Page 4 of Muzzled

Flipping open her collection of brushes, she ran her nail across the plastic seal of a new canvas. “Just need to get a few images down before I lose them,” she muttered, laying out her paints and sitting cross-legged on the floor. “I’ll yell if I need you to help me to my feet in an hour or two.”

Logan rolled his eyes and flopped onto his bed. “I’m gonna be pissed if I wake up and you’re still painting.”

“Yeah, yeah. Either I do this now or I lay awake for three hours and do it then. Sleep, young grasshopper. You have much carnie-calling to do tomorrow.”

She ignored his grumblings as she roughly sketched out a new piece, glancing over only when his breathing became steady.

He was a good kid, an unpaid graffiti artist she’d picked up in Montreal the previous summer, wasting his immense talent on the boxcars and fences he was using to hone his skills. Twenty-two and floundering, he’d jumped at her offer to accompany her across the country during festival season, with a cut of the profits and training during their downtime sweetening the travel deal.

Running her fingers over her round brushes, she selected the thickest and set to work bringing her vision to the canvas.

Chapter Two

Ryan set hisstraight razor on the towel to dry and swiped his thumb across his phone screen to answer the call buzzing in. “Hey, Bo,” he greeted his brother, tilting his head to ensure he hadn’t missed a spot. “How’s the ball and chain?”

“Fucking hot as always,” Bo replied with the sharp inhale of a cigarette. “I don’t know why Alex is dragging his feet on marrying Charlotte. This whole husband-wife thing is way better than Hades and Seph ever let on.”

Ryan wiped off a stray line of cream, hung the damp cloth on the shower rod, and walked to his makeshift desk. “Not sure you can compare four months of marriage to a few thousand years, but glad to hear it.” He chuckled, pleased his wilder younger brother had finally found the antidote to his restlessness. “You have a chance to check out that link I sent you?”

The grinding of metal-on-metal echoed through the phone and he pulled it away from his ear until the sound of Bo’s job site faded. “That’s what I’m calling about.” There was a long exhale and the snick of a lighter. “Sage and I took a look at it this morning and holy fuck, man. Those are some scary-accurate pieces. You sure there isn’t a nymph on site?”

“Positive,” he muttered, re-opening Maestro Mike’s webpage. “I covered the whole area last night and couldn’t pick up anything out of the ordinary. I’m heading back to the street in a bit to check out the main performers and artists and hopefully narrow down the location.” He squinted at the menu and clicked on the artist’s profile. “Guy’s talented.”

There was a muffling on the line, Bo’s graveled voice barking out commands before he responded. “Sage actually wants me to order a few of the prints to replace the mass-produced shit you hung up here. I’ll link you to the ones we’re thinking of, so if the guy does any others that would work, you can maybe grab them and ship them down to us.”

Us.

He shook his head and leaned into the uncomfortable high-backed chair. “Look at you, all domesticated and picking out art.” When his brother snorted and swore under his breath, he flipped his laptop closed. “Have you seen Dio recently?”

“Last week.” Bo grunted, his displeasure over Dionysus coming through loud and clear in his tone. “I’m starting to think he only comes around to hang with Sage now. Asshole has barely said two words to me since I kicked his ass in poker last month.” He took a long drag of his cigarette. “You sure you don’t need one of us up there? Alex was thinking maybe he and I could trade off, maybe not leave all the hunt on you.”

Pushing himself to his feet, he slid his room key into his wallet. “You two have other things on your plates. Once I get a guaranteed hit, I’ll call you in.”

Bo went quiet for a moment. “We fucking owe you. I owe you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grinned. “Get your lazy ass back to work and tell that beautiful bride of yours I say hi.”

He watched the screen go dark and shoved the phone into his back pocket before slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder, straightening the collar of his black button-down, and walking out the door.

*

“Eighty? I goteighty. Anyone for a clean hundred? And we got a hundred!”

Mike used the cleanest area of her palm to push her hair back while she sprayed her latest piece with a sealer and passed it over to Logan as he wrapped up the sale. “Fingers will smudge th—”

He gave her a withering look. “Seriously?”

Right.

He knew the drill.

Loading another canvas on her easel, she took a moment to read the mid-afternoon audience before selecting the pastels. “How are the prints selling?”

Logan crouched beside her, sliding one foot out to push the crowd back. “I just set out a new stack,” he grinned, rubbing her shoulders as he leaned closer to watch the faint outline of a new piece filling the canvas. “Take a break and grab a bite. No arguing.”

Exhaling loudly, she arched her back over the cheap folding chair and closed her eyes. “Alright. This one isn’t screaming to me anyway. Maybe you’ll have more luck.”

He held his arm out to her and brought her to her feet, slapping a few bills into her hand as he took her seat. “Whatever you think I’ll eat, get me three of it,” he ordered, nodding over her head as someone held up two prints. “That’ll be forty.”

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