Page 270 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

Ever since I killed her uncle years ago, Briar and I have been glued to the hip. When I told her I had killed him, she thought I was joking. She said that I had a major phobia for violence, and that was the reason why I hated her in the first place because I thought she was this murderous, violent little psycho.

That was half true. I hated violence — still do. But I never hated Briar. I was just disgruntledly intrigued.

I killed someone once, and I don't want to do it again. Unless they hurt my woman.

I’ve realized then that sometimes I must do bad things to protect the good things in my life — her.

I may have gotten laid at least eight times that day.

What? It’s not my fault my dick wakes up and stands at attention every time I see my beautiful little migraine.

My crazy migraine.

Mine.

Jesus, how is it possible to love someone so much that I'm willing to do things I never would ever do? Like killing Marcus, for example.

I'm so fucked. I have been since that day at the airport's baggage claim.

It's ironic how the woman who could be hazardous to my health has become the reason I'm even breathing.

Speaking of, she’s walking over to me with a mischievous grin.

My eyes narrow. “What the hell was that?” I ask, pulling her to me and wrapping a possessive arm around her waist.

She raises a brow at the gesture but continues, “What was what?”

“You had that look on your face?”

“The look where you pretend to despise me but fall apart when I shove you inside the bathroom stall and suck your cock in secret?”

I clear my throat, looking around before adjusting the tent in my pants. “Jesus.”

Briar grins and kisses the tip of my nose. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous, Briar.”

“You were so jealous that Kevin felt the lasers you were shooting at him with your eyes.”

“Shut up,” I mumble, looking away with a scowl.

Briar's laughter fills the air, and it never fails to make me the happiest man on earth because I caused that beautiful sound. "We should head out before we get stuck in traffic.”

I sigh, nod, drowning the last of my water, and try to get up. But then the room starts to tilt, I have to sit back down to gather my bearings.

Briar frowns, “You okay, angel?”

I wave my hand dismissively, “Yeah, baby, just give me a second.”

She nods, trying her best not to look at me with concern. She knows I've been feeling tired for the past few years.

We stopped going for our morning runs and instead would just take a quick walk around the neighborhood. I needed more rest breaks than usual, and my breathing wasn't the greatest.

I hate to admit that my health decline has made me frustrated, and I sometimes lashed out at the people I love.

But Briar is my angel; she never left my side during the times I became an overbearing asshole. I always made sure to show her my appreciation in other ways.

But fuck, I started to feel weaker lately.

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