Page 8 of Violent Skies

Rafe leans over the couch and inspects the cut on Cress’s face with a grimace, “that might be infected,” he whispers and she pushes him away with a hand.

Murphy sinks into the recliner and once they’re all settled, she tells them what she told me. When she finishes, they all sit in silence for a few minutes. I can see more questions stirring around in their heads, Murphy’s fingers tap around his coffee cup and Rafe stares at me like he’s already thought of every bad thing that could have happened to her.

Going into the jobs, we all knew the risks. We understood the danger of the contracts. But this is different. This is Cress.

“Tashi is a pussy.” Birdie is the first to speak.

“Don’t,” I stop her. “Don’t use his name.”

“He’s not Beetlejuice, Riggs. He’s not going to appear if you say it three times.” Birdie scoffs.

“He might,” Rafe says, he looks nauseous.

“We don’t know if it’s them, Cress only remembers that name. It could be one of a hundred people he owed money to,” I say and Murphy hums in agreement.

“So what do we do?” Rafe asks, his fingers curling around the back of the couch. “It’s not like we have a spare half a million lying around.”

“You want to give them the money?” Cress blurts.

“It’s that or they kill you,” Birdie says quietly and something passes between them. Cress is older than her, but not by much. When we were ten, Koa found Birdie on the side of the road in her car seat screaming her head off. She was barely two years old. He brought her into the garage, scared out his mind. Mom took care of her while she could but eventually Cress became attached and the rest was history. Birdie has always belonged to them, like a daughter in a hundred ways except for blood and name.

No—Birdie is a Monroe legally. Her name is on the adoption papers Mom signed three weeks before she died. But Birdie’s soul is tied to Cress.

“They said they wouldn’t,” she argues.

“It’s a tactic,” I interject. “They wanted you scared, desperate for protection. Willing to do anything.”

“Including show up here,” Cress whispers under her breath.

“Lucky for you, I don’t think they’ve figured that part out yet,” Murphy offers. “If they had, they’d be here. You didn’t exactly drive something inconspicuous.”

Koa’s Cuda sits in the open garage door, damp from the rain and drying in the sun.

“So not Tashi,” Rafe says, catching on to what Murphy is laying down.

“If he wanted something from us, he’d just demand it. You know him, he’s not a coward, despite the fancy insult.” He looks at Birdie with a smile. “I think we’re dealing with something else.”

“Someone else,” I correct. “But who, and what the hell do they want with Cress?”

“I can get the book,” Cress offers, “but it doesn’t solve the money issue. I don’t have that kind of cash.”

“None of us do,” Rafe says tightly, his eyes passing over the group.

“We can leverage the shop. The house…” I suggest, and they all look at me like I’ve gone insane. “It might be enough.”

“No,” Murphy is the first to say it. “This is our home.”

“It’s her life,” I counter, and he chews on it for a moment before nodding.

“I’m not rolling over and letting them take our house, or the garage.” Birdie stands, her hands shaking at her side. “We race.”

“No,” I don’t hesitate.

“Racing is the answer.” Birdie snaps back.

“We don’t do that anymore,” I remind her, and for a good reason.

“Why?” Birdie pushes. “Because you said so?”