Page 241 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

“What the fuck?” I snap, whirling around to see a familiar black mask. “You again? Are you that obsessed with me?” The masked guy shoves me against the wall. I grunt, “Fuck, what is it about bathrooms?”

“Shut up!” The man shouts, wrapping his hands around my throat and squeezing.

Jokes on him. I’m into that shit.

“Mmm, yeah, choke me harder,” I grin widely, “Question. Will you let me go and give me a five-second head start so you can chase me down the forest?”

He slaps me across the face, and I can feel my lip stinging. My tongue darts out, and I taste copper.

But still, I grin back like a fucking lunatic. “I love the aggressiveness, Mr. Mask Man. Touch me harder, please.”

He hits me again, and my head snaps back. But before I could fuck with him some more, pain radiated in my head before darkness enveloped me into unconsciousness.

When I open my eyes again, I’m lying down on a nasty ass ground. Groaning from what feels like a killer migraine, I try to sit up but immediately stop when the world feels like it is spinning.

Fuck, where am I?

I look around. Nothing looks familiar. I’m in some empty room that looks fit enough to be a janitor’s supply closet. I was about to shout for Mr. Mask Man again when the doors opened to reveal him and another guy with a mask.

“Oh,” I say with a sigh. “There are two of you? Well, I gotta tell you, I’ve never done two simultaneously, but I’m game.”

They both look at each other.

One of them looks back at me and snaps, “Shut the fuck up, bitch.”

I fake a shudder, “Call me a slut next. Say, ‘Shut the fuck up, slut’ next time.”

“What the fuck is wrong with her?” His friend asks.

I smirk as he backs away. Good.

“Give us a million dollars and leave the State.” He continues, trying to keep his tone threatening.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Only a million dollars? That amount can’t even buy you a nice house in the city. Also, why do I have to leave the State?”

My head snaps to the side from his blow. I grit my teeth so hard that I could feel my molars grinding. I don’t want to give these assholes the satisfaction of seeing my pain and anger.

“Leave, or your boyfriend and his mom will get hurt.”

My head snaps up.

They both stare back at me, their eyes flashing smugly.

“Yeah,” Mask Guy #1 pathetically adds.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I say, my voice low to hide how shaky I feel.

“No?” Mask Guy #2 asks, pulling his phone out. He dials something and waits until the person answers. “Put him on.”

He turns the screen to me, and I could feel my face drain of color and my heart threatening to leap out of my chest.

Rurik is on a chair, tied up, and looking rough.

“Fuck you!” Rurik shouts at the person in the room with him.

That’s my man.

“Behave, or your girlfriend will get hurt,” The other person threatens.

---