Page 34 of His Favorite Color is Blood
“I don’t want hickeys on them!” Misha slapped Grim’s shin. “People would see and think I’m a freak.”
Grim’s face twisted into a scowl. “I just told you I’m gonna be gentle.”
“Okay, okay. Support me.” Misha put his cheek on the ground and pushed his hips up but quickly fell back. “Wait. I’m getting there.”
“Don’t hurt yourself,” said Grim, watching the pink scars crisscrossing the bottom of the stumps. He had no idea why they looked like this, and why there were so many of them, but maybe Misha’s doctors had been shitty and botched the work aesthetically? He didn’t want to ask.
Misha snorted. “I’m not made out of glass. And I’m stronger every day. All it takes is upper body strength.” He grunted and pushed his hips up again. This time, Grim touched Misha’s thighs as soon as they lifted and helped Misha raise his body without losing balance.
The stumps were so close, and Grim could see them in full sunlight. Even the little bit of muscle beneath Misha’s knee tensed, and Grim wanted to pet it so bad it was hard to focus.
But he knew he wasn’t allowed to yet, so he looked down at Misha, who was looking at him upside down with an oddly serious face. The muscles in his arms were strained, so was his stomach, but with a bit of support, Misha was able not to fall over.
“Help me down,” Misha grunted, and a droplet of sweat from under his knee trailed down to Grim’s finger.
Grim squeezed Misha’s thighs and slowly lowered him to the ground. “Well done.”
“Now you do it.” Misha sat on the ground and raised his eyebrows in challenge.
Grim smiled and bowed like a stage performer. Heat was simmering beneath his skin as he felt that curious brown gaze running across his abs. He leaned his body back before ducking toward the ground and propping all of his body weight on his hands. For a horrendous second, he believed he had used too much force and he would fall down and embarrass himself in front of Misha, but as he tightened all his muscles, he managed to keep his body upright.
The effort was worth it when he saw Misha gasp and bite his lip. “That’s hot.”
Grim laughed, blinking against the sun, proud as if Misha were petting his abs already. “It’s all yours, birdie.”
“Look who’s teasing now.” Misha didn’t even blink as he ogled Grim with no shame. “I can’t believe you’restillstanding.”
Grim would drink Misha’s praise until he burst. “That’s because I have a killer body,” he said before lowering himself to his feet when the weight started becoming too much.
Misha hesitated for a moment before he spoke. “You do. You’re really my type. I used to like watching porn with really fit guys. Maybe because I’m fucked up, so I like seeing their healthy limbs.”
Grim felt his mouth fall, and he wasn’t sure what to say at first. “You’re a bit broken. Not fucked up.”
Misha pouted and wiggled his stumps. “I used to hate being like this with all my heart, but I guess they’re what got me out and caught your interest at the end of the day, so all the pain was worthsomething.”
Grim slowly sat on the ground. For once, he was uncomfortable about the way he felt when he watched Misha’s struggles. He quickly swallowed, pushing the darkness away, deep into his skull. Grim knew he was a catch. Strong. Handsome. But he wasn’t worth going through what Misha had gone through.
He didn’t come up with an answer, and instead looked to the horizon, surprised by the sound of a car approaching, his focus instantly razor sharp. He got to his feet, listening to the engine. “Wonder who that is,” he muttered, stretching as he walked toward the clearing that bordered the forest.
Misha pulled his wheelchair closer and transferred into it with a bit of Grim’s help. “Tourists? Hunters? The owner?”
“He did say he wanted to pick something up next week. Maybe he needs it sooner,” said Grim, walking toward the dirt road, which soon revealed a blue van with three young men sitting in the front, squashed like sardines. It was one of the small vans used for transport with no windows in the back and ledges running along the body below side doors at the front.
Misha went quiet when Grim approached the road to meet them. One of the men smiled and raised his hand in greeting.
Grim nodded and walked up from the driver’s side, listening to the bird chatter above their heads. “Looking for something?”
“You ask, Bob, you got us lost. I’m gonna go take a piss,” said the man on the other side of the cab before jumping out of the van. He was dressed in a red-checkered shirt, like a stereotypical lumberjack—or maybe it was currently fashionable.
Bob sighed and looked at Grim apologetically. “We were heading for Knappsville, took a wrong turn I think. Would you know how to get to Calvan? We will handle it from there easily.”
Grim frowned. The van had an Arizona license plate, so maybe the men had no idea that driving a dirt road into the woods would take them nowhere. It pissed him off that he had to deal with this shit. Lumberjack hid behind the van to relieve himself, and Grim wished he would just do it somewhere in the woods, not in his and Misha’s Goddamn front yard. To add insult to injury, the guy wearing uncomfortable-looking black clothes, who traveled squashed between the other two, was now moving toward the door as well. What was this? A public toilet?
“If I were you, I wouldn’t go off the asphalt if you want to get to a town. I’m just a tourist, so the best I can do for you is tell you to go back to the nearest crossing and maybe try stopping a local’s car. Or drive on until you reach the gas station. It’s a few miles north.”
Bob nodded, listening to each of Grim’s words as if he said something especially clever. It was just common sense. But Grim’s body went rigid the moment Lumberjack emerged from the back of the van pointing a gun straight at him. An armed robbery? In the middle of a fucking Tennesee forest?
“Don’t move, and you might survive this,” Lumberjack hissed, and the guy dressed in black was already circling the van.
