His Favorite Color is Blood - Coffin Nails MC (gay biker dark romance) (Sex & Mayhem Book 8) (17 page)

Chapter 14 – Misha

The doctor analyzed the X-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.”

Grim smirked and rose from his
chair. “You need to be very gentle with him.”

Frank lowered the bed for Misha,
and soon enough, Misha lay down, watching his own stump with a frown. His poor
body had gone through so much suffering already, but yet again, it would have
to be cut open. His breath quickened at the sight of the scalpel glinting in
the cool light, and he clenched his eyes shut, fantasizing that he was
somewhere else, somewhere safe.

“Are you just as afraid of
needles?” asked Frank. “I’d like to use local anesthesia.”

Misha squeezed his fists. “I don’t
like needles, but I don’t like pain either. I’d rather not feel the cutting.”

Grim sat on the bed behind Misha
and pulled him back against his wide, steady chest. Half of Misha’s fear
subsided, as if swept away by magic. Misha needed to have the chip out, but
with nausea rising in his chest, he was grateful for all the support he could
get. The needle was sharp and went in easily as Misha held his breath. It was
only when Frank started injecting the stump that the pain became stronger.

“Have you two known each other
long?” asked Frank. Misha knew it was meant as a distraction, but he was
grateful nevertheless.

“Three weeks maybe. It’s just
been … a rough time.” Misha’s muscle in the stump tensed at both the touch and
the needle sinking in again, but if Grim trusted the doctor, Misha would as
well, even though having a stranger touch him like this made another layer of
fear cling to his heart.

Frank massaged the stump as
numbness spread through Misha’s flesh, and Misha wasn’t sure whether he liked
it or not. With the stump numb, it felt almost as if it was ceasing to exist,
as if the leg he could still feel down there was completely gone.

“I’d rather not look, if that’s
okay,” Misha said and curled his shoulders in front of Grim. But the image
still wouldn’t go away. Zero, cutting into him without mercy and feeding on his
screams.

Grim tightened his hold around
Misha, tucking Misha’s head underneath his chin. “It’ll be all right,” he
whispered. “I’m looking on, so nothing will happen to you,” he promised as
Misha shuddered at the ghost of a touch at his limb.

“Thank you.” Misha took a deep
breath, melting into the warmth of Grim’s embrace. For once, there was someone
looking out for him.

He tried to numb his brain as his
stump was opened. It didn’t hurt, but he could sense the pressure, and his body
was becoming rigid with the anticipation of shock and pain. Something clanged
against metal, and Frank said, “It’s out.”

The relief was so immense, as if
he just got a tumor cut out. He leaned his head back against Grim, and his
muscles went lax. The doctor seemed to be casual about Grim’s sexuality, so
Misha wasn’t bothered to hide their closeness. He didn’t open his eyes though
until the gash in his leg was repaired with stitches and bandaged.

“You know the drill, Grim,” said
Frank, pouring clean water over the bloodied piece of plastic before tucking it
into a small pouch. “I’ll give him a prescription for antibiotics in your name,
just in case.”

Grim nodded and helped Misha into
the wheelchair, extra careful with the bandaged stump. It was almost as if he
were afraid to touch it for once.

Misha thanked the doctor again,
and he could hardly believe how lucky he was to have crashed into Grim’s life.
Who else would ever have the patience with him? Who would have fought three
armed men to keep him safe? Any other man would just leave him be and save
himself the hassle, but not Grim.

They exchanged a few pleasantries,
but Grim was adamant about not staying in town even for the night. Frank said
his goodbyes with a promise to dispose of the chip, and they were off, driving farther
away from the horrors of Misha’s existence. Wherever it was they were going, as
long as it was with Grim, he’d feel safe.

*

In the truck, Misha slept off the
insomnia of the previous night. With the chip gone, his body deflated, and
Grim’s presence was reassuring enough for him to doze off as soon as Grim
tucked him in with the seatbelt. But when Grim’s voice penetrated his dreams,
it was like being taken from one pair of warm arms into ones that were even
stronger.

“Birdie, we’re here.”

Misha blinked a few times and
looked up into Grim’s eyes. “Oh … oh!” He yawned, happy to see greenery again.
“Where are we? What time is it?”

Grim smirked and brushed his
fingers over Misha’s forehead. “You said you want to see my home,” he said,
slipping out of the cab.

Excitement exploded in Misha’s
chest at the thought of seeing where Grim spent his downtime, and he pushed the
door open. “But there’s no one here, right?”

Grim walked up to Misha and pulled
him out of the truck, as steady as ever. “No. The nearest neighbors live in
town. It is just me here ... at least when I stay over,” he said, turning
around with Misha in his arms.

Between the trees stood a small
house with grey walls and thick steel bars in the windows and in front of the
door. The sun shone between the leaves, painting the plaster and roof with
bright light that only added to the serene picture.

Grim nudged Misha with his chin.
“What do you think?” he asked with an eagerness to his voice.

Misha wrapped his arms around
Grim’s neck and his legs around Grim’s waist. “Looks … safe.” He snorted and
looked around the tall trees to the dark rubble where a bigger house must have
stood a few hundred yards away.

“It’s very safe. It has a panic
room, and oxygen tanks inside, in case someone wanted to burn me down,” said
Grim, carrying Misha toward the house. He reached into his pocket, for a moment
holding Misha up with one arm, and pulled out a set of keys.

Misha hugged him tighter, loving
the reassuring amount of strength Grim had. “Has anyone ever tracked you down
here?” He could swear Grim actually squeezed his ass, but he didn’t mind.

“No way. People don’t know I live
here. And I’m here too rarely to be suspicious. Besides, there’s no neighbors
since the other house burned down,” he said, unlocking the bars and then the
heavy door itself.

“Was it arson?” Misha gave Grim a
kiss on the ear, overwhelmed by how quickly his feelings for Grim were
developing. Was it the intensity of what they did together? Or was it the fact
that he was the first man Misha chose?

Grim stiffened and pushed the
door open, letting out stale air. “No. The people who lived there ... they were
bums. They didn’t pay for electricity on time and used candles during a crystal
meth party. The house burned down in the end,” he said, walking into a tidy,
sparsely decorated living room. The floor was some kind of brown resin covered
with a withered rug, but the room was furnished with a black sofa and a coffee
table. There were also some books on a block of shelves and a few photographs
of landscapes on the walls. This place didn’t reflect who Grim was either. It
was almost as if he refused to leave an imprint of his personality even in the
most intimate of spaces.

“This isn’t your family home, is
it?” Misha stroked Grim’s neck, trying not to think about the weird tingly
feeling in his stump, which was still numb from the earlier surgery.

Grim shook his head and showed
Misha around, walking into a room with a big bed on a black frame and a set of
linens folded on top of the comforter, as if this were a hotel. “No. My old
home is long gone. And it wasn’t much to look at anyway. This is all mine.”

Misha smiled. “Finally, brought
to the prince’s castle. Or … the dragon’s lair? Where he hoards all his
precious things?”

Grim smirked. “You’d be
surprised. I’m too stingy to gather things I don’t need,” he said, showing
Misha a small bathroom. It wouldn’t be wide enough for a wheelchair, but it had
a tub and everything else one might need.

“I meant myself,” Misha said
flatly. Maybe he wasn’t that precious after all.

Grim blinked. “Oh ... okay? I
thought you meant like ... clothes or ... a stamp collection?”

Misha shook his head. It looked
like his attempts at flirting weren’t hitting their target, so he’d better shut
up. Chatting to horny guys on a webcam was much easier.

Grim nuzzled his jaw. “You don’t
belong in a collection. You’re one of a kind.”

Misha’s insides got all warm at
Grim’s words, and he took his time enjoying the smell of Grim’s cologne.
“Flattery.”

“Maybe,” said Grim, carrying
Misha past the kitchen and outside again. It was much more pleasant without the
stale air they needed to get rid of before the night came. “We will think how
to make the house more accessible in the future.”

“I liked being so close to
nature. Even if it ended so horribly.” Misha looked to a squirrel climbing up a
tall tree. “I’ve been locked up for so long, I can still hardly believe I’m
out.”