Page 64 of Violent Skies

“I’d almost rather them try,” I snap as I move around and stare at the table. “The waiting, the questions. It’s hell.” It’s tearing us apart.

Pictures of Cress’s house, surveillance of Birdie’s car during the attack, the blood samples from the impounded car, or the matching tattoos on the bodies… none of it makes sense.

“The blood didn’t match with anyone?” I asked and Murphy shook his head.

“Came back clean. I ran it twice through the department's system, and once through the hospital system after Cress realized he was there that night and still nothing.” He sighs, shoving his glasses off his face and into his hair.

“So he’s a ghost.”

“No one's a ghost,” Murphy grumbles, insulted, and moves back to his computer. The pressure of finding the root of the problem is weighing on him and it shows. He’s been wearing the same t-shirt for three days, and his desk is piled with garbage and dishes. Cress brings him food and eventually takes the plates away, but Murphy’s barely moved from his chair even to sleep. It’s guilt from what happened to his siblings. He feels responsible for not figuring it out before someone got hurt again.

“So what now?” Birdie asks.

“There’s a meet up tonight,” Jesse says. “He could go, put our ears to the ground.”

“You think they’re surveilling the races?” I ask him, trying to follow his train of thought.

“Don’t see how they wouldn’t be. If they wanted to stay up to date on the crowd, on all of us…” Jesse suggests, “they’d have to be around.”

“He’s right. The meet ups are in CCTV free zones, everything is shut down on purpose. If they wanted to keep tabs on us they’d have to be there.” Birdie nods. “Where’s Cress?”

“Why?” I eye her.

“She’s the only one that’s come in contact with all three. Only one is dealt with. We need her help and her memory.” Birdie is off before I can tell her how bad of an idea it is and truthfully, as much as I hate it, now would be a great time for Cress to put that brain to use.

“Stay close,” I tell her as she climbs from the passenger of the Mustang into the open air parking garage. I want to slip my hand into hers, but in public that’s not an option. There’s too many eyes on us and I can’t risk anything else tipping our stalkers over the edge.

She’s in a pair of tight jeans and a tank top that definitely belongs to Birdie, but her hair is loose around her face and curlier than usual. It makes my fingertips itch to touch her. It’s busy here today, there’s more bodies and cars than I’ve ever seen before and it makes me nervous but I hold my head high and ignore the sense of dread that creeps up my spine.

Rafe and Birdie split off toward a group of guys and start to chat with them as Cress slips in between me and Murphy casually against the hood of the car.

“I’m starting to get used to this,” she says after a beat, her eyes moving across the crowd, scanning for anyone she might know. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” she adds after neither of us comment. Murphy chuckles, turning his head slightly to look at her.

“Both,” he agrees. “We’re glad you're back.” At least that makes one of them. Rafe has Birdie on edge and I understand why. When Cress left, she did it with a bang. She slammed every single door on her way out and came close to burning it all down. For good reason, of course. The man she loved and trusted had died. Every time she looked at us she saw that betrayal, all those secrets. I would have run too.

But I couldn’t.

That’s the difference that bothers Rafe. We could do the worst possible thing in his eyes and he’d find a way to excuse it because we’re family. It’s the one thing he adopted from Koa that I never saw as a negative. His loyalty was violent, messy, and loud—but it was loyalty to us, to our name and our home. Sometimes I just had to help him balance the rage that threatened to tip the scales into chaos.

This time is harder though. I look at Cress and she’s talking quietly to Murphy while she continues her focused glances out into the crowd. It would be easier to help Rafe if I wasn’t also trying to help Cress. Maybe I was blind to her faults, and maybe I always have been but in my eyes she did nothing wrong here. She just needed space.

I knew she’d come back one day.

Jesse settles into our group and is texting away on his phone, no doubt corresponding with Jake. If anyone knows a face that doesn’t belong, it’s him. He never misses a meet up.

“There.” She sits up a little straighter and my head lolls to the side to see what has caught her attention. “In the dark satin button up, the lopsided mustache,” she says, and Murphy pulls out his phone to run a check. Jesse lifts his phone, clicks twice and then sends another text. “It’s him.”

Her bottom lip trembles even though she tries to hide it and I can see the fear swimming around behind her hardened gaze. She’s trying to be tough and it eats away at me in the most violent of ways.

“Could be,” Murphy gives me a nod, “the mustache is pretty ugly.”

“Jake says that guy has only been around the last little while, never races,” Jesse adds.

I smile slowly. Everyone else has had a chance to work out some aggression on these assholes, except me. I look over my shoulder at Rafe and nod in the direction of the guy. His eyes trail across the crowd before he locks on the guy we’re all watching. He excuses himself and Birdie is quick to notice, her steps falling in line with his as they circle back through the crowd to the edge of the event.

“Stay here,” I say and Murphy doesn’t flinch, he just slides closer to Cress.

“What are you going to do?” she asks as I slip out of my jacket and throw it through the open window onto the passenger seat. I pop the glove compartment and stuff my gun into the back of my jeans, throwing my shirt over it as I straighten out.