Page 6 of A Virgo’s Muse (BLP Signs of Love #12)

I could smell gunpowder before I stepped into the room.

There was a thick tension that clung to your lungs like bad memories.

Warehouse lights buzzed overhead, flickering dimly.

Three of Santos’s men were posted near the far end, acting like I hadn’t been tracking their every move for the last ten minutes.

Santos stood dead center like he owned the place—black leather jacket, smug smirk, eyes that screamed vengeance, but hands that stayed real still.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” he said. His voice was low and sour like whiskey gone bad.

I walked in slowly with my shoulders loose and my black hoodie unzipped just enough to reveal the Glock at my waist. “You called. I figured you missed me.”

He laughed cold and short. “You’re a funny man, Onyx. Still cocky after putting my pops in the dirt?”

I tilted my head. “It was just business.”

Santos took a step closer, eyes narrowing. “That man raised me.”

“That man trafficked girls and cut deals with the Feds behind your back.” I shrugged. “Family ain’t always blood. You should be thanking me.”

His jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grind. “You think that makes you righteous?”

“Nah.” I smirked. “Just better at cleaning up messes.”

“You really think this shit ends with him?” Santos growled, stepping into my space.

I met his eyes, calm and still. “If you need to stand behind his ghost to feel powerful, go ahead. But if you push me, if you really push me, I’ll send you where he’s at. No hesitation.”

He stared hard, but he didn’t move. That was the thing about men like Santos. They talked revenge but hesitated at execution. That was why he was still breathing, and his father wasn’t.

“If you keep poking the devil,” I muttered as I turned to leave, “eventually, he shows you hell.”

By the time I left the warehouse, my adrenaline had cooled into something else entirely, something softer, something that smelled like acrylic paint and vanilla incense.

Desire...

Desire didn’t just walk into my life; she shifted something in it… in me.

I’d spent years perfecting silence. I kept my circle tight, my face unreadable, and my heart untouched. But her presence cracked something open I didn’t even know I’d boarded shut.

She didn’t even have to ask questions. Just standing next to her made me want to confess shit I’d die with otherwise. It made me want to hand her the codes to every safe I had, walk her through every dollar I ever stacked, and reveal every scar I ever earned.

There was something about the way she carried herself. She was unapologetically soft and still strong as hell. That made me want to be seen for more than what I did in the dark. She made silence feel warm instead of cold.

Around her, I didn’t have to be Onyx the cleaner, the shadow, the ghost. I could just be. And that shit was dangerous in a whole new way.

So yeah, maybe it was impulsive, but I wanted to see her again.

I needed to. I hit up my favorite Jamaican spot on Melrose.

I got her oxtails, extra gravy, rice and peas, and steamed cabbage on the side.

I had no idea if she was hungry or not, but something told me she’d appreciate the gesture.

I stopped at a florist on Crenshaw and grabbed a mixed bouquet of sunflowers and blush peonies because she looked like the type of woman who didn’t want roses.

She deserved something that felt like a warm day and fresh air.

I pulled up to My Desires right around 6:00 p.m. The lights were off, and the gate was halfway down. A handwritten sign taped to the front door read:

Closed for a mental health day.

I sat there for a minute with my engine humming. I wasn’t mad. Hell, she deserved a hundred days off with all the pressure she carried. Throughout my time sitting back and watching Desire, I picked up on the little things that the normal person wouldn’t. But still… something in me tightened.

I glanced at the passenger seat. The food was still hot and the flowers still fresh. My pride told me to just take my ass back home, but I’d already come this far.

I knew her address. I didn’t trust easily. I ran a background check the second I realized she was sticking in my head, not because I was suspicious. I needed to know if she was real, if this pull between us was real, if she was just a quiet woman with a loud soul.

She checked out. She was clean, private, kept to herself, and didn’t move weird. The only strange thing about her was how quickly she’d made space in my world without even asking.

That was how I found myself doing 85 in a 60, weaving through traffic like I had something to prove.

When I pulled up outside of her apartment, I killed the engine and just sat there.

Not gonna lie; I felt a little unhinged for showing up like this.

But when it came to her, my logic had a habit of clocking out.

I grabbed the food and flowers, took the steps two at a time, and stood at her door. I raised my fist to knock… then hesitated. Was this too much? Well, too late now. I knocked twice. I knocked hard enough to be heard but soft enough not to scare her.

The door cracked open a few seconds later.

Desire stood there in an oversized hoodie and socks on her feet.

Her eyes were a little puffy like she’d either been crying or sleeping hard.

Her hair was down. Curls spilled around her face like midnight fog.

She blinked in surprise. She was not scared. Just… processing.

I held up the bag and flowers. “You weren’t at the studio.”

She leaned against the doorframe with her arms folded. “You just happened to be in the area?”

I smirked. “Nah. I was coming to see you.”

A beat passed. Her eyes dropped to the flowers then back to me. “How’d you get my address?”

I didn’t blink. “I did my homework.”

She stared for another second. Then she shook her head, chuckling to herself, signaling to me that I hadn’t completely lost her yet.

“Come in,” she said softly, stepping aside.

I walked in slow, soaking her in. The apartment smelled like lavender and clean linen. Art supplies were everywhere. Canvases, open paint jars, and sketchbooks were scattered across her dining table. She lived like she breathed color. Even her chaos was beautiful.

She took the food and flowers without a word, setting them on the counter. I noticed her hoodie slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing soft skin and a small birthmark shaped like a crescent moon.

“You eat today?” I asked.

“Not really.”

“Well, sit down. I brought you dinner.”

She hesitated then pulled out a chair. I opened the containers, watching the way her face lit up just from the smell.

I kept watching her but not in that surface-level way.

I watched the way her eyes moved, the way her breathing shifted between silence and tension, the way her fork had been resting still in her hand for the last five minutes with untouched food in front of her.

Desire hadn’t said much, but I could see the weight of everything she hadn’t let fall in her mannerisms

When she finally looked up at me, it hit me. The white of her eyes were red, and her hazel-green irises looked dimmer than usual. Her body sat still, but her thoughts were pacing loudly and restlessly. I could hear them without her speaking a word.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” I murmured. She didn’t respond. “You been crying too.”

She blinked hard like she didn’t want to give me that, like her silence could shield her from being seen. But it was too late for that. I already saw her. I saw every cracked piece she tried to seal shut with a smile and some soft-spoken strength.

I leaned in closer, my voice low but firm. “Your thoughts are too loud, Desire. Let it out.”

She looked away. “It’s just… a lot.”

“Then give it to me,” I said with no hesitation. “Whatever you carrying. Whatever you been holding in to keep from falling apart, I’ll take it. You don’t gotta wear that armor with me.”

She shook her head, and I assumed it was not because she didn’t want to, but because she didn’t know how. That kind of vulnerability didn’t come easy, especially not for someone who had to be strong for everybody else.

After a moment, she spoke. “It’s my parents,” she said in a small voice. “My mom’s sick… Alzheimer’s. And she’s fading faster than I can keep up. My dad’s there with her at the home, but he’s tired too. He don’t say it, but I see it in his face. And I’m the only one. They only have me.”

She rubbed her eyes hard, almost like she hated being seen like this. “I took today off ’cause I couldn’t fake it anymore. I needed to breathe without worrying about someone else.”

I didn’t say anything. I just let her speak. She wasn’t done.

“My studio… After the fire at my childhood home, I fell behind. I put everything into fixing what I could. Thought the art would carry me. Thought I could work through the chaos like I always have.” Her voice cracked.

“But the late notices keep coming. The mortgage is stacking up, and I keep pretending like it’s all under control. ”

“And you?” I asked.

Her voice cracked. “I don’t know.”

The silence between us stretched, thick and heavy. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“You won’t have to keep carrying that,” I told her.

She looked up finally. Her eyes were glossy and confused.

“I mean that shit. The pressure, the doubt, the fear of what happens if you fall apart, I got it. I don’t care how ugly it gets or how long it takes. You just worry about your parents. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Why?” she whispered, like no one had ever told her that before.

“Because I want to,” I said, simple and clean. “Because when I see you, I don’t just see some woman who paints and hides behind brushstrokes. I see somebody strong enough to carry everyone else but never asks to be carried herself.”

She went quiet again, but this time, it wasn’t resistance. It was disbelief.

I wasn’t done. “I know how Virgos are,” I said with a half-smirk. “Y’all love being in control. But when you love? It’s deep, unspoken, and all you really want is someone who gets it, who sees through your silence, and who applies pressure without asking for anything in return.”

She exhaled. There was a tremble in her breath. Her hand found mine, slow and unsure, but it was there.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, locking eyes with her. “I’m not some ghost that fades when life gets heavy. I’m here… with you… for you.”

There were no more words after that. Just steady and certain presence. She leaned into me finally, and I let her. Because even the strongest women needed somewhere soft to land.