Page 192 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

“You haven’t answered what the fuck happened.”

“I asked you the question first.”

“I’m older than you, so you must answer me first.”

“Oh, fuck you, Rurik.”

“Soon, baby.”

I try hard not to grin when her cheeks puff up with anger or frustration. I try not to get so turned on by how her gaze flashes with the incoming storm I see brewing beneath those gorgeous eyes.

I’m trying to be a decent human fucking being. I’m trying to be what old Rurik would have done.

Actually, no. Old Rurik would have told her to fuck off.

I couldn’t help but smirk at the thought. My, my… how the tables have turned.

“Is something funny?” Briar snaps, attempting to place her hands on her hips, but her injured wrist hangs limply by her side.

My lips twitch again. God, she’s fucking adorable.

“So when were you going to tell me that you planned on attacking my stepdad again?” I casually ask as I follow her to the kitchen. Also, yes, I made sure she turned off the stove before she went on a ranting spree.

“That's twice you said I attacked him,” She turns around sharply. “And what do you mean again? Also, what are you talking about?”

I raise a brow. “You seriously going to gaslight me and tell me that wasn’t you today? That wasn’t you who I bumped into? The one with the black mask?”

With each question, I watch as her face slowly drains color.

She opens her mouth to speak, thinks against it, and closes it again.

“Do you have something to say, Briar?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That's interesting,” I nod, sighing as I lean against the kitchen counter. She just stares at me as I continue. “It's funny. Others might not recognize you with that mask, but I do. I can never forget the image of the person who stood out the most to me during that shooting when leaving the airport years ago— the same person I encountered earlier that day when I accused her of stealing my mum's pink duffle bag.”

Briar’s jaw ticks.

“Imagine my fucking surprise when I’m reunited with her again today.” I lean forward, whispering against her skin. “It’s your eyes, Briar.” I tilt her jaw with my nose as I inhale her sweet scent and kiss her throat. “They’re the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”

I lean back and smirk. She’s staring at me with anger and… unhinged desire.

There she is.

My crazy migraine.

“How long have you known?” She whispers in defeat.

“I’ve always known,” I confess. “Actually, I’ve known since the Masquerade of the Arts event. You wore a different mask, but again. It’s the eyes.”

She blinks and looks away as if she wants to shield her eyes from mine.

I scoff. “What?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She asks, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“I wanted to tell you,” I say. “I kept calling, texting, asking you to call me because I wanted to tell you.” I step back to put some space between us. She releases a heavy sigh and looks at me again. “I wasn’t ready to tell you that I remembered you. It would have made things more real, I guess. Like, you you. The Charons’s secret weapon you.”

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