Page 37 of White Wings of Desire

"Yes."

"And you said gang rape, that means there was more than one perpetrator?"

"I don't know the exact number and who, but yes."

"And they're still out there, alive?"

"As far as I know, only Mr. Williams, as the organizer, had a target on his back."

I gag and shove her away, storming out of the aviary. I can't hold it in anymore; the taste of bile fills my mouth, and as soon as I step out the door, my stomach cramps and the contents force their way out.

"Noah!" Her voice reaches me, but only as a faint whisper in the distance.

Hunched over, I hold on to the mesh wall, my breathing ragged, my chest tight as if my lungs were giving up on me. The soft touch of her hands on my cheeks startles me. She forces my head to look at her, her forehead leaning against mine.

"Breathe with me," she says, taking a deep breath, and I copy her. It takes a few attempts before I'm able to form another coherent thought. Her arms wrap tightly around my stomach. Lifting my hand, I rub my eyes, trying to wipe the tension from my face.

Fuck.

"I'm honestly not surprised at all," Kyle says, standing next to me, holding onto the back of my chair, and leaning forward, balancing himself on my desk with his other hand. Our eyes are on the screen of my laptop in front of us, which shows information about Mr. Williams and his shady business. After Evelyn told me all about her last job, I decided to do my own research on the man, and to no one's surprise, he had been involved. He may not have participated in the actual deed, but he lavishly funded his sons' parties and made sure there were no legal repercussions.

I nervously drum my index finger on the space bar of my laptop, thinking about what to do. Skimming through the text messages on screen from people attending these parties and seeing the thumbnails of the videos they share makes my blood boil. After my initial panic attack in front of Evelyn–which I wasn't ready to explain to her–my anxiety has been replaced by nothing but primal rage. My fingers itch to grab one of my machine guns and kill everyone involved.

"Are you listening?” I jump at the warm sensation of Kyle's hand touching my shoulder. My other hand reaches for my chest, but I'm not wearing my holster tonight.

"Yeah, sorry, it's just a lot for me to digest," I say, rubbing my eyes through my lids.

"I figured." He squeezes my shoulder before he lets go and leans forward, scrolling through the many pages of documents. He knows not to push the topic. He's been through everything with me and doesn't need any more explanations. "Does she know you're doing this?" His voice draws me back, and I open my eyes to a collection of pictures of Evelyn that Mr. Williams sent me on the screen.

"No, she doesn't. I usually go to my office at night when she is asleep."

"So she's in your bed right now, probably wearing the bare minimum of clothing," Kyle says with a devilish grin on his face. "And you would rather spend your time with me in your office? I am flattered, really, but I think you got your priorities all messed up," he teases.

"Shut up," I warn, pushing him out of the way before getting up and walking around my desk to the small coffee table with a tray holding a bottle of whiskey and glasses.

"How are things going with her anyway?" he asks, dropping into my chair and rocking back and forth.

I pour myself a glass of whiskey and down it in one go. "Good, she is getting more comfortable every day. She recently asked me to decorate the house a bit. She says it's too dark and needs to be changed if she's going to be here longer."

"Hold on a second, she's decorating your house?" Kyle bursts out laughing. "She's been here for what, three weeks, tops?" He shakes his head, the amusement at the situation written all over his face. "You really are a wimp, man. You made her the boss of the house in no time."

I hide my smile behind the rim of my second drink. "I'll do anything to keep her here. If she wants to redecorate, sure. I don't care. As long as she's here with me, my house is her house," I say, and I see Kyle roll his eyes at my explanation.

"You really love this chick, don't you?"

I fall silent for a moment, letting his words sink in. Do I love her?

"I don't know. I never learned what love should feel like or what it really is. I can read about it and watch movies all I want, but I don't think I'll ever really understand it."

"You're not supposed to understand love; it's supposed to be complicated," Kyle says with a grin. "What do you feel when you see her?"

"It is strongest in the morning when I wake up and see her sleeping next to me. It feels like my heart stops beating for a second, and my chest feels tight and warm. My stomach feels queasy, like I have a stomach bug, but a good kind of stomach bug." I try to explain, not sure if any of my words make any sense.

"Sounds like you're either on drugs, or you're falling in love."

"I don't do drugs other than alcohol and cigarettes."

"Which means that Noah Philip Holman, the infamous White Dove Killer, is in love," Kyle says. "That I get to experi–" The loud sound of shattering glass cuts him off. Kyle and I both jerk our heads towards the door. While I raise my eyebrows in confusion. Kyle grins from ear to ear. "I guess your dove overheard our little conversation," he says with a mocking tone.

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