Page 48 of Muzzled

“The last thing I need to touch on is Micah’s artwork. I’m sending you two a few photos I have of some of the weirder stuff so you’re prepared.” He looked back at the window. “She’s not sleeping. Barely eating. I’m—” He swallowed, remembering the dark circles under her eyes and the tremors she tried to hide from him when she painted anything that wasn’t a shade. “I don’t know how she’ll be by Saturday, and I don’t need either of you getting squirrelly if she’s adding to her collection.”

“How bad could it be?” Alex laughed, his good humor disappearing as the first set of images pinged his phone. “What the fuck is this? She…that’s Charlotte.”

“Panic now, because we need to keep it cool later,” he warned, giving them time to look through the pictures he’d sent. “I don’t want to scare her any more than she already is.”

Alex’s voice began to rise. “Why the fuck is she drawing my girlfriend in a hole, Ryan?”

“You don’t recognize that view?” he asked, his own voice growing louder as Bo started to comment. “That’s Joshua Tree, Alex. Go through the rest. The shade must have been there when we took the Pirithous down. He’s pushing his thoughts through Micah. She’s holding on pretty well, but if it becomes more aggressive—”

“We’ll be there Saturday,” Bo stated, effectively ending the conversation. “If anything gets worse before then, I can be on-site sooner.”

He nodded absently, walking toward the entrance. “You two still have all the travel documents I arranged last month?”

“Yeah,” Alex responded, his voice hollow. “I’m gonna kill this thing.”

He unlocked the motel room door and knocked as he entered. “That’s the goal.”

Chapter Eighteen

Micah tossed herphone on Ryan’s bed and placed her hands on his chest, rocking him back and forth until he finally set his notebook aside and conceded. “Fine,” he muttered, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “We’ll go. Give me fifteen minutes to get ready.”

She skipped across the motel room to her purse, digging around for her favorite lipstick. “We can’t stay cooped up inside for three more days,” she called toward the bathroom, meeting Ryan’s gaze when he ducked his head out and gave her a flat stare. She kissed air at him, giddy at the prospect of hitting the bars for an evening of escapism and dancing. “It’ll be good for us. A night out, a few drinks, and you need a break from paisley curtains and that questionable bedding.”

“The bedding here is no more questionable than the bar tables you want me to sit at tonight,” he grumbled, lathering his face and narrowing his eyes. “Maybe I should just hound it tonight.”

Leaning closer to the poorly lit dresser mirror to examine her eyeliner, she waved him off. “No way. The only way you’re going on all fours tonight is if you break into the tequila.” She turned to him as he lifted the straight razor to his cheek. “You can keep the five-o’clock shadow.”

With a quick swipe, he tilted his chin. “Never been my style. So where is Logan meeting us?”

“The bar across from the sushi place on Fifth,” she replied, squeezing behind him into the small bathroom and sitting on the edge of the tub. “Where did you learn to do that?”

He smiled quickly and changed position. “It was the only option for a very, very long time. I tried the electric ones about a decade ago. Not as good.”

“Do you dance?” she asked, watching as he scraped the blade across his jaw. “Because I’m dancing. All. Night.”

Wrinkling his nose, he angled his head back. “I can, yes. But I’m definitely better at guarding drinks than I am on the dance floor. You all set?”

She grabbed her perfume from the counter, gave herself a few spritzes, and left him in peace to finish up.

He’d been noticeably more relaxed since speaking to his brothers, the tension that had been holding his shoulders rigid and his eyes hard lessening a little more every day. Although he remained adamant they be sequestered in either her suite or his room, he’d finally begun to relax around her, sprawling out on her floor or on his bed as she worked, telling her uncensored stories of Bo and Alex’s shenanigans. His own stories, to her amusement, were far more selectively told.

Apparently, Ryan was bordering on sainthood.

“Belt or no belt?” he called over, holding his arms out for assessment.

She took her time looking him over, admiring the low rise of the jeans he’d chosen and deciding she preferred not to lose that view. “No belt. And maybe one of those V-necks?”

Frowning at his collection of black shirts, he grabbed a V-neck from a hanger and disappeared back into the bathroom for a moment. “Okay,” he said, sliding his wallet into his back pocket. “Let’s go before I fall facedown on that bed.”

Although she had been sleeping soundly since he took it upon himself to be within screaming distance at all times, he had been prowling her neighborhood from sundown to sunup, the soft padding of his paws by her window every twenty minutes reassuring her of his presence. He was grabbing short naps during the day while she sketched and painted, but nowhere near enough to keep him rested.

*

“We don’t haveto go if you really don’t want to,” she offered, holding his hand as they exited the room. “We can hang out here and catch a movie.”

He tightened his grip on her fingers. “You look way too good to be hanging out in a motel room with an old guy.” He grinned, opening the car door for her. “Since I forgot to say it earlier, you look stunning.”

She gave a quick curtsy, got in, and closed the door. “We look very badass together. Like assassins,” she said, taking his phone from him and plugging it in to charge. She reached over and trailed her fingers along his freshly shaven jaw. “Sexy assassins.”

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