Page 27 of Violent Skies

I nod, hearing her loud and clear. Murphy and Jesse slam into the bathroom, skidding to a stop at the sight of the body.

“Good on ya, Bird,” Jesse praises and holds out his hand to me. “We should skedaddle before the blue suits make an appearance.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to deal with cops,” Murphy confirms. I take Jesse’s hand and step down from the toilet seat, and he helps me as I gingerly step over the body.

“Wait!” I tug out of his grasp as we start to move from the bathroom and turn back to the body, careful to avoid the blood but start to rifle through his pockets. There’s a card inside and a small black flip phone.

Murphy takes both from me and we slip out the back door, completely unbothered by the mass chaos still happening on the dance floor. We’re barely in the cars and on the move when flashing police lights illuminate the buildings around the club to bring the small riot to a halt.

Birdie looks back at me from the front seat and it’s like dealing with our problem awakened something in her chest because the light is back in her eyes and she smiles at me gently.

I hate that Koa would be proud.

Ihear Murphy’s car before I see it, and the sound of Jesse laughing at something Birdie says cuts through me like a hot knife. I throw the box down in my arms and turn toward the garage door as they barrel through it with smiles on their faces.

Murphy is next, and I can tell by the way he’s dressed that they were out somewhere. That’s not surprising. What does shock me is Cress. She’s wearing something out of Birdie’s closet—I can tell because it’s molded to her body like it was painted on. It’s black, glittery, and pushes her chest up, exposing more than she ever does.. Her hair is around her face in curls and I’m instantly distracted by the sight of her. My eyes rake over her: same long legs, same strong hips and curves.

“What the hell is that?” I point to her arm where a nasty bruise forms in the shape of fingerprints.

“A war wound.” Birdie grabs a few beers from the small fridge and hands them out before sinking into the old couch beside Jesse as Murphy moves toward his laptop. Her fingers pick at the label of the bottle, and I can see the dark, dried blood beneath her nails.

“Excuse me?” My head snaps to Murphy and then back to Cress.

“We found one of them,” Cress says gently, sliding over the arm of the chair Rafe is sitting in and crosses her arms over her chest.

“You found one of them and…” I step forward, mimicking her movements.

“Cress found a recording of the guy fleeing from the hospital, Birdie recognized him from the Soundwave so we went…” Murphy tells the story so confidently until I start to walk in his direction with absolute confusion on my face.

“You just went to the club? Downtown, in an area we have no control over—and you took her?” I groan. “Are you fucking insane?” I turn the anger toward Birdie who is completely unbothered.

“I’m not. Birdie presented a solution to our problem, we acted on it.” Her voice is calm and cool. It’s unusual and I don’t recognize it.

“And where is the problem now?” I ask carefully, focusing on the garage. The chaos of the old structure is frozen in time: never changing on me, never doing anything behind my back. It’s a safe space that slowly becomes corrupt in the face of everything going on.

“Probably halfway to the city morgue.” Birdie smiles, proud of herself.

“Stupid,” I sigh. “Please tell me you at least got something out of this?”

“We did, actually—a lot,” Murphy cuts in. He brings his laptop over from the desk cradled in his arm as he adjusts his glasses on his face with the other. “This guy isn’t some low level crook, he’s got hands in everything. I’m also sixty percent sure he shouldn’t have been using this phone for business. It’s not encrypted, so I started searching through the code and...”

“English, Murph,” Rafe instructs for the benefit of us all.

“It’s a corner store burner,” he clips quickly before turning back to the screen. “He makes the same call three times a day to the same number.”

“What does that mean?” Cress asks, fidgeting in the tight dress.

“The number on the other end is a weird area code. It’s registered to a guy named Malosi.” Murphy’s eyes scan the page quickly, his brain moving faster than his mouth.

“Anyone?” I look between Birdie and Rafe but neither recognize it.

“You? It’s Samoan.”

“I’m Māori, you cunt,” Jesse scowls. “There’s a crew that’s been messing with people,” he says hesitantly.” They’re in everything. They stole a run from Westfall two weeks ago and he’s been shaking people down trying to figure it out.”

“And you didn’t think to tell any of us?” I ask.

“In my defense, you’ve been out of the game. I only found out you were active because Birdie called for help. So nah, Riggs.” Jesse shrugs. I can’t argue with his logic and it pisses me off even more than I already am.