Page 267 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

Perfect.

I told Briar I would help her every step of the way, slay her demons for her if she let me, and visit with her uncle would be a good start.

*-*-*-*

At two in the fucking morning, Marcus Reyes is leaning back with his foot up in a recliner chair, drinking a bottle of piss-looking beer.

My original plan: Drive to his place, douse it in oil, and toss a lighter, giving me a spectacular fire show as I watch him literally burn up in flames, reminiscent of what happened to Briar’s parents.

But now that I think about it, that way to die would be too easy and impersonal.

So, here I am, sneaking inside his house like some common thief in the night. Luckily, Marcus is too drunk or very into whatever show he’s watching, so he doesn’t hear me tiptoeing behind him.

Drake offered to come out with me, but I told him I would do this myself.

This was personal. It became personal the moment the asshole hurt what belonged to me. I may not have known Briar at the onset of the abuse, but she was always meant to be mine.

Marcus lets out a loud snore, making me halt.

Wow.

Fucking, lazy ass, abusive motherfucker isn’t even awake.

I look at the beer bottle he’s holding and slowly pry it out of his hands. He jerks a little but doesn’t open his eyes.

Hmm.

A deep sleeper.

Well, that wouldn’t do. I want him awake and alert about what I will do to him.

I lift his glass bottle and slam it down on his face.

He shouts a curse, his eyes flying open as he brings his hand to his head. He darts around, and his eyes land on me, standing beside him.

I grin and wave, “Hey, Briar’s uncle. Remember me?”

I step back as Marcus clumsily gets off of the recliner. His eyes widen as he stares at me with confusion, “What the fuck are you doing here, boy?”

I grin as I unbuckle my belt, sliding it off my pants. Folding it in half, I snap it against my palm, the sharp sound echoing in the room.

“How often have you whipped Briar with your belt, Marcus?” I ask casually. “She told me the belt was your go-to when it came to hurting her.”

His brows scrunch together before his face drains of color. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I take a step closer, letting the belt swing back and forth, taunting him with each motion.

Marcus tries to dart past me, but I'm quicker. I thrust the broken glass bottle still in my hand into his side. He collapses, screaming and writhing on the floor, clutching his wound.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Marcus spats as he rocks bath and forth.

I whip his injured side with my belt.

Crack.

“Answer the fucking question.” I snap, whipping him again. “How many times have you hit Briar with the belt?”

“I don’t know!” He cries pathetically. The strong man he tries to portray vanishes before my eyes, revealing this blubbering idiot. “Please, I’m sorry! I—”

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