Page 28 of Muzzled

The guy backed away, the audience doing their part to forcibly exclude him by closing ranks around her. “You didn’t need me around for that.”

“Nope,” she replied, squinting at her work in progress. “But I loved watching him look way up to you.” Uncapping the periwinkle, she squeezed some onto her palette. “And I didn’t want Logan to feel bad by scaring the guy off myself. My poor boy is just not that intimidating.”

He glanced down at his pressed shirt and removed an imaginary piece of lint. “And I am?”

Blending a selection of hues together, she nodded. “You are because you shouldn’t be,” she muttered, adding a hint of orange to the mix. “You’re, like, the star ofAccountants Gone Wild, where people tune in to see what makes the mild-mannered bookkeeper go Hulk on someone.”

“I’m strangely flattered.” He kept an eye on the guy who had moved to the very outskirts of the crowd. “Does that happen a lot? People not quite comprehending boundaries?”

“Not really. I think I emit a pretty strong back-off pheromone.”

He adjusted his stance to widen his view of the audience, scanning each face for familiarity. “Has that guy been a problem for long? You seem to be looking over your shoulder a lot.”

Her brush strokes became rougher, her jaw muscles flexing. “Nope. Just caffeine paranoia.”

*

Mike gripped hercharcoal tighter before she dropped it back onto her table and selected a muted peach.

Her hands shook with the effort it took to push her dark visions aside long enough to paint old standards. Not even Ryan’s calm presence at her side could fully eliminate the urge to fill her canvases with the shadows and silent screams clogging her thoughts as the day wore on and her energy started to fade.

She knew he was worrying about her much like Logan was, and their combined scrutiny made it more and more difficult for her to hide the compulsions overtaking her thoughts. Keeping a neutral expression on her face and a relaxed tone to her voice was becoming harder, tracking conversations bordering on impossible.

But it was better than the alternative.

Telling Logan or Ryan she was being followed by shadows and her mind was being invaded by darkness would land her in the emergency room within the hour.

“It’s the last of the night,” Ryan said quietly beside her. “Do whatever you want and screw the sale.”

She side-eyed him for a moment and set the pastel aside. “Tell me what to draw.”

“Me,” he smiled, taking another sip of his coffee and setting it down. “I’ll pose and everything.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She smirked, picking up the charcoal again as an image overtook her mind’s eye. “Flex for me, pretty boy.”

“Ah, no. We agreed last week that my brothers are pretty and I’m sensible.”

She could see him lean forward a fraction, brows furrowing as she began, and she laughed. “Despite the whole sexy-sensible vibe you have going, I’m not drawing you. You can relax.” Picking up a small blade, she sharpened her charcoal stick and slashed it across the canvas, the simple act easing the pressure building inside her. “This one’s been clawing at me all evening.”

The image in her mind unfolded quickly, her fingers struggling to keep up with the speed the lines were presenting themselves in her head. Lost in the work, she was barely cognizant of Logan or Ryan while they remained in the peripherals. She had a vague awareness of the changing light, her pace becoming almost frenetic as she raced to complete the piece before she lost the last of the sun. The din of her audience became a white noise, the sounds of the street and voices of onlookers blending into a single hum easily ignored until she added the final silver-tipped lines and sat back.

“Done,” she announced, dropping her charcoal pencil onto her table and stretching her arms over her head to relieve the aches. “Do your thing, Logan.” She turned to Ryan as Logan sprayed the piece down and angled it toward the potential bidders. “Nowthatwas cathartic,” she sighed, her voice trailing off when she realized his gaze was locked on her newest piece, every muscle taut.

*

“Three thousand,” hecalled out, stepping in front of Logan to block the canvas from view as he met her gaze. “We need to talk, Micah. Now.”

*

Ryan kept hiseyes on the road, refusing to glance at either the woman beside him or the artwork in the back seat while he rehearsed how he was going to approach the discussion they desperately needed to have. Emitting a nervous energy that pulsed through the car while they made their way to his motel room, Micah fiddled with her phone, her attention on the passing scenery until he pulled into the parking lot.

“Maybe let Logan know you’re here. I’m in room 138,” he said, pulling the canvas from the back seat and draping his button-down over it to hide the image from passersby while he carried it inside.

She fired off a quick text, got out of the car, and watched him carefully arrange the fabric to cover the image. “He’s probably already spent his cut of that sale on video games and beer,” she said, walking alongside him into the motel. “You know you could have just asked for it and I would’ve given it to you.”

They’d argued over the price while they’d marched to his car where the remaining two thousand was hidden away under the seat, Micah insisting he was being ridiculous for bidding at all and him refusing to say anything more than “We’ll talk.”

Listening for the click of the lock, he pushed his door open and stepped in, uncovering the canvas as he propped it on the dresser. “I apologize for the mess,” he muttered, shoving his button-down into the laundry bag he’d hung in the closet. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

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