The Story of Blood and Roses

Chapter 119 Sell You Ou

"M..." and she couldn't get out any more. Anthony let go of her face instantly. He jumped back on his feet and paced. I, on the other hand, watched transfixed as he scratched his face, thoughtfully.

"Why do you think they want to know about you?" He directed his question towards me, clearly forgetting about the person I was pinning to the floor.

"I don't know." Something flashed in his eyes, and I didn't like it one bit, but he didn't meet my eyes after that. He focused solely on Cienna, who was gasping for air.

"We'll have to find out, then." The calculating look didn't leave his eyes.

"Don't," I whispered. It almost sounded like a plea. I didn't know what I was asking for, but he seemed to snap out of his thoughtful stupor and look directly into my eyes. This time he had no residual coldness that was present a few seconds ago.

"Don't what?" he asked, as expected. At that moment, I suddenly realized what I was asking him not to do.

"Don't think about selling me out to regain some closure with Darcy." The paranoia was lingering between her. His eyes widened and then narrowed as anger seeped into his features.

"Let her go," he growled and jerked his head towards Cienna. My body, as if tuned to his command, let its grip loosen and then I got up without any further question.

"What of her?" I asked, doubt lacing my thoughts. What was he planning to do?

"Run." He commanded. I knew it was not directed towards me, but it rattled me to the core of my being. The anger that was there made me want to take a step back.

At a distance, I could hear Cienna scrambling on the floor trying to get off and run for her life.

"I asked you to run before I cock my gun at you and blow your skull to pieces." She didn't wait around to see if he would carry out his threats. He usually meant what he said. I could very well imagine the spatter of bits and pieces of her grey matter strewn across the furnished floor and the sides of the white linen sheets of the bed. It was not a pretty image. I could understand why she would run like someone had put fire on her non-existent tail.

"What if she runs away?" I asked him incredulously. He just glared at me without giving my question any heed. As he took two strong steps towards me, I fought the urge to prepare my body to fight. The unadulterated fury that I saw on his face beckoned me to crouch and be prepared for his assault. It never came. He just came too close and then stared. I looked up at him and just kept our gaze locked as I saw the swirls of anger moving around his pupil waiting to burst and incinerate me.

I waited patiently.

It never came.

What does come, is a low string of words that leave me dumbfounded.

"Not even for a second did I think of selling you out to befriend that piece-of-trash, Luke." My heart almost melted when I heard the words. The shock made my body go still, and my knees go rigid before starting to weaken. I held my breath in and urge my knees to remain strong. And then in a snap, he ruined the moment. "He's stolen much from me. I will not let him get off so easily. Do you understand me?" The low, menacing quality to his voice, suddenly, did nothing to me. I was mostly amused that he felt the need to state the obvious reason. I'm a bit pissed that I even thought that he would care enough about me to protect me even if it was of no interest to him and I was confused because one part of me didn't believe that he didn't care for me. He would protect me. He had gone mad over a single bullet that stuck in my arm. How would he risk leaving me for dead? He wouldn't.

He cared.

I was ecstatic.

"I wouldn't sell you out, either," I blurt out suddenly. There was a rush of excitement at the prospect. My heart started beating faster as a smile spread across his face. But then it vanished as soon as it arrives.

"Never doubt me again," he growled and then takes one more intrusive step towards me. "You're my partner. If we can't trust each other, I can't trust anyone." I nod curtly before taking a step back. The distance provided me with clarity.

"We are two very different people, Anthony," I stated the obvious.

"I don't think so," he admitted matter-of-factly. "We're so much alike that it's scary to even think that we are two different people with different goals in life."

"Different goals? We both earn money and live in the world of organized crime?" And that was when I started to entertain the idea that I was like him, just a bit younger.

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