Page 108 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

His eyes dart over to my lips, and they linger. His brows furrow as if he’s concentrating on it. I lick my lips, and his eyes narrow with intensity.

“Shall we seal the deal with a kiss, angel?” I whisper, my lips just barely touching his. “Or are you going to run away like a little bitch again?”

He scoffs, puffs of his breath hitting my face as I inhale it. Despite the drinks and fries he ate, he still smells mouthwatering.

“Fuck you, Briar.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Rurik,” I can’t stop my wicked grin. “You will.”

His hand lunges forward, seizing the back of my neck until our lips collide.

Chapter 17

Briar

ME:

-Goood morning! xxx

-Wowww, leaving me on ‘read’ again?? Not even going to wish me a good morning back?? Angel, I’m hurt :(

-Unless you’re busy today?

-Are you going to run at the gym today or the park?

-Rurik! Where are you?

-Angel. It’s been hours, are you okay?

-Okay. You’re probably busy. Call me back when you can.

I sigh, staring at my phone.

Fuck. I feel like a teenage girl eagerly waiting for the boy she likes to text her back. I mean, I guess I am eagerly waiting, but I shouldn’t be too obvious about it.

He better not be ghosting me again. I meant it when I told him his push-and-pull game pisses me off now. I’m over that behavior. I seriously thought we were doing so well. I even agreed to his stupid rules. Boundaries. Whatever.

My phone vibrates with a text notification, and excitement suddenly drowns me.

But it’s quickly replaced by trepidation when I see who it is.

Uncle Marcus:

-Come home this evening.

I scoff at the text. I haven’t been “home” since I ran away from there at 15.

What do they want now? It’s been a while since they reached out to me, ever since Mr. Rogers gave them cash to leave me the hell alone.

Years ago, Mr. Rogers and Nat immediately took me in after I had run away from my uncle. He had paid off my family to let me go since I was still a minor at the time and had taught me everything I know now. They saved me, fed me, clothed me, and loved me like I was their daughter and sister.

In short, I owe Rogers my life. They are my family.

Not the man who is trying to call me now.

“Hello?” I answer with a tired sigh.

“We need more money,” my uncle roughly says as a greeting.

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