Page 3 of Tainted Wings of Failure

"Yeah, it's that headache again."

"Maybe you shouldn't use those chemicals in a closed room?" I ask, forcing a smile. "But honestly, you should see a doctor about this; it doesn't seem normal anymore."

"No, I'm fine. I'm just a little restless."

"Huh." I purse my lips into a pout. "In that case, have you thought about my idea for a puppy?"

"You know, I'm not a big fan of dogs or cats or anything like that." He raises an eyebrow and rests one hand on the table, drumming his fingers against the surface in a steady rhythm. I steal a glance at his hand, recognizing the familiar gesture he makes whenever he feels uneasy.

"I know you prefer birds." I chuckle and look back at him. "But if you’re simply feeling restless, a dog would give you something else to do, and to be honest, I'd like it if you weren't all alone in the woods when you go hunting early in the morning."

"If the issue is safety, I literally carry a rifle and a handgun with me, and on your request, a GPS tracker."

"It's not just that. The dog could keep you company, make it less lonely."

"I like being alone out there." I roll my eyes and let out another sigh. "Why don't you come with me if you think I’m lonely?" His lips curl into a smirk.

"Because last time we did everything but hunt." My shoulders jerk as I chuckle at the memory. What was supposed to be a moment for me to learn more about hunting turned into an early morning session during which we discovered that outdoor sex can be a lot of fun.

"True." The smirk on his face widens as he nods before taking another sip of his wine. "Don't worry about me. I've been feeling a little off lately. Maybe I'm getting sick." He shrugs.

"Maybe." I lean my elbow on the table and prop my chin in the palm of my hand, looking him up and down, searching for some sign, any sign. "If something was bothering you, would you tell me?"

"Of course." He furrows his eyebrows. "Why do you ask?"

"Out of curiosity," I say with a weak smile.

"I promise." He offers me a smile and reaches for my free hand, his fingers intertwining with mine, the roughness of his skin a familiar comfort as his thumb moves in slow, lazy circles on the back of my hand. The warmth of his palm against mine travels up my arm, loosening the tight knots of tension in my shoulders. "Now let's eat before it gets cold. You spent so much time preparing this meal, I don't want it to go to waste."

Chapter 3

Noah

After dinner, Evelyn decided to take some time to herself. She grabbed two pieces of cake, a glass of her favorite wine and the magazine she is currently reading before retiring to our en-suite bathroom. As much as I want to join her, it's Wednesday, the one night of the week she reserves for herself to take baths and do everything spa-related. It’s not like she would mind if I asked her, but I also know she needs that time to herself. She is usually in there for at least two hours doing God knows what. All I know is that her skin is always extra smooth when she crawls into bed with me and I'm looking forward to that.

With my head tilted back into the cushions, I’m sitting on the sofa outside on our back porch. A cigarette in hand, I breathe out the remains of the gray smoke and watch it dance through the air, dissolving into the starry night sky. I raise my cigarette to my lips and inhale deeply, closing my eyes at the comforting sensation of the nicotine filling my lungs.

Tilting my head forward, my eyes land on the ashtray on the table, overflowing with dead ash and remnants of cigarette filters. There is no denying it, I do have to cut down on smoking again. Lately, I've been going through a pack and a half a day, whereas I used to smoke maybe half on bad days. Hell, there was a time when I only smoked on days when I had a job to calm my nerves. But that was when I was eighteen, almost twenty years ago.

I sigh. My Dove would probably be happy too if I smoked less. The way she looks at me, with her nose scrunched up and eyebrows furrowed, whenever I open a new pack, especially if it's the second one for the day, makes it obvious that she hates it.

Unfortunately, cigarettes are one of the few remedies that keep me calm at the moment. That, and sex, but obviously I can't fuck Evelyn twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I mean, I could indulge in her body for that long, but she would not appreciate it. We have been doing it a lot lately, and there have been a couple of mornings where she has been sore. She also has her period right now, luckily only for another day or two, but it makes her body more prone to soreness. I’ve been rougher these past few weeks, grasping at every little crumb to keep my hands and mind occupied. Every day I fight that little voice in the back of my head that screams at me that it is bored, that it wants to go back to New York City, find a client and murder someone.

As the images of dead bodies flash before my inner eye, I groan in frustration. Reaching for my beer on the table, I lift the bottle to my lips and take a large gulp.

I would die for Evelyn, right here, right now, I would take a bullet if it meant she could live in peace. Then why is it so damn hard for me to put my old life behind me and give her the new one that she deserves? I want nothing more than to be the perfect man for her, but how am I supposed to be that if I can't let go?

Needing something to ease the growing restlessness inside me, I slam the bottle back down on the table, put out my cigarette, and push myself to my feet. My heart pounds out of rhythm as I jump down the three steps of our back porch and approach the firewood-chopping block with long strides. My mind races and my vision begins to blur from the frustration clouding my senses.

When I reach the block, I grab the axe that is leaning against it, as well as one of the wooden logs that I still have to chop up. I place the wood on the block, right in the middle, and step back. I take a deep breath before swinging the axe with full force and split the wood in half.

Thud.

Repeat.

Thud.

Repeat.

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