Page 27 of His Favorite Color is Blood
Grim’s heart stirred, and he slowly curled his fingers around Misha’s wrist, drawn closer as if Misha were a magnet. “Sounds like fun. You’d be my sidekick.”
“I’d need to have a mask too.”
“We can get one later. What kind would you like?” asked Grim, whose mind was already wandering to a reality where he’d carry Misha on his back, both of them in combat gear, ready to strike. Misha could be covering Grim’s back easier that way.
“Can I try yours on? It looks cool, but I want to know if that leather isn’t too tight. I’d be scary with my Russian accent. Villains are always British or Russian.”
Grim laughed and stroked Misha’s face, pulling back a few strands of hair. “You’d make them fall to their knees and suck your cock if you spoke to them like that.”
“Are you saying sucking my cock is torture?” And there he was—the cocky guy Grim missed.
Grim stroked his nose over Misha’s, looking into his big eyes with a warm feeling settling in his stomach. “I don’t know. I only did it once.”
“I wouldn’t want you to suffer again.” Misha pushed on Grim’s solar plexus with his finger.
Grim swallowed hard, inhaling the scent of toothpaste on Misha’s breath. The minty aroma mixed with the warm tang of flesh made Grim’s body hair bristle. “You sure? I keep pissing you off.”
“I’m fucked up. I already told you that. You have to take it or leave it, but if you want me gone, I’m taking the wheelchair. And the gun.”
“And will I get a kiss if I keep all three of you?”
Misha looked a bit skittish all of a sudden. “Yes, but let’s keep it at that, okay? You said it was fine if we took things slow, but you still keep pushing. I don’t like that.”
Grim exhaled his disappointment, but a kiss wassomething, so he nodded, looking into Misha’s eyes as he licked the seam of his smooth lips. They opened up to him in the sweetest invitation, and Misha closed his eyes.
Grim traced Misha’s jaw with his fingertips and dove in, brushing his mouth over Misha’s sweet flesh, tasting his warmth and the aftertaste of toothpaste as he teased Misha’s tongue. He didn’t expect the way Misha leaned forward, clawing his fingers into Grim’s cut and eagerly opening his mouth. He put his other hand on Grim’s thigh for support, and it was yet another bait for Grim’s senses. Misha would do him in with the push and pull.
Grim nipped on Misha’s lips and eventually kissed his cheek, not wanting to get overly excited now. “You don’t want to use that gun on me yet?”
Misha squinted and leaned back in the wheelchair, looking more confident already with the gun in hand, even if he was holding it wrong. “Not yet.”
Chapter 11
Misha
Misha watched Grim, tryingto work out from his smug expression where they were going. They’d obtained fake license plates for the truck at a garage downtown and then spent the afternoon shooting at trees in the woods, and Misha was drunk on his newfound love of guns. Despite him often feeling like less of a man because of his disability, the Ruger gave him a boost of confidence so powerful he could hardly contain his excitement.
His hair smelled of gunpowder, and his wrists hurt from the recoil, but there was fire burning in his veins. The shots had been so fucking loud his ears were still ringing, but for once, if some of Zero’s henchmen came after him, he’d at least be able to do some damage. Or in the worst-case scenario, shoot himself before any of those creeps could get their hands on him.
“Come on, you have to tell me where we’re going,” Misha said as he watched the neverending rows of trees passing behind the windows of their truck. They ended up taking all of their stuff from the hotel and spent some time at a mall, where Grim insisted Misha get his sidekick mask. Misha settled on a simple black ski mask that was on sale in the sports store. He wondered if Grim found the masks arousing since he was so intent on getting Misha one, but he still went with it.
Grim also purchased a pair of leather gloves for Misha and some ammo, and the moment Grim put a baseball bat into Misha’s lap once they drove out of the parking lot, Misha got suspicious that this wasn’t just an outing. How serious had Grim taken Misha’s earlier declarations about wanting to be a sniper? As eager as Misha had been, he was far from being a good shot yet.
“It’s a surprise,” said Grim with a smile, as they drove down a dark road between fields, occasionally passing a small town. With it being already past nine pm, he doubted they would be returning to the hotel that night.
“Are you taking me on one of your jobs? Am I gonna do your dirty work now?” Misha snorted and petted the baseball bat, embarrassed when his mind made him imagine it as Grim’s dick.
“No.” Grim waved his hand dismissively, switching off the high-beam lights when he noticed a car approaching. He put them back on as soon as they were back to facing emptiness. “This will be for pleasure.”
A pang of fear found its way to Misha’s heart, and an insistent voice in his head called out to him that all of Grim’s words were a lie and that all his claims of devotion were meant to make Misha follow Grim like a sheep until a new buyer for his mutilated body was found. What if he was taking Misha to some fucked-up orgy with other devotees.
But those worries quickly dispersed without much effort. Buying the things they had that day and shooting lessons probably weren’t a part of your typical pre-orgy agenda. “NowI’m worried.”
“Really? Why?” asked Grim, driving past the boundary of their lane as he turned his head, looking at something. He quickly adjusted their direction with the steering wheel and slowed down.
“Because you take pleasure in perving on amputees,” Misha said but softened the blow with a wink.
Grim sighed. “And blood.”
