Brink of death.

Chapter 1

Link to the official trailer of this story
👇

(I have yet to finish it XD)

Warnings ⚠️ story contains the following! Be warned!

T

alk about violence, death, romance, knives, grenades, guns, shooting, combat, fighting, arguing, talk about trauma, 13+ language, 18+ scenes, slow burn, ect.
If you don't like or if you aren't comfortable with reading/seeing those please don't continue. You have been warned!

English is not my native language so please feel free to correct me if needed.
Also, any non English languages/words written will be translated from Google. Don't come at me if it isn't right. 

I don't read much of my chapters after I write them because it's too cheesy for me, basically what I'm saying is that I don't double check.

__.•°💝°•.__

Valentina Aurora Wilson. Mostly called by her work name, Lilith. The charming and ever so graceful Sergeant. The one almost everyone liked.

So humble, so skilled, so nice, so caring, so smart, so charming, so pretty.

What's not to like?

She was nicknamed The Goddess at base. For how she acted, and looked. Whenever anyone needed help, she was there. Whenever they found something on a mission; like a baby, or a dog it was always brought to her. She was just so gentle and soft with them, it was refreshing to see. Especially in this line of work. Also because she was a veterinarian before she joined the special forces. She also worked as part of medical personnel a few years prior.

But, she was suspiciously good at everything. Sure it could just be talent but no one is that good at everything. Nobody is that gentle either. It's just suspicious, many things about her was. But maybe it was just because of the fucked up world we live in. Making us doubt nice people.

Valentina.

How'd I got from a top assassin to a Sergeant in the special forces? A question even I don't have the answer to.

Infact, I have many questions. But they always go unanswered. Why? Because I can't seem to find the answer. Not even Google can.
Like; Why do I exist? What was my purpose in life? Did I already fulfill it, if I do fulfill it will I die? Would my life end after the reasoning of my existence? Maybe. But sometimes it's better not to question things and maybe you'll find the answer on the way. That doesn't make sense but that's what my mum used to say.

But Mother is always right. Right?

_.•☆•._

"The past will forever be in the past."
"Your past will haunt you forever."

Those two sentences will forever be stuck in my mind. Who should I believe? Both? Neither?

The past may or may not haunt me but the spirits of my murders will. I believe in Ghosts, I know they're real.
Because as long as you have a pair of two, perfectly fine, working eyeballs you'd be able to clearly see the one sat across from me.

Simon  Riley. A popular man of the shadows. You know what makes an already scary lieutenant even scarier? When you can't hear his footsteps. Or when you can't feel his presence.
Ghost, a fitting name for this hunk of a man. A strong hunk.

I don't know how he does it.

One time, a bullet went through his shoulder- thank goodness it didn't do too much damage but Shit it looked horrible. And a few hours after that happened he was walking around like nothing fucking happened. Just a small piece of fabric pressed ontop of the wound to keep it from bleeding. It was working yes, but barely. The blood seeped through the tiny cloth- practically dripping. He had already lost so much blood, how was he still alive? A little wobbly but alive. I couldn't even shit on that because if I was in his position I would probably be dead. If I wasn't I'd probably be whining non-stop.
But of course, like the stubborn fuckin' bastard he was he didn't want to go to the infirmary. Said if he could do it he would. But the problem was that he had misplaced his med kit so I had to help him. Not because I felt bad, it's just- something told me to help him. Told me it would making everything easier in the end.

It did, he was... 'nicer' to me. By nicer I mean he wouldn't flat out ignore my existence. He'd give a light nod, or let his gaze wander on me for a bit but that was all. The only times he would talk to me was when needed.
"Lilith, meeting in 30." "Lilith, cut the red wire." "Lilith, meet back at base in 20." "Lilith blah blah blah." Lilith this Lilith that. Ugh. But I've gotta say, the way he says it was just- ..Yummy... in a sort. Although I've never heard him say my name, Valentina I'd expect it to sound delectable, somehow.

Not Valentina in a heavy Spanish accent, with hard Is like I'd always heard. But Valenteanuh like how historians would say it. Or how I like it to be pronounced. Specifically, Va-len-tea-nuh. Yes, tea like tea the drink.

That's how I'd expect it. That's what brits sound like right? I'm pretty sure it is.

:)

"No te pongas blanda y sensiblera conmigo ahora, Valentina, no di a luz a un cobarde. De todos modos, no te quería a ti, quería un hijo. No... lo que sea que seas." The words repeated in my head. It's crazy how much a few words could change something so drastically. Especially when it's from your mom.

I've always looked up to her. I knew she didn't like me but that hurt. Who says that type of shit to a fuckin' six year old? Sick old bitch.

Word count: 980