Ella and Anson kill for a living.
Literally.
They make their living by murdering anyone-who deserves to die-. They collect data and easily come close to the person, and then, when time is right, they go in to attack. Murdering the ones who deserve...
Destinesia | destˈnēZHə | noun | when you forget where you were intending to go, but forgot why you were going there in the first place.|
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________________________________ DISCLAIMER: There is an intimate scene in this chapter. If you would like to skip over it, then skip over it. ________________________________
My breaths elaborated once I stopped at the top of the steps. I placed my hand over my heart, feeling it thump quickly.
I walked down the hallway, stopping at my bedroom door, which was still open. Anson still was on the bed, bundled up in the thick blankets sleeping.
I sighed, leaning against the door frame for a moment, and then watching Anson sleep for a second. I pulled away from the door frame and then walked up to the bed, yanking the blankets harshly tearing them away from Ansons built body. His tanned skin tone revealed once the blanket trailed on the floor.
"Anson!" I sighed, groaning when he covered his face with the blanket. "Anson! Babe! Get up!"
Anson's words were incomprehensible. His voice muffled into the pillow. He curled up his body.
"Get up and throw on some clothes, you won't be cold." I said somewhat rudely.
He lifted his face and turned to the side trying to grab the thick blanket from my hands. He yanked on it once he grabbed ahold of it, and then covered his legs. Scoffing when I yanked it from his physique body, and the bed.
"Ella! Come onnnnn! Please! I want to sleep!" He curled his mostly bare body.
"If you weren't just wearing your underwear then you'd probably not be as cold, come on get up. Leanne's making us all breakfast, Sparks is helping her,"
"I don't want any," he muttered,"not if Brandy's helping. He'll just end up burning down the house," Anson flopped on his back. I inhaled sharply watching his toned arm rise up onto the bed frame. And then the other one grab onto the headboard.
"There's nothing wrong with Brandy helping...he's just a kid,"
"A psychotic kid," he muttered, throwing his muscled arm over his face.
"What did you just call my son?" I stepped up to the bed, dropping the blanket onto the floor, "no, tell me,"
Anson laughed. He showed his pearly white teeth in his laugh. His eyes were covered by his arm.
"He's a psychopath," I pursed my lips, looking at my lover. He stayed laying down, watching me closely.
"He's...not a psychopath," I breathed,"he's my baby,"
