Page 9 of Mourning Wings

Herdays always start the same: wake up, shower, get ready for work, have breakfast, leave.It’sso mundane, so one-dimensional.

ButIget a kick out of it.

Mylife is the opposite.

Everywaking moment is consumed by a singular purpose: revenge.

Idon’t remember much of my childhood.It’slike trying to grasp smoke—just fragments, distorted images that slip through my fingers wheneverItry to piece them together.Sometimes,Ihave these twisted and vile nightmares that make my skin crawl.Idon’t know if they really happened to me or if my mind is just playing cruel tricks.AllIcan clearly recall is being eighteen years old, waking up in a placeIdidn’t recognize, hooked up to machines.Ifelt like a caged animal, terrified, confused, and completely alone.

Ididn’t understand what was happening, butIknewIhad to get out.So,Iripped the tubes out of my arms and ran.Ididn’t know whereIwas going, just thatIhad to get away.

That’swhenImetRachel, the head of theSolaceNetwork.Theydon’t like to call themselves vigilantes, but that’s exactly what they are.Sincethen,I’vespent my life helping women like me, by taking down the bad seeds of society one by one.It’snot an easy path, but it’s the only oneIknow.

I’vededicated myself to uprooting the predators among us, the terrible people who deserve nothing but death.AndtheWhitmoresare next.

Thefamily has been on my radar for a while now, ever sinceIfirst heard whispers about them from my underground contacts.Itwas always the same story: multiple women dead, their bodies discovered in various places over the years, and somehow, theWhitmorename was always attached.Whetherit was near their estate, or the victims had been last seen at one of their extravagant parties, the connection was undeniable.

Butdespite the glaringly obvious link, they were never once investigated.Notofficially, anyway.Callit white privilege or whatever, but theWhitmoresalways seemed untouchable, never facing the consequences of their actions.

Thethought makes my blood boil, andIcan feel my jaw clenching asIlean back in my chair.Theleather creaks under my weight, a familiar sound that usually brings comfort, but tonight, there’s a tightness in my chest that won’t ease.Ican’t shake the feeling that this goes deeper than just a series of unfortunate coincidences.

WhenIfirst started digging into theWhitmores,Ithought it was just another quest—just another job.Butthe moreIuncovered, the moreIfelt drawn to them, as if this mission was somehow personal.Asif this one hit closer to home than any other before.Butwhy?

Mymind drifts for a moment, butIsnap my attention back to the screen in front of me.

There’ssomething aboutValeriathat draws me in, something that makes it hard to look away.I’vegrown attached to her.It’sunconventional, feeling a strange sense of connection to someone who doesn’t even knowIexist.Though, she kind of does now…

EachtimeIsee her,Ifeel a pull, a magnetic attractionIwishIcould resist.Idon’t understand it.

ButIcan’t afford to be distracted.Myfocus needs to remain sharp, my mind clear.

Takinga deep breath to steady myself,Izoom in, focusing onValeria’sface, her eyes.Despiteher bright exterior, there’s something cold and calculating about her, a darkness that matches my own.

Idon’t know how she’s linked to theWhitmores, but every piece of informationIgather, every detailIuncover, brings me closer toValeria.Everymoment spent thinking about her is a momentImight miss something important.I’mcaught in a struggle between duty and desire.

Valeriastops in front of her long mirror and stares at her reflection.

Herlong, honey-blonde hair cascades down her back in soft waves, catching the faint sunlight creeping in through the curtains, making it shimmer against her tanned skin.She’sthe image of a fucking goddess.

Shedrops her shorts first, followed by her top, and stands in front of the mirror, her breasts free, nipples pierced, her round ass hugged by her panties.

Fuck.

Isettle deeper in my seat and sling my head back to stare at the ceiling.Lettingout a huge breath,Isqueeze my eyes tight as the constricting feeling in my chest grows.

Theattraction is undeniable, butIfight against it, reminding myself of the gravity of my task.Ican’t let my feelings for her cloud my judgment.

ButIcan’t fucking help it.

WhenIopen my eyes,Valeriareaches up, lightly touching the pendant hanging around her neck, her fingers brushing over the delicate necklace.Herdark brown eyes focus on the reflection, a soft smile spreading across her lips.

Ithas been three days sinceIran into her at the party, and she has been wearing it ever since.

Istill don’t fully understand whyIfelt the need to give her that chain, why it seemed so important she have it.

Iwore it every day.It’sone of the few thingsIkept from my past, a small reminder of a life that once was.

ButseeingValeriawear it fills me with a sense of contentment.

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