The Story of Blood and Roses Chapter 133 One Good Reason

"And what do you think is the answer? Why are you in my bed?" I could hear the clicking of my jaw as I ground my teeth together.

"You've wanted me there for a while, and even though I p.i.s.s you off all the time, you got carried away with everything that is happening and invited me into your bed." Yes. That was it.

"Inviting you to bed to f.u.c.k you is one thing, Mia," he snapped, harshly. "But you are still here..." I quirked my brow at him. "Oh, Mia," he whispered... "You are too distrusting. Why do you not understand? Is it so difficult?"

"Yes, Anthony."

"Do you trust me?" he asked, sincerity clear in his eyes.

"No. You said so yourself." I was proud of myself. I was acting like a b.i.t.c.h, but it was the best I could do to distance myself from him until I figured out what the f.u.c.k I was doing with my life. This was a suicide mission. Now I was wilfully committing to it without gaining anything in return. It was going to end in disaster; Ethan was right. There was no turning back from here. If I went back without doing my job, I would be thrown out of the organization. If I stayed and was found, I would die. I would die in any case. And Anthony would kill me. He would be the one to put a hit on me the moment I walked out on him, and the funniest part would be that he would contact my own organization to take me out. He was the sort of b.a.s.t.a.r.d that would get a kick out of the irony of the situation.

"I did, didn't I? And you trusted me on that... so trust me on this, too," he was pleading, and my confusion was wavering. Finally, I had found a man who could save himself, a man who could hold a gun to my head and not shoot.

Yet, I thought to myself.

The way he held the gun.

The way his fingers never twitched when they pulled the trigger.

The fire in his eyes when he fought me.

The cold look he had reserved for business.

The cunning mind that could concoct plans to take down dynasties.

Those were things that I would never find again.

Those were the things I was searching for all my life and I had found it in him. The only person who I was supposed to hate for being the way he was.

Someday I would get over the infatuation.

Someday I would understand that this toxic obsession that we nurtured for each other was a product of pure hatred and nothing else.

Someday, I would stop denying everything.

"Give me one good reason why I should believe you."

"You're the only one who can touch my lucky gun." He smiled conspiratorially.

Everyone tells me that you killed my mother.

"The first day you came in? I knew that I had found my match."

I vowed to kill you.

"That moment I heard the shots from the ceiling? I thought I had lost you."

I suspect that you know who I am.

"I can't stand the thought of losing you."

But when did you have me? We don't know each other.

"One good reason, Anthony," I forced the words through my gritted teeth.

With one hand still on my wrist, steadying me, he pressed the other palm to my cheek.

"Edward calls me Michael because he had a son... he was my friend. Michael Gray. The boy was my best friend and we were going to grow up together." I stayed quiet. I could sense the impending doom. "Edward's wife was my mom's best friend. They had grown up together. I would probably have married Michael if he were a girl. They were that close." He waited for me to interrupt, but I offered me nothing.

"Edward was working overnight at the hospital that night and there was snow. Something went wrong."

"They were killed in the accident."

"Edward lost his family."

"Mom lost her best friend."

"I lost mine."

"I haven't made any friends since then... I couldn't."

"Anth-" he cut me off. He pressed his palm over my lips and just stared into my eyes for a moment.

"Edward calls me by his son's name. He's the only family I have. He was the one who saved me from my father."

"What is your reason, Anthony?" I could feel the lump in my throat growing.

"I trust you with my only weakness. I am putting my whole life at your feet. You decide if I have lied to you or not."

"Anthony," I shook my head.

"Michael. That is what I want you to call me," he demanded. Why?

"It wipes away all the things I did to be where I am. Michael is innocent. He is the only redeeming thing about me. I want to think that you can want one of us... any one of us. I don't care." I felt something inside me shake. It threatened to ooze out from every pore. I wondered if my body shook with the intensity of it.

It was like stone cracking and then melting into hot, molten lava; only to flow and solidify into something much more binding.

It scared me.

"Michael..." It almost broke me.

"Thank G.o.d," he whispered as he closed the distance between us. His lips were warm against mine. We sat there, pressed together. Unmoving—we relished the heat of the other.

There was no going back.

Death was near.

I was closer to embracing it.

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