Page 90 of His Favorite Color is Blood
“Here!” Dennis yelled and waved his hand toward a room at the end of the corridor.
Grim coughed, squeezing one hand on Misha’s forearm, where it pressed against his body, and ran. Misha’s survival was his sole reason to still exist. “Hold on,” he muttered, trying not to stumble, even though his feet were dragging for no reason. His mind was resisting the force that was trying to pull it into a spin, but by the time he rushed into the same room as Dennis, the edges of his vision were already fuzzy. Without a second thought, he moved to the empty window and looked out.
Only one floor, and the window below had bars in it. To the side was a drainpipe they could try to use for climbing down. Some bushes could soften their fall if they didn’t make it.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Misha whispered and kissed the back of Grim’s head.
Grim’s gaze swung toward Dennis, who eyed the light dancing over the ground below with a stiffened expression. Grim smirked and put his leg over the bottom of the window frame, already reaching for the drainpipe. “You’re gonna be okay,” he promised, fighting against the weight that was pulling him down and the painful stretch on his skin.
Dennis nodded but looked back, as if expecting the fire to rush inside like a contract killer.
“Stay right behind us,” Misha added, holding on tightly to Grim with his arms and legs.
“Thank you,” Dennis choked out, following onto the window ledge as soon as Grim made some room for him.
Grim struggled to uncurl his fingers and hold on to the pipe, but as he reached out, the burning sensation on the left side of his body opened its screaming mouth. Grim choked out a scream and swung forward, clinging to the pipe for dear life as the metal that held it against the façade cut into his finger. “Fuck ... fuck,” he muttered, trying to lower himself slowly and fighting against Misha’s weight that suddenly was too much to bear.
“I’ll be okay,” Misha whispered into his ear, and before Grim could understand those words, Misha slid a bit lower down Grim’s body, and … let go. This was one weight Grim never wanted off his shoulders.
Misha yelped as he fell, and the crack of bushes told Grim that he was down, but his face and neck hurt so bad he couldn’t even turn around to check if Misha hadn’t impaled himself on some horrific piece of metal hiding under the plants.
“I’m fine!” Misha yelled, though it had a whine to it that made Grim want to desperately get down and check if he truly was all right.
He briefly considered letting go of the drainpipe, but that could send him straight on top of Misha, so he started to move down as originally planned. Each movement felt as if new wounds were opening in Grim’s flesh, but he kept lowering himself, not even afraid of the flames that broke through the windows at his side anymore. The touch of solid ground beneath his feet was a shock to his system.
Dennis was right behind him, and Misha crawled toward Grim with a crown of leaves adorning his head. The fire storming through the building right next to them brought out shadows on his lovely face. Relief of being out of that hellpit was so immense Grim’s knees went soft and his vision blurred.
Grim reached out to Misha, but his legs gave out on him, and he fell into the high grass, trying to catch his breath as his windpipe refused to work and reduced Grim’s breathing to a panicked rasp. He batted his hand around, not sure anymore where he could find Misha.
“I’m here, I’m here, you saved me. It’s going to be all right,” Misha found his hand, leaning over him, and Grim squeezed it, fighting through the stinging inhis palm to make sure that the warm fingers didn’t belong to a phantom. “I’m here,” repeated Misha and pulled closer.
Grim’s eyes fluttered shut as he fought for air, squeezing the smaller hand in his. Waves of heat were floating all over him. It was ironic that Logan, who came here to burn the world once again, ended up consumed by flames this time.
Grim swallowed, but an insistent sound was snaking its way into his mind from the background. Was the helicopter not down after all?
He shuddered and clenched his teeth not to scream from the stinging pain all over his body. It was only truly getting to him now, clawing its way into Grim’s flesh at a rapid pace. He could hardly stand it anymore. But he rescued Misha. Whatever happened, he did at least that much. It was fine.
The buzz of the engines was getting louder, and he realized it was a familiar sound.
Motorcycles.
Epilogue
Misha
The grass was sogreen Misha could almost feel it between his toes as he walked across the lawn in the backyard of the house he and Grim lived in since settling in Detroit. With Grim’s skin in need of lengthy healing and Misha wanting to order prosthetic legs, Grim’s nomadic lifestyle needed to stop, at least for a while, and so they rented a small home close to the clubhouse almost a year ago.
Strelka, their German shepherd, started running all around Misha, as if the earlier walk hadn’t been enough to unload all that youthful energy. She was still very young but also strong and obedient when she needed to be. Grim insisted Misha needed a dog for protection, just in case, and they regularly attended specialized lessons with a professional, who also helped them choose the puppy. The dog was taught to obey commands in Russian and followed Misha everywhere, which made him feel safer when Grim wasn’t around.
Misha’s prosthetics weren’t always the most comfortable, but he was set on improving his mobility, no matter how much he enjoyed Grim carrying him around the house. Grim might have been burned, but over a year on, he was no less strong than he used to be. And even the doctor was surprised with the speed of Grim’s recovery, which, Misha suspected, was all about his determination to be back on his feet. They’d gotten married as soon as Grim was out of the hospital, but Grim, always the Narcissus, refused to have any pictures taken before the burn scars on his face and neck faded a bit.
Still, even immediately after the emergency services transported them to the hospital, Grim seemed no less handsome to Misha. His skin was badly affected, red, broken, but that was only a detail, which hardly mattered in a man who riskedhis life to save Misha’s. After a year, his face, neck, and arm still bore traces of the fateful confrontation with Zero, but the damaged skin was only moderately darker than Grim’s skin tone. It was thicker and looked a bit like broken ceramics, but Grim seemed to grow more confident about his looks every day. And just as he had promised, he made sure Misha got his new legs, assisting him along the way as Misha learned how to walk again.
Grim helped Misha take his first steps and supported him when the results turned out to be much less than Misha had expected. Wearing prosthetic limbs wasn’t a cure-all. Sometimes, it hurt and was uncomfortable, but with time, and the help of the prosthetist’s adjustments, Misha was feeling increasingly comfortable on his new feet, which Grim always compared to a sleek sports bike. They were modern looking, in dark grey and black, and didn’t attempt to imitate real legs. Misha didn’t want to pretend he was whole, and he’d rather be reminded of the things that had brought him to where he was now.Grim’s interest in prosthetics was yet another factor he took into account when choosing the design. As long as his new legs served their purpose, Misha was happy to titillate his husband.
“Grim, are you ready?” he yelled from the garden and picked some strawberries he had planted himself. He never thought something like gardening could pique his interest, but once he got into the science of it all, made growth charts and read books on the topic, he found it a relaxing new hobby. He was still good with computers, but they just never held the same appeal as before the kidnapping. And even though he was learning to be around people again, he still felt most comfortable with Grim, plants, and Strelka, who now sat in front of him, opening her muzzle and watching Misha as if he’d hypnotized her.
Grim was spending a lot of time in the clubhouse, but Misha felt safe in their house, always on call, with a dog that already knew how to attack on command, and with a cellar where he could hide if bad came to worse and someone chose to break into the home of a Coffin Nails MC member. So far, Misha had had no trouble.
