Page 4 of Violent Skies

He clears his chest of the heat with a solid cough and sets the mug down. “I have class after lunch but I’ll get that stereo installed before I leave.”

“Don’t put anything in that he didn’t ask for, or didn’t pay for Murph.” I warn him and he wanders out of the house into the garage. When Birdie finally reappears, she’s in a T-shirt cut tight around her stomach and a pair of baggy cargo pants.

“He already installed an extra switch in that system,” she says as the door clicks closed.

“I know,” I groan, there’s no stopping him once he starts. It’s not even about customer service, it’s about him one upping himself. His intelligence will eventually eat him alive. The problem is we aren’t bringing in enough money for him to give away that crap. He refuses to look like an idiot—especially when he’s his own worst critic.

“Where’s Rafe?”

“In the shower.” She shrugs and grabs the mug that Murphy left on the counter to fill it for her own share of the black tar caffeine. “Bowie invited us to the Spider tonight, says she has news.”

“Yeah alright,” I agree, “all three engines gotta leave the shop though. We need that money,” I warn her and she nods, carrying the mug out the back door.

We don’t see Rafe for another two hours and he struts into the garage like he’s trying to impress someone. His hair is combed, button up shirt is loose around his torso and the beige pants he’s wearing are asking to be stained.

“How are you supposed to work in that?” I ask him, cleaning my hands on my towel to spare my jeans.

“Oh I have to go grab the shipment from Bobby and then I have a date.” He clicks his tongue at me and I want to rip it out of his mouth.

“Meet us at the bar later?” Birdie appears from the paint bay covered in hot pink and I try to remember the work orders we have to close. What the fuck called for that?

“The convertible we’re fixing for that Barbie doll, Murphy brought her in,” Birdie says like she can read my mind. “She’s paying us extra to get it done fast, you said we need the money.”

“Yeah just…” I wave my hand at her, looking back to argue with Rafe and he’s disappearing through the garage doors. By some miracle, the jobs get done before the storm hits, and I’m able to close up the shop while Birdie talks Murphy into drinking two nights in a row.

“Come on we can torture Jet and get them to make us frozen daiquiris?” She tugs on his jacket as he pulls it on.

“I need water, Bird. Water,” he stresses.

“There’s water in daiquiris.” The scoff that leaves her is annoyed and Murphy glances over his shoulder for assistance but I just shake my head.

I walk back to the office and flick on the light as the rain starts to beat down on the tin roof, blanketing the entire shop in white noise as I flip open the books. Everything’s red lately. No matter how fast we work, we’re drawing in bills.

“Time to get messy, Riggs.” I can hear him say it like he’s standing over my shoulder.

I can smell the oil of the cars running in the distance, can feel the vicious midnight air on my skin and taste the danger that once loomed. One run to Mexico would fix everything. Just one. You know the routes, the routines. I swallow and stare at the debt beneath my fingernails. There was a time when doing the wrong thing kept us in the green, but without Koa, I wouldn’t risk my siblings. He always knew what to do, and how to avoid getting caught. My family deserved to live life without the worry of sirens.

“Instead they worry about the electricity getting shut off,” his voice is cold in the back of my mind.

“Ghosts don’t fucking talk.” I slam the book closed and lean back in the office chair to stare at the ceiling until the memory of him fades into the rain. I fall asleep, I don’t know for how long but it doesn’t last, the thunder crashes across the roof and I’m startled awake.

The clock blinks like the power’s been cut, and I dig out my phone. Two a.m. I spin to look at the ratty couch against the back wall and consider sleeping in here instead of crawling back to the house for only a couple hours. I reach out to turn on the radio, hoping that some mindless music will lull me back to sleep. But there’s something in the silence, at first it sounds like thunder but I know that sound.

I’m out of my chair and down the rickety metal steps faster than I can take a breath. I burst out into the sheet of rain squinting my eyes in an attempt to see through the darkness when blinding lights come straight at me through the void. I know that vibration in my sleep, I’ve felt it in my bones. I step back as the car screeches to a halt and the engine rumbles in protest from the sudden stop.

“Koa?” I whisper, seeing the red Cuda for the first time in nearly two years.

“Riggs…” The voice that answers is pained, low and sweet. Always sweet. Cress steps from the driver’s side, her curly hair soaked and stuck to her bruised and battered face. “I didn’t know where else to go,” she breathes, and I watch her crumble to the gravel.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I yell over the engine and the thunder. I step forward, unsure if I’m even awake, as rain beats down on my shoulders. Cress is struggling to find her footing beside the loud car and she stares at me like I’m a nightmare.

“What about ‘I had nowhere else to go’ is escaping you right now?” She grunts.

The attitude’s the same. Good to know.

Pushing the cautious thoughts away I move across the driveway, careful not to step on her and reach into the Cuda to kill the engine. Turning back to her, I don’t wait for permission before pulling her off the ground and into my arms. She’s soaking wet and covered in bruises so large it’s hard to tell where one begins and another ends.

My heart pounds in my chest at the sight of her.