Page 15 of White Wings of Desire

"You better, or I will bring you back to life and kill you all over again."

Reading his files probably isn’t the smartest thing to do before bed, especially in my current situation. But ever since Riley sent me everything, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off the screen of my tablet. With a glass of wine and some snacks I settled down on my big white sofa, wrapped in a soft blanket. I flip through the document, reading each report with great concentration as a slow sitcom plays on the TV in the background.

We had a lot more about him than I thought we did. While we lack information on his identity, we did get a handful of documents about many of his jobs over the years. Mostly autopsy reports, including a number of photos of his victims. He has a liking for extensive torture. Even I, who has been in the business and seen a lot firsthand, feel sick to my stomach when I look at these pictures. Nausea washes over me, and the snacks threaten their escape.

There are also several records of different organized groups trying to recruit him, including the one I worked for. But he refused every offer, no matter how much they were willing to pay him. What I find interesting, however, is that there is no record of him ever being hired to kill a woman or a child, which makes me the first officially known woman he is targeting.

I keep swiping until I find the folder with the hotel security footage from that day. I open the file and skim through the videos, looking for him. But every single video that could contain footage of the chase has already been deleted. He was fast. I switch to the videos from before our chase, and lo and behold. There he is. Getting out of an expensive-looking black German car in the underground parking lot. Jumping from camera to camera, I follow him until he enters the hotel's event hall. I then go back to one particular video of the lobby where he is standing among a group of other men engaged in a conversation. It’s one of the few shots with a frontal view of him and good lighting. I pause the video on a frame where I have a clear view of his handsome face.

My heart skips a beat and my stomach flutters with butterflies. Setting my tablet down on the sofa next to me, I lean my head back into the pillows and close my eyes. I’m not supposed to miss the touch of the man who wants to kill me, but here I am–starving for his warm touch. For his hands to roam all over my body. I squeeze my thighs shut, trying to suppress the warmth building up between my legs. But it is too late; I can feel my underwear stick to my core.

I open my eyes and shift my position, turning my head toward the windows with a direct view of the apartment building across the street, my eyes landing on the balcony from which he has been watching me the past few nights. But it’s already too dark to make out any details. I sigh. I'm so fucking sick of wishing he was there.

Chapter 14

Noah

These so-called big fish aren't what they used to be. In front of me, tied to an old plastic chair, sits my victim, who is about to lose consciousness. I toss aside the one ear I'd just sliced off his head. Adjusting my blood-soaked gloves, I cradle the cheek of the man in the palm of my hand before delivering a powerful slap across his face.

"Wake up, we're not done yet," I say. The man lets out a pathetic, muffled whimper, and his whole body jerks. He opens his eyes and looks at me. The sock in his mouth is already drenched in his own saliva and the blood from the teeth I’ve pulled. "Well done," I praise him with a low chuckle. "We still have a few things to talk about." I pat his cheek gently this time, but the man flinches at the subtle touch. I squat down in front of him to be at his eye level. "I'm going to remove your gag, and then you are going to sing for me and give me all the information I want, do you understand?" I raise my eyebrows, and the man nods his head. "Good, because you know it will increase your chances of getting out of here alive."

I reach for the sock and pull it out of his mouth. With the gag now gone, the face of the man in front of me changes from fear to disgust, and he purses his lips to spit right in my face. I back off, and my body moves on its own. I stand up and kick the man right in the gut. With a loud, painful scream from the man, the chair he’s tied to falls back with a loud thud onto the concrete floor of the abandoned warehouse.

"You bastard."

I stalk toward the man, the soles of my leather shoes echoing through the damp air of the old, moldy brick structure. I lift my left foot to press down on the man's skull. Reaching into my suit pants pocket, I pull out a white handkerchief and wipe my face, gagging at the sight of the now bloodstained, once spotless fabric. Leaning forward to get a better view of the the man at my feet, I shift more of my weight on his head.

"That little stunt is going to cost you your balls," Using my strength, I pick up the chair with the man tied to it. I reach for the pocket knife tucked away in my suit jacket, and with a quick flick of my wrist, the blade snaps from the handle.

Fueled by anger, I rip open the man's cheap belt and cut through the fabric of his pants and boxer shorts until he is fully exposed. I scrunch my nose in disgust at the sight of his sorry excuse for a dick. I pity all the poor women he has used his power over and taken advantage of. I get to work, twirling the knife between my fingers before bringing the blade down between his legs. The man screams in pain, rocking back and forth in the chair, causing it to sway from side to side. I groan, annoyed.

"Damn it, stop moving!" I yell at him and ram the knife into his thigh, prompting him to scream again.

It really annoys me that I have to deal with such a whiny baby when I could be having fun with her instead. I'd rather be in that shitty little apartment watching her, but I took the job before the offer for her even came in. I wonder what she is doing. Flicking my wrist, I check the time on my smartwatch, ignoring the text messages from Mrs. Collins and Kyle. It's ten p.m. There is no notification that the GPS tracker has moved, which means she’s at home. A smile curls at the corners of my mouth at the thought of her waiting for me, even though she's not waiting in anticipation. I know she's not thrilled to have me around. But if I'm on the balcony, she knows where I am. She knows I'm waiting and that she's safe, at least for the time being. My beautiful dove, I will come and get you soon, rest assured. But first I have some things to prepare for our big day.

With a jolt of my hand, I slice through his skin, and the seminal ducts that connect his balls to the rest of his body, and the sack of skin falls to the ground. I push myself up and take a step back to look at my latest work. The man is weeping in pain, and his entire body is quivering as blood gushes from between his legs, forming a pool of crimson liquid at his feet. I don't think he'll last much longer, and in his current state, I won't be able to get any more information from him.

I take a few steps back and draw the pistol from my chest holster. With a quick but steady motion, I shoot the man in the head. The loud explosion of the gunshot bounces off the brick walls. Blood and brain splatter everywhere as the chair collapses backward with another loud thud.

I sigh and slip my pistol back into my holster before turning my attention to my right, where three more men are sitting, tied to the same cheap plastic chairs, gagged and waiting for their turn. I really hope one of them is going to sing. I'm tired and don't want to waste more time on these people. I want to go back to her.

See her.

Be with her.

Over the past few weeks, the small two-bedroom apartment has become like a second home to me. While getting familiar with everything in the apartment, I also learned a lot about the original tenants. Since I needed to keep myself busy whenever Evelyn went to sleep, I decided to go through their paperwork and hack into the computer they left behind. The couple still hasn't returned, and from the emails I've been monitoring, they're not coming back anytime soon.

Going straight to the kitchen, I pull open the fridge, which I have stocked with some quick snacks like protein bars and a couple of drinks. I grab one of the fruit bars and a can of cold-brew coffee before heading out to the balcony. With a pop, I crack open the can and place the coffee and my snack on the small patio table. I then pull out the pack of cigarettes from my pants and lift one of the small sticks to my lips. Lighting it with the small black plastic lighter before taking a deep drag on the burning cigarette, holding my breath, closing my eyes, tilting my head back, and enjoying the soothing burning sensation of the smoke in my lungs. With a heavy sigh, I release the remains of the gray smoke. Opening my eyes again, I watch it dance through the air toward the concrete ceiling of the balcony above me.

I'm exhausted. Maybe I should have gone home tonight instead of coming here. It's been a while since I've had a full night's sleep. It's my own fault. I don't have to sit here and watch her, but I want to. I have become addicted to the thrill of watching her. I want to know everything about her, every little detail, even small things like what shower gel she uses, and what brand of coffee she drinks in the morning, absolutely everything.

I tilt my head forward and settle into the plastic chair that creaks under my weight. Reaching for my coffee, I take a sip from the can before turning my attention to the building across the street. The ceiling lights in her apartment are off, but from a distance, I can see that the floor lamp next to her sofa is on, casting a warm glow onto the white fabric. Across from the sofa is her television, and although I can't see the screen, the flickering blue light illuminating the room tells me it’s on. My heart skips a beat at the possibility that she is still awake. It's two a.m.; I wouldn't blame her if she was already asleep.

I put my cigarette out in the ashtray on the table and reach for the binoculars that I've left behind. Just as I had hoped, there she is on her sofa, dressed in a cozy oversized shirt, a fuzzy blanket draped over her legs, with a glass of wine and a bowl of popcorn. She has her tablet in hand, scrolling through whatever it is she's looking at while she mindlessly pops one kernel after another into her pretty mouth. I snort when my eyes land on the pistol sitting next to her on the blanket. You don't need one yet, my dove. But of course, keep it close if it helps you feel more safe, I can't wait for you to point one at me again.

Time passes and I keep trying to make out what she is reading on her tablet, which seems to be quite interesting given that she hardly ever takes her eyes off the small screen. But she never moves so that the screen is facing me. It’s as if she’s deliberately trying to hide it from me. After what feels like hours, she finally puts down the device and shifts her position on the sofa again to face the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her attention lands on the building I'm in, and the balcony I'm on, to be more specific.

I watch her pick at the skin of her fingers and chew her lower lip in a subtle, agitated manner; the wrinkles on her face give away that she is thinking about something. I wished I could tell her that she doesn’t need to be nervous. She’s safe for tonight.

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