Page 220 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

“Fucking finally,” I mutter, turning Briar’s face to mine and kissing her.

She kisses back, her body sagging against mine. After a few minutes of our lips reacquainting each other again, she pulls away with a slight pout.

“What?” I ask, frowning as I trace her bottom lip with my thumb.

“Do you think it’s my fault I was attacked?” She asks, a hint of hurt in her tone.

Jesus. I am such a massive asshole, aren’t I?

I kiss the tip of her nose. “No, baby. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry I made you think I blame you. It’s the lowlife who decided it was smart to attack an innocent woman who’s at fault. Not yours.”

Briar’s eyes brighten and she kisses her favorite spot on my neck. I sigh, smiling at her and needing to feel her against my skin again. “Do you know who the attacker is?”

She shakes her head. “No. Mr. Rogers is working on finding that out for me.”

I kiss her forehead, “Good. Once he finds out, let me know.”

“Why? You planning on attacking him back for me?” She teases.

“Don’t be silly. You know how I feel about attacking people,” I mutter. “I plan on slitting his wrist clean off, making him choke on his blood while I watch him wilt away into nothing.”

She just grins, planting a kiss on my cheek before resting her head on my chest with a content sigh. I push aside the strange sensation stirring in the pit of my stomach.

The next day, we were back at Briar's apartment after the doctor checked her and made sure she was okay. After helping her shower off the grime from the hospital, I tucked us in bed, holding her tightly against me.

Ever since we came back, I've been glued to her. I try to give her some breathing room, but whenever she winces or makes an uncomfortable sound, I'm right there at lightning speed.

I think Briar secretly likes it when I'm acting like a mother hen, though. She pretends to roll her eyes and call me overbearing, but I see the look of adoration and happiness in those pretty features.

“Can we go to our little slice of paradise tomorrow?” Briar asks, yawning as she tucks her head under my chin.

“We can do whatever you want, baby,” I murmur, kissing her head. “I’ll bring some canvases so I can paint, and you can bring a book to read? We can make a day out of it.”

“Yes, please.” She snuggles up against me.

A few minutes later, I hear tiny snores coming from her, and I close my eyes, drifting to sleep as I listen to her breathe. Excitedness radiates through me about going to our spot together.

*-*-*-*

Just kidding. I don’t think we can make it to our little slice of paradise today.

Instead, my literal broken heart decided I didn’t deserve to be happy and became a little fucking asshole by attacking the shit out of me. I remember waking Briar up in the middle of the night because I couldn’t breathe.

God, I remember the look of pure fear on her face when I tried to tell her I couldn’t breathe and that my heart felt like someone was squeezing it.

Which is saying something because I thought being the Charons’s secret weapon meant she feared nothing?

I was wrong.

So… Now we’re back at the hospital. But this time, for me.

God, I fucking hate it here.

I look at my woman sitting beside me, her hands clutching my hand tightly.

She knows.

After driving me back to Roger’s Medical Center, she found out who my doctor was and called him over. For some reason, when my doctor met Drake, he looked like he was going to shit his pants — The doctor, not Drake. The latter just glared at him silently, which I didn’t understand. They literally just met.

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