Page 39 of His Favorite Color is Blood
Grim pressed a soft kiss to Misha’s temple. “You need to pack our things so that we can go quick, you understand?”
“Yes. I’m sorry I’m a mess. I’ll try harder.” Misha stroked Grim’s nape, and he didn’t even know when his breathing became even again.
Grim molded his face to Misha’s, brushing his hand over Misha’s back. “I need to trust you, okay? Don’t hurt yourself. I’ve got it.”
Misha sighed but nodded in the end. “I trust you.” And the weight of the words was like a heavy blanket over his shoulders. They mattered, he meant them, and he wouldn’t let Grim down.
Chapter 14
Misha
The doctor analyzed theX-rays of Misha’s stumps. The bones on the photographs were cut short in the grey mass of flesh. It looked so unnatural Misha had to stop watching and squeezed Grim’s hand under the desk where they sat. He couldn’t stand the fact they were all looking at the insides of his body.
The middle-aged doctor, Frank, had awaited them, and so it’d been only half an hour since Misha’s and Grim’s arrival at a large hospital in Charleston, West Virginia. Traveling from their hideout in Tennessee had taken seven hours, and they had managed to gather all their things and drown the three bodies and their van in the remote lake in the woods within two.
Everything went according to plan, yet with the chip inside him, Misha felt like a ticking time bomb. Until the thing was out, he wouldn’t settle down.
“I can see it,” Frank said, nodding to himself. “It’s not very deep inside, so don’t worry.” His voice was neutral, but he still sounded as if he were about to give Misha a lollipop for sitting there calmly. Misha had no idea how Grim knew the doctor, but if Grim trusted that man, Misha was certain that trust had been earned.
“Good. There’s people after him, and we need to dispose of this as soon as possible,” said Grim, pulling Misha closer to his body. Despite the hurry of their departure from Tennessee, Grim managed to scrape some time up to shave and wash himself. He really was extremely neat and always smelled nice, which Misha really appreciated, because he hadn’t been able to count on as much with Gary.
Frank sighed. “We could throw it onto the Kanawha. They would be chasing a ghost.”
Misha nodded, surprised by just how intimidated he felt around a man who was on their side. His brain knew he was safe, yet his senses were all twitchy.
“I want it out as soon as possible.”
“Can you do it now?” asked Grim, gently massaging Misha’s arm.
Frank’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “Just give me a second,” he said and walked out the door.
Misha released a long breath and leaned into Grim. “I hate knives being near me. I know it’s not logical, but I can’t stand them. I get all sweaty, and I can’t focus. It’s pathetic that I’m still not over it.” He put one hand over his face. “It’s why I attacked you with a fork, and why I still have this shitty hair Gary wanted me to grow. Fuck.”
Grim’s brows gathered into a frown. “You don’t like it?”
“I’m not fucking Rapunzel. I used to have a short ponytail, but nothing like this.” He pointed to the bun on his head. “It makes me look like a girl. Gary even had me waxing. I don’t care if you like that, but I’ll be growing it out.”
Grim laughed and pulled on Misha’s bun. “I don’t care either way. Whatever makes you comfortable, birdie.”
Those words lifted some gloom off Misha’s heart. “Would … would you cut it for me? I still can’t deal with scissors.”
Grim shrugged and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “There’s a barber I like in town. We could go there.”
Misha licked his lips. “I’m freaking out over a stranger with a blade around me. I’ll do something stupid, or say something, and there will be lots of people there … I’d rather not. It’s fine if you don’t want to do it.”
“I’m fine with cutting it, but don’t complain if your hair looks shit after I’m done with it,” said Grim.
Misha trailed his fingertips over Grim’s bicep. “I don’t mind. I’d be wearing it in a ponytail most of the time anyway.”
Grim’s gaze swept over Misha’s fingers, only to rise up to Misha’s face. “All right.”
Their eyes locked. “I know you’re good with blades,” Misha whispered. He had witnessed just how good the day before. And yet, he wasn’t afraid of Grim. He knew those knives would never turn against him in Grim’s hands.
The door opened, and Frank walked back in, locking the door behind him. “All right. Get on there,” he said, indicating the medical bed by the wall, already covered by a layer of paper from a roll at one end.
“But he can stay, right?” Misha pointed to Grim as he reluctantly wheeled to the bed.
Frank glanced at Grim, pulling purple latex over his hands. “As long as he doesn’t retaliate.”
