Page 14 of Tainted Wings of Failure

"I know what he's dealing with, and he can't do it alone, Evelyn. You have to fucking understand.” He raises his voice.

My breath catches in my throat and my heart crumbles. He rarely raises his voice at me and never uses my full given name unless he has to, like in introductions. Even my nickname, Eve, which is what all my friends call me, rarely leaves his lips.

"Then he should not take the job, sounds like the only possible solution," I say between shaky breaths and pull my hand away from him, crossing my arms over my chest to shut him out.

"It's not that simple."

"Sounds pretty simple to me. He can call the client and tell them that both of you are busy." I turn away from him and walk to our dining table, picking up the bottle of whiskey to put it back in the cupboard, hoping that finding something to keep my hands busy will help me stay calm.

"He already accepted."

I freeze in my movements, my grip on the neck of the bottle tightening. My blood runs cold and I turn back to him, looking at him with wide eyes. "You said yes without talking to me first?" I speak with a quiet voice while my mind shuts down as I process the news, in the calm before the storm.

"No, I haven't. I told Kyle I'd call him after I talked to you."

"Kyle was here a week ago! How long were you going to hide this?" I raise my voice, waving the bottle of whiskey as I lift my arm and point at him.

"Until I figured out a good way to approach the subject in a way that would convince you to let me go," he admits.

My lips part and my jaw drops as I look at him in disbelief. "Convince me?" I ask, closing my eyes against the sting of tears, fighting them back. "This is not just about Kyle not being able to do this job alone. Please, be honest with me, this is your chance. You miss your job, you miss the killing, the adrenaline and the fix. Am I right?" He remains silent and just looks at me. "You gave me your word!"

"Evelyn, please, it’s not…" He circles the sofa and walks over to me.

"Don't even try and lie to me. At least be fucking honest for once that you're bored, that you're not happy with the way we live." I meet him halfway, dropping the whiskey bottle to the floor, which shatters before I crash into him, forcing him to back up until his legs hit the edge of the sofa.

"Evelyn."

"Don't call me that." Clenching my hands into a fist, I slam the underside into his chest, and without a word, he takes the blow.

"Dove."

"Don't call me that either!" I pound my fists into his chest again and again, and he simply takes the beating. The drumming against his chest drowns out the sound of the TV, his body rocking back and forth with each blow.

My movements slow and every muscle in my body stiffens as his long arms wrap around me, pinning me to his chest. "Let me go," I say, squirming in his grip, but instead of letting go, he tightens his hold on me, crushing me against his chest.

"You're right, in a way," he says in a calm and collected tone, burying his face in my hair. "I'm not bored, not with you by my side. But I can't deny that I miss the thrill of killing, the feeling of someone dying at my hands, the look on their face as the life drains from their body. I really try to find the same pleasure in killing animals, but it is not the same." His arms tighten around me even more, keeping me from falling apart.

While my body is being held together by his embrace, my heart shatters into a million pieces inside of me. Hearing him admit what I have suspected for so long is even worse than I imagined, because even though I had my suspicions, I held on to the small chance that I was wrong, that for the first time my gut feeling was failing. But the worst part of all this is not even that he still misses that lifestyle. No, it's that he kept not only the job but also his struggles a secret, that he didn't feel comfortable enough, didn't trust me enough, to confide in me.

"Why can't we just be normal?" I whisper, barely audible as I force the words out. "Why can't we just have a simple, normal life?"

"If that's what you want," he says, his tone raw, "I'm the wrong man for you. I will never be able to give you the complete normalcy you crave." His words cut through my heart, splitting it in half.

"Why?"

"Because this is part of who I am." One of his hands lands on the back of my head, his fingers combing through my hair as he palms my skull. "You can only really have this life if I'm not in it. Do you want me to let you go?"

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. The mere thought of going back to a life without him leaves a gaping void in my chest. Far worse than the heartache of knowing that he will never be able to give it all up, not even for me. I dig my nails into his chest and my silence seems to be enough of an answer.

"Good, because even if you wanted to," his voice drops to a possessive growl, "I would never let you go." His arms tighten around me. "You belong to me. Always have and always will. No matter where you go, no matter what you do, you'll always be mine."

My heart pounds in my chest, each beat more painful than the last. His possessiveness, usually so comforting, now feels like a double-edged blade, slicing open a scar I didn't even know was there.

"Please, give me some space," I say in a calm voice, not much louder than a whisper, placing my hands flat against his chest. He hesitates, but ultimately lets go, giving me the space to step away from him. "I don't want to talk about it right now; I need time to think about it."

"Of course."

I turn my back to him, cross my arms in front of my chest, and head for the door that leads to the hallway.

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