Page 19 of His Favorite Color is Blood
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 seemedniceas 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 fromGrim, 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. Whatwashe 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 securityintel 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.”
