Page 190 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

"Briar," Rurik whispers, his eyes locked onto mine. “Oh God... Briar?”

What the…

HOW.

I’m wearing a fucking mask.

How the fuck did he recognize me?

“Briar, where are you?” Mr. Rogers calls in my ear.

Ignoring the pain in my wrist, I push Rurik away from me and bolt past him, tuning out his shouts and pleas for me to stop.

After I caught up with Nat and Oscar, we met with Mr. Rogers to discuss what happened. I was extremely pissed over the fact that I had Philip right then and there, only for him to slip away from me due to timing.

If only we had attacked sooner. If only we had taken down those guards minutes earlier. If only, if only. But whatever. I gave Philip a good scare, and now he’s probably freaking the fuck out and looking behind him everywhere he goes, expecting me to come out.

Soon.

Right now, I’m exhausted, and my wrist hurts like hell.

Nat pleaded for me to stay with them so their doctor could examine my wrist, but I’m fine. It’s not broken; otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to shove Rurik out of my way. No, I’m pretty sure it’s just sprained.

After getting out of the shower and changing into my pajamas, I'm in the kitchen. I attempted to wrap my wrist, but doing it with one hand proved challenging. A part of me kept thinking that if Rurik were here, he would have wrapped it up for me in no time.

God... I can't believe he was at the event today. I mean, I could believe it. Of course, he would be there to support his stepdad doing his fake angelic duties. Philip is fake, not Rurik.

He’s still my angel.

Even though I’m still pissed at him.

Shit, there I go again, thinking about him again.

"Get it together, stupid," I mutter out loud.

Wincing, I attempt to grip the wooden spoon and stir the pot with my sprained wrist. After a few stirs, I switch back to my good wrist. Sighing, I walk over to the freezer to grab an ice pack and set it on the kitchen counter. Placing my sprained wrist on top of it, I continue stirring.

I lift the wooden spoon to my lips and blow, preparing to taste-test the tomato soup, when I immediately freeze at the sound.

My door just swung open, and heavy footsteps comes barging in.

Fuck.

Philip’s men are here to get me. Philip recognized me, and now he wants my blood or something.

I gently place the wooden spoon back in the pot to avoid giving away my location and grab a kitchen knife from the knife block. Quickly, I retreat into my walk-in pantry, allowing the darkness to swallow and conceal me as I wait.

It only takes a few seconds, but I spot a tall shadow entering my kitchen. The person pauses, and I hold my breath. Then I see them inching closer to where I'm hiding and immediately pounce.

I shove my body weight against theirs, and they collide with the kitchen counter. Before they can fight back, I swiftly press the blade of the knife against their throat, my sanity teetering on the edge of snapping as I prepare to cut them open. I look up at their face, ready to ask them what the fuck they’re doing in my house.

But then I'm met with bright blue, wide eyes staring back at me.

And then I freeze.

“Rurik?” I choke out. “What are you doing here?”

Chapter 29

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