Page 28 of His Favorite Color is Blood
“You perv on blood?” Misha raised his eyebrows.
“No. I just like how it smells and feels on me,” said Grim.
Misha stroked the bat. “So if I was bleeding, you’d be happy to see that?”
Grim shuddered visibly. “God, no. That’s a fucked-up thing to say.”
“You’re the one to talk. You said you liked it.”
“Yeah, but if a person says they like meat, it doesn’t mean they will eat, say, a cat. I’d never drain a broken boy.”
Misha frowned, not sure if he should slap Grim or ignore the comment. “‘Broken boy’?”
Grim slouched. “You’re gonna hate me again now, aren’t you?”
“Oh, so you do learn.” Misha pouted and looked out of the window to the forest that looked like it could be the backdrop for anX-Filesepisode. “I’m not a weakling.”
Grim pressed hard on the brake and then slowly rolled the truck into a narrow road that led into the woods. “You aren’t fine either. You need my help.”
As much as Misha wanted to, he couldn’t argue with that. “So who do you …drain?”
Grim exhaled and finally stopped the truck, turning toward Misha. He even unbuckled Misha’s seatbelt for him. “My contracts.”
“And what? You sit around and smell their blood?” Misha’s frown deepened, but if he were completely honest, there were a few people he’d gladly drain.
Grim laughed and patted the baseball bat in Misha’s lap. “Maybe you should find out yourself?”
Misha cocked his head to the side. “Wow. That sounds like a very indecent proposal.” Something about Grim made the morbid humor natural, like the magnetism of a predatory big cat inviting him to play.
Grim opened his door and jumped out. “You have no idea.”
He soon returned and pulled Misha out of the cab, carrying him between the fragrant trees. It had been ages since Misha smelled fresh wood and leaves, and the pristine air made his head spin for a moment. But Grim was there to hold him up. Misha put his face against Grim’s neck, enjoying the guilt-free hug under the pretense of being carried. He was disappointed to leave the embrace when Grim helped him into the wheelchair.
“What now? Should I take my gun?” What was Grim planning? The fact that he wouldn’t say made Misha even giddier with excitement.
It was hard to say in the dark, but he somehow sensed Grim’s smile. “Yes. And the baseball bat. You are gonna enjoy this.”
“And it’s not even my birthday yet.” Misha gripped the bat, watching Grim move in the darkness. He was the one shadow Misha wasn’t afraid of.
“We need to change. Can’t have your nice new stuff damaged,” said Grim and passed Misha a plastic bag with what felt like clothes. Now that Misha’s eyes were getting used to the darkness, he could again see contours of the shapes around him.
He looked inside, getting more curious by the second, but pulled his pants off as soon as he put the bat down. The bag contained a set of cheap sweats Grimbought earlier that day. He had been planning this for hours but kept Misha in the dark.
“You won’t tell me anything?” Misha asked as he was changing.
“It would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?” asked Grim through the black shirt he was putting on. For a moment, Misha wondered how much taller than him Grim would be, if he still had his legs, but it was such a draining thought that he pushed it deep into the back of his mind.
“I give up.”
Grim insisted on pushing Misha’s chair as they started making their way back down the side of the asphalt road, and Misha didn’t even want to argue, because their arsenal was stored in a big black bag that he was keeping in his lap.
Misha kept silent, afraid that talking could make them too visible. They wore black and melted into the shadows. For once, even in the wheelchair, he’d be what hid in the night, not the one afraid of it.
Only one car drove past them throughout what seemed like a pleasant walk. Misha used to be afraid of the dark, even when he was still able-bodied and knew where he was. But with Grim’s confidence to fall back on, it was hard to experience any distress at all, and strangely, it felt like they had known one another for much longer than two nights.
Grim pushed him to the other side of the road as they neared a medium-sized house between the fields. There was light coming through twin windows on the ground floor, and Misha wondered if he were to witness some kind of deal or maybe meet a friend of Grim’s. Then again, he doubted he got the bat for playing baseball.
“Do you need me to do something?” Misha whispered, completely out of his depth. He’d done some shady things while he was still in Russia, but that was years ago, when he still had legs to keep him away from harm.
