His Favorite Color is Blood - Coffin Nails MC (gay biker dark romance) (Sex & Mayhem Book 8) (9 page)

“If that’s what you want ...”

“That’s what I want.” Andrey moved
his wheelchair into the corridor.

Grim moved forward before Andrey
could close the door and blocked it. His throat was aching so hard even talking
was painful. The little rat was truly ready to leave him behind. After
everything Grim did for him? “Don’t trust strangers. Always say you’re visiting
friends if anyone asks.”

Andrey licked his lips, looking
back at Grim. “Do you have a phone number? In case something really bad
happened?”

Grim smirked, but it felt more
like an ugly grimace than a smile as he took the hotel-provided notebook and
pen, scribbling his phone number on the piece of paper. He walked up to Andrey
and slowly extended his hand toward him. “That’s how it is?
Be on call,
Grim, but basically, fuck off, you creep
?”

Andrey huffed and put his hands
on the wheels. “Then don’t be on call. I’ll be fine on my own!”

Grim growled low in his chest but
leaned down, folding the piece of paper, only to stuff it into a pocket of
Andrey’s new hoodie. “You’re selfish.”

“Because it’s so selfish to want
some autonomy over your own body. Bye.” He looked away and wheeled forward, but
it gave Grim a tiny bit of satisfaction that Andrey didn’t throw the phone
number back at him or make a point of tearing it into pieces. Andrey needed
him, even if he didn’t want to admit it yet.

Grim sighed. “We’ll see how that
will work out for you.”

But Andrey didn’t even look back
at him anymore, and soon enough, disappeared behind the curve of the corridor.
Grim still heard the ring of an elevator, but only silence after that.

He banged his forehead against
the doorway and slammed his fist against the wall. There he was. Grim, the one
who was always called over when shit hit the fan, left by a guy in a
wheelchair. A guy who had no idea about the country he was in, had no documents,
no means of transportation, and he’d be vulnerable to assault as a lonely,
disabled foreigner. That was not what Grim had imagined when he carried him out
of that locked room.

He closed the door and walked
over to the window, looking down to the roofing above the main entrance of the
hotel. His heart was thumping painfully against the bones in his chest, and he
massaged his temples, fighting the anger raging inside his veins. Grim still
had hope that Andrey would freak out in the lobby and come back, but then, a
lonely figure illuminated by the lights from the hotel rolled forward in a wheelchair.
It almost seemed like he had a purpose when in fact he was a broken bird, just
out of the cage, stumbling uselessly on the ground to soon become food for predators.

That was it. Grim would not simply
take that slap in the face. As much as he understood Andrey’s reluctance to
trust anyone, even the man who protected him from a terrible fate, the foolish
decision to go off on his own was too much.

Grim quickly burst out the door
and rushed to the stairs, stampeding at full speed in order to catch up with
his prey. Andrey couldn’t see how misguided he was being, and it was up to Grim
to save his ass, by force if necessary.

Chapter 8 – Misha

As Misha rolled forward, every
shadow was a monster revving a chainsaw, and every time his wheelchair
screeched over gravel, he heard the snap of bones breaking. He pulled his hood
over his head, but it wasn’t helping with his growing anxiety one bit. He’d
freaked out at Grim in the hotel, maybe he overreacted a bit, but he didn’t
want to become someone’s plaything once again, just to get their protection.
Even if that someone was handsome and pretended to be nice. Misha couldn’t
trust anyone anymore. The people who had him kidnapped in the first place had
seemed
nice
as well. That didn’t mean shit. If Grim was a killer for the
motorcycle club, he probably knew how to hide his real emotions to achieve his
goals.

At least it was warm here in
August, so he could sleep in the wheelchair tonight. A short path from the
hotel led him into a tidy park. He should be okay if he found himself a spot
behind some trees, where he wouldn’t be visible from the alley. But as he was
telling himself that, his temples pulsed louder with each second, and his hands
were becoming sweaty in the gloves. It was all too much. Even in daylight, even
with Grim’s steady body at Misha’s side, the number of people, the vast spaces,
the many options ... it was all too much. When he looked up into the cloudless
sky, nothing stood between him and the moon. It terrified him.

When he wheeled farther down the
alley and the darkness of the park became thicker, he decided that maybe
loitering in a street would have been a better option. No one would attack a
guy in a wheelchair in plain sight, would they? Misha tried to convince himself
that he was safe, but the farther he was from Grim, the stiffer his joints
became. It wasn’t just anxiety, because he had lived with that for years. This
fear was far more visceral. It had a smell, a texture, it tasted of blood, and
brought a saw with it to cut off more of his body, torture him until he
fainted, and then give him smelling salts just so he could suffer again.

Misha stilled when he sensed a
gaze on his back. It burned through the hoodie, insistent and shameless. He
swallowed hard and pretended to reach into the bag strapped on his wheelchair,
just to seem casual as he looked for the intruding pair of eyes. A man watched
him from a bench close by, hiding behind a book he could read in the
streetlight right above him.

Misha should have asked for the
gun before going out. Grim had promised to give him one, and Misha walking out
on him shouldn’t have canceled their agreement. He made the wheels roll quicker
so that he’d be out of the park soon. He pushed on the wheels even faster as
something creaked behind him. It didn’t matter that the man probably wasn’t
looking to assault him. He could have a phone on him. He surely had a phone.
His phone could be used to take a photo and find Misha. And Misha couldn’t take
ending up in Zero’s hands again. He’d rather die.

Minutes later, he took a deep
breath once he was out in the street again, but being surrounded by more
passersby didn’t make him feel any less nervous. He could hardly bear that some
of them glanced his way. How was he to navigate in this foreign world that was
nothing like the movies he’d watched? It was dirty, the streets were filled
with cars, there were no stores in sight, and he had no map. He was useless.
What
was
he good for? Soon enough, he’d run out of money, and he’d most
probably fall into prostitution of some sort. When he was younger, when he had
legs, he’d have stolen a map and hitchhiked. But now? Who was going to take a
hitchhiker with no legs? Who would give him a job?

Even his mind stilled the moment
he noticed a street camera follow him along the road. Its dark lens was like
Zero’s eye, ready to pluck him out of the crowd and mutilate even his soul.

Misha turned around like the
coward he was and rolled his wheelchair back to the park. Technically, he could
circle the park to get back to the hotel, but he was too afraid to get lost in
the dark. The reality of his fear was so visceral it could choke him. He’d
never felt it to such extent when he was trapped in Gary’s basement, when every
detail was familiar. Back then, Misha imagined himself bravely sneaking out of
the base and going to the police with the security intel he had gathered about
the organization and the things he’d seen done in the compound. He could laugh
at that fantasy now if he weren’t too scared to draw attention to himself. He
didn’t even have enough courage to hand over his knowledge and Gary’s flash
drive to the police. Hell, he wasn’t even brave enough to check what was on the
flash drive in the first place, because the idea of opening a computer was too
much to bear when he was all too aware of just how much a good hacker could dig
up on his location. Having to deal with Gary fucking him would be nothing in
comparison to what Zero, or men like him, could do to Misha if they caught him.

The wind started gaining strength
as he was making his way through the alleys, which were lit only by rare
streetlights, and Misha wasn’t even sure what made him more afraid: wheeling
through the darkness or making himself visible in the light. Every person
passing by or looming between the trees was a potential threat. Maybe even one
of Zero’s men on standby, ready to take him to meet his fate.

By the time Misha wheeled out of
the park and saw the neon light on top of the hotel, his throat was so tight he
found it hard to breathe.

He wouldn’t cry.

He wouldn’t cry!

He gave the receptionist a shaky
nod, and she greeted him with a professional smile that didn’t feel any less
menacing than the stares of people outside. By the time Misha got to the
elevator, his palms were sweaty, and he had trouble breathing. And getting
closer to Grim didn’t make him feel any safer, because he knew that a camera
kept staring right at him from above.

On the fourth floor, he turned
into the corridor so fast he almost fell over in the wheelchair, and he knocked
on the door to Grim’s room in a rhythm more rapid than he would have liked.

“Please don’t be in the shower,”
he whispered to himself.

The door opened slowly after a
few moments, and Misha was so happy to see Grim’s face it made him ashamed.

Grim opened the door without a
word, his face blank.

Misha hung his head in
embarrassment and rolled his wheelchair inside. “I’m sorry … I’m so messed up.
I can’t even function normally anymore.”

“I can see that. I told you it’s
not safe out there for someone like you,” said Grim and shut the door with
anger fueling his muscles.

Misha hugged himself in relief
and sat there in the middle of the room, finally letting his muscles go lax.
Around Grim, even breathing was easier. “I used to be good at running,” he
choked out.

Grim was so silent it gave Misha
the creeps.

“I’m sorry,” he said in the end
and sat in the middle of the sofa, rubbing his face.

Misha swallowed what would have
been a sob if he didn’t stop it fast enough. “Do you even want me to stay?
After what I said? I don’t want to go, but I will if I have to.”

Grim looked up at him and gave a
slow nod. “You can’t make it without me.”

“You found me by accident. You’re
not responsible for me. I don’t want to turn your life upside down. I just need
… some help,” said Misha, even though he was already heaving with desperation.

“I want to help you.” Grim
exhaled and leaned back on the sofa, watching Misha with a scowl waiting to
happen. “I told you someone needs to piece you back together, and that man will
be me. But it is fucking annoying to know that you don’t see that in me.”

“It’s just too soon. And I’ve met
creeps. You’re not one.” Misha looked down at his knees, embarrassed he’d said
such nasty things when Grim, despite his obsessive behavior, was not forcing
himself on Misha and even let him go. “I still haven’t shaken Gary’s breath off
me. I’m not ready for sex. It doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re handsome. Or
that your dick isn’t actually a massive turn-on.” Heat flooded his face at the
last confession.

Grim exhaled. “You called me a
creep, and it was half an hour ago.”

“I was angry.”

Grim played with the upholstery
of the sofa. “You’re like a fucking unicorn.”

Misha dared to look up, unsure
whether it was devotee slang. “What?”

Grim met his gaze calmly and
combed his hair, which for once was a bit out of place. “There’s not that many
guys I really like. I mean ...” He gestured at Misha’s stumps and cleared his
throat, ungluing his eyes from them with obvious strain. “And then, most are
straight, or they don’t have the right personality. Even porn is sparse, so I
end up watching some with women.”

Misha sighed. He supposed that
liking the stumps didn’t make Grim an inherently bad person, and it was Misha’s
own aversion to them that made accepting this kind of adoration so difficult.
“If you could find a gay guy you really liked and he liked you back and you got
him to have an accident, where he loses his legs, and he’d never know it was
because of you, would you do that?”

Grim’s face twisted, and he took
a deep breath. “Why would you even say that? Who would want that to happen to
someone they care about?”

“Someone selfish.”

Grim shook his head. “I don’t
want anyone to deal with that.” He looked up, swallowing, and in the light of a
single lamp by the television, Grim seemed deflated. “But there is this need in
me to find someone who already lost his legs. Make it all up to him ...”

“I’m sorry I said mean things. I …
never met a devotee who wouldn’t also be a terrible human being. Some people
would say fucked-up shit to me online.”

Grim reached out his hand toward
Misha. “I can be scary, I get it. But it’s so fucking hard to meet someone
who’s my type. It just is.”

Misha wheeled closer and grabbed
Grim’s hand. “You’re intense. That’s all.”

Grim kissed each of Misha’s
knuckles and kept his hand by his face, breathing in its smell. That didn’t
feel so bad or scary at all.

“So what do you like about the
amputations?” Misha asked quietly, watching Grim’s harmonious face. When he’d
lost his legs, he’d been sure he’d never have a hot guy interested in him ever
again. He had fantasized about escaping Gary and imagined how a life outside
could look for him. How he would only get pity fucks at best, but maybe that
wasn’t all the world had in store for him?

Grim smirked and nudged Misha’s
palm open with his fingers before brushing his lips against its center. “Can I
really tell you, or will you hate me if I’m honest?”

Misha was afraid of what he would
hear, but he brushed his thumb over Grim’s lip. “No, tell me. I want to
understand.” Over the years, he’d heard many disturbing confessions from
devotees, but also pure adoration, which he couldn’t understand, and he needed
to know where Grim stood.

Grim’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he
looked at Misha from above the hand he kept gently kissing on the sensitive
inner side. “It’s like I’m conditioned to spot people who ... lack body parts.
Even something as small as a finger ... I notice it right away. It’s different
and draws me in. But that’s like liking a specific hair color, I suppose. What
really pulls me toward amputees is that they are”—he chewed on his lip, as if
searching for words—”helpless. I know that most people want to be independent,
but I love how it feels to carry a man who can’t move around on his own.”

Misha didn’t like to think of
himself as helpless, yet he couldn’t deny feeling like that sometimes, even tonight,
when he left the hotel. Half an hour alone, and he had craved Grim’s
protection. And to think that for Grim it wasn’t a burden but a turn-on was …
reassuring.

“But you wouldn’t use that
against someone, right?” he said even though by “someone” he obviously meant
himself.

Grim’s tongue flicked over the
middle of Misha’s palm, sending a shiver down his spine. “No. I can’t see
people like you suffer. I donate to charities,” he added after a few seconds,
searching Misha’s face with his eyes, as if waiting for approval.

“I’m really fucked up, and I
don’t know if I can ever be pieced together. But when I feel like I’m ready to
do something sexual, you’ll be first on my list, okay?”

Grim smiled and pulled Misha’s
wheelchair closer until one of the wheels bumped against his shin. “Deal. I can
be your Prince Charming. How about that?”

Misha didn’t have the words to
express his relief, so he nodded and held on to Grim’s shoulders as he used his
stumps for leverage and crawled into Grim’s lap. Around Grim, he didn’t feel
useless and pitiful anymore. That solitary trip was enough for him to
understand he needed a protector. He couldn’t do this alone, because no matter
how he imagined life when he still lived in the relative safety of Gary’s
apartment, he was no hero. All he wanted was to hide somewhere where he
wouldn’t be found.

Grim put his hands on Misha’s
hips and supported him during the transfer. The way his eyes strayed lower, to
the stumps, didn’t bother Misha nearly as much as it did an hour ago. Moments
later, he was wrapped in those strong arms with Grim’s heart thudding against
his arm, as they pulled close. His hand slid to Misha’s thigh and slowly made
its way toward his knee.