Page 189 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

I press the earpiece and mutter, “I got him. We’re inside an empty office room upstairs just north of the building. His guards are down but not dead. Mr. Rogers, I got him.” I could cry with relief.

Justice is literally right here in front of me.

Philip gulps, his face getting pale.

“I liked your speech,” I told him, stepping closer. “I enjoyed the part where you mentioned appreciating and helping migrant workers and all that. You must know plenty of hard-working, kind migrant workers. Is that why you agreed to this gig?”

Philip nearly trips as he backs away. He steadies himself and looks up. He opens his mouth to speak but freezes. “Wait, you look familiar…”

I stiffen. Does he remember me?

How? I have a mask on. He can’t possibly—

“The airport attack,” Philip whispers. “You were there. You’re wearing the same mask, aren’t you? You and some others tried to kill me and my family—”

“Briar!” Nat's voice suddenly screams in my ear. “You have to leave! His security is barging through the building. Oscar and I tried to slow them down, but there were too many.”

“Do as she says, Briar,” Mr. Rogers adds urgently.

What? No! No, he's right here! “But—”

“Now!” Mr. Rogers's voice is firm, with a rare urgency.

Fuck. He never yells at me.

I grit my teeth, tightening my hold on my dagger. I had swiped the gun from the guard earlier and use it to point it at the senator’s forehead with my good hand.

“Please! No, no, please!” Philip shakes his head, looking like he’s seconds away from pissing on himself. “I have a family! Tell me what you want, and I’ll—”

“Briar!” Oscar warns. “There should be an emergency exit down the hall from where you are. Head there now, Natalie, and I will meet you there.”

Fuck.

FUCK.

I don’t want to end Philip's life like this. I prefer to savor it, to take it nice and slow.

With a growl, I strike the side of his head with the end of the gun’s grip. He releases a feeble sound and crumples, blood already flowing. Kneeling beside him, I press two fingers against his throat, seeking his pulse.

Disappointed that he's still alive but glad for the opportunity to prolong his suffering, I rise to my feet and tap on the earpiece. "Okay, I'm on my way."

I swing open the door and follow Oscar’s directions, sprinting down the hallway.

“Hurry!” Nat says. Worry and fear lace her tone for the first time in so long.

Rounding a corner, I nearly twist my ankle when I collide with a large figure who is also turning the corner.

“Shit!” I groan, nearly stumbling backward, but firm hands grip my arms, steadying me—strong, familiar hands. I look up, my eyes locking with Rurik’s.

Shit.

Rurik's gaze locks onto me, his eyes widening, jaw slack, and complexion paling. His fingers clench tighter around my arms as his gaze swiftly scans me from head to toe. Returning to meet my eyes, his own widen even further.

Oh fuck. He’s here. Of course, he’s here. Also, is it just me, or does he sound relieved?

No, that's probably just the adrenaline playing tricks on my mind.

God, I must miss him.

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