn’t disturb Travis—it was how Armandi hid valuable information from them.

  Travis used his Motorola as a mirror, frowning at the time his collar displayed. Quickly, the agent shoved the phone in his wrinkled dress pants, stomach gurgling at the smell of hamburgers from inside the building.

  Jesus, Mye, hurry. Maybe we can grab lunch before deciding what to do.

  “Peters, do you know anything else about Louis Armandi?” Travis asked, holding in breath to block out the smell of juicy hamburgers and cheddar cheese wafting through the air.

  “No, but I learned something interesting.” Travis noted how Peters’ voice rose while his pitch quickened. “Mye planted a rumor about racing this evening and Rodriguez spread word throughout Charm City to lure McSeeten. She’s forced our hand and I don’t know where this competition’s taking place. When I called Rodriguez, she called me a scum-sucking leech and hung up.”

  Shit, Mye. Couldn’t you wait a day before planning McSeeten’s downfall, or did Maurice’s near-death experience awaken your inner donna?

  “She was asleep in the hospital, Travis! How the hell did Mye plan anything!?”

  Between Mye’s plotting and Peters’ bitching, I’m surprised I haven’t killed myself, Lyssa.

  Hairs lifted on Travis’ neck as he pondered Armandi’s actions. “She didn’t, Peters. Armandi met me in the hospital. He mentioned Sanderson’s involvement with Mye’s condition. He probably installed jamming devices to prevent Sanderson from interfering.” Hazel eyes rested on the hefty Latina sauntering his way, flustered in her navy business suit. “Peters, Rodriguez owns a business suit.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. The Black Widow’s wearing a modest business suit.” Travis tipped the cowboy hat with an index finger while an analytical expression played on his face. “Rodriguez doesn’t look cheap, Peters. She looks respectable—almost like a bank teller.”

  Jemina banged a heel against the blacktop and shoved hands on her broad hips. “Bank teller, my ass. Only dressed because of Vulture. Evelyn hate misrepresentation. Stressed about clean appearances and such.”

  She listens to Evelyn Rodriguez, but ignores Wolfman? Now I can’t gauge which person’s scarier, Lyssa. I thought Wolfman was Mye’s muscle, but if Rodriguez—Jesus, Rodriguez doesn’t need more lipstick.

  Travis remained impassive but recoiled when Jemina puckered her thick lips together. He caught chocolate eyes peering upward before applying another layer.

  “Rodriguez, stop making kissing gestures. The business suit deters from offering sexual services.”

  The tube of plum-colored lipstick pressed into Travis’ nose. Shivering from its texture, the agent removed the make-up from his sweaty skin.

  “Travis, Mye meet with Armandi for three hours. Wish I got Armandi for sponsor. Lucky puta.”

  “Puta?”

  “Bitch.” The English word sounded butchered, almost choppy. “Mye one lucky bitch. Though, I not shocked. She get everything. If Mye make shit into gold—”

  “If Mye had everything, she’d stop bitching about her husband,” Travis declared. “Everything she receives means nothing without getting close to her objective—even if the guy’s dead.”

  “Mye can’t.” Venom oozed from Jemina’s statement. “She weak. Everyone shield her—no one let Mye fall, get scrapes, break bones. She need tempering
before searching for him. That’d take years. Besides, everyone tell Mye to abandon silly dream. Woman chasing dead ghost. If anyone would find Gunther, I be first. I search longer than her.”

  The hostility runs deep, Travis thought as Jemina’s milky eyes turned frosty. Rodriguez’s conviction—she yearns for Mye’s spouse. It’s more than just good friends, like Mye claims. But that’s not my concern.

  “Are you seeking answers or a physical body?” Travis questioned.

  Darkened eyes shifted to narrowed slits. “Answers. Stop asking questions you wouldn’t understand, Keith Travis.”

  “Mye’s right, Rodriguez.” Travis snatched the Latina’s wrist and placed it behind her back. “You’re great at English when you need something or become pissed at somebody.”

  Her heel stomped down on Travis’ boot and he growled as he released Jemina’s wrist.

  “Even if I explain, Aviere’s not ready for the truth, Travis.” The accent dropped and Jemina’s tone dropped to a rumbling murmur. “I could tell you answers—explain our tragic story—but Aviere will understand if she examines herself.”

  Travis leaned against the Ferrari and gripped his aching foot. “What’s this about staging races so McSeeten will meet Mye?”

  “She acted. I just spread rumor, that’s all.” Jemina flicked her hand and a wave of ebony tresses flew from her wide shoulders. “I’m not doing Mye’s job, Travis. Helping’s one thing. She couldn’t tell contacts herself in Sistine Memorial Hospital. But catching Lil’ Vinny? Hell no. You took our case, so do your job.”

  “At least advise me where McSeeten’s meeting Mye, Rodriguez,” Travis ordered, contesting her tone. “Mye might ditch me. I’m tired of near heart attacks because the bitch gallivants through Charm City.”

  “I hope she succeeds, Travis. Someone needs to curb Aviere’s reckless behavior.” The Black Widow turned her back to Travis, and he took note of her rigid posture and trembling shoulders. “She usually listen to Joe, but no good. Think somewhere, Aviere believe Gunther will come back if she attract enough attention.”