His Favorite Color is Blood - Coffin Nails MC (gay biker dark romance) (Sex & Mayhem Book 8) (12 page)

Grim laughed and stroked Misha’s
face, pulling back a few strands of hair. “You’d make them fall to their knees
and suck your cock if you spoke to them like that.”

“Are you saying sucking my cock
is torture?” And there it was—the cocky guy Grim missed.

Grim stroked his nose over
Misha’s, looking into his big eyes with a warm feeling settling in his stomach.
“I don’t know. I only did it once.”

“I wouldn’t want you to suffer
again.” Misha pushed on Grim’s solar plexus with his finger.

Grim swallowed hard, inhaling the
scent of toothpaste on Misha’s breath. The minty aroma mixed with the warm tang
of flesh made Grim’s body hair bristle. “You sure? I keep pissing you off.”

“I’m fucked up. I already told
you that. You have to take it or leave it, but if you want me gone, I’m taking
the wheelchair. And the gun.”

“And will I get a kiss if I keep
all three of you?”

Misha looked a bit skittish all
of a sudden. “Yes, but let’s keep it at that, okay? You said it was fine if we
took things slow, but you still keep pushing. I don’t like that.”

Grim exhaled his disappointment,
but a kiss was
something
, so he nodded, looking into Misha’s eyes as he
licked the seam of his smooth lips. They opened up to him in the sweetest
invitation, and Misha closed his eyes.

Grim traced Misha’s jaw with his
fingertips and dove in, brushing his mouth over Misha’s sweet flesh, tasting
his warmth and the aftertaste of toothpaste as he teased Misha’s tongue. He
didn’t expect the way Misha leaned forward, clawing his fingers into Grim’s cut
and eagerly opening his mouth. He put his other hand on Grim’s thigh for
support, and it was yet another bait for Grim’s senses. Misha would do him in
with the push and pull.

Grim nipped on Misha’s lips and
eventually kissed his cheek, not wanting to get overly excited now. “You don’t
want to use that gun on me yet?”

Misha squinted and leaned back in
the wheelchair, looking more confident already with the gun in hand, even if he
was holding it wrong. “Not yet.”

Chapter 11 – Misha

Misha watched Grim, trying to work
out from his smug expression where they were going. They’d obtained fake license
plates for the truck at a garage downtown and then spent the afternoon shooting
at trees in the woods, and Misha was drunk on his newfound love of guns.
Despite him often feeling like less of a man because of his disability, the
Ruger gave him a boost of confidence so powerful he could hardly contain his
excitement.

 His hair smelled of gunpowder,
and his wrists hurt from the recoil, but there was fire burning in his veins.
The shots had been so fucking loud his ears were still ringing, but for once,
if some of Zero’s henchmen came after him, he’d at least be able to do some
damage. Or in the worst-case scenario, shoot himself before any of those creeps
could get their hands on him.

“Come on, you have to tell me
where we’re going,” Misha said as he watched the neverending rows of trees
passing behind the windows of their truck. They ended up taking all of their
stuff from the hotel and spent some time at a mall, where Grim insisted Misha get
his sidekick mask. Misha settled on a simple black ski mask that was on sale in
the sports store. He wondered if Grim found the masks arousing since he was so
intent on getting Misha one, but he still went with it.

Grim also purchased a pair of
leather gloves for Misha and some ammo, and the moment Grim put a baseball bat
into Misha’s lap once they drove out of the parking lot, Misha got suspicious
that this wasn’t just an outing. How serious had Grim taken Misha’s earlier
declarations about wanting to be a sniper? As eager as Misha had been, he was
far from being a good shot yet.

“It’s a surprise,” said Grim with
a smile, as they drove down a dark road between fields, occasionally passing a
small town. With it being already past nine pm, he doubted they would be
returning to the hotel that night.

“Are you taking me on one of your
jobs? Am I gonna do your dirty work now?” Misha snorted and petted the baseball
bat, embarrassed when his mind made him imagine it as Grim’s dick.

“No.” Grim waved his hand dismissively,
switching off the high-beam lights when he noticed a car approaching. He put
them back on as soon as they were back to facing emptiness. “This will be for
pleasure.”

A pang of fear found its way to
Misha’s heart, and an insistent voice in his head called out to him that all of
Grim’s words were a lie and that all his claims of devotion were meant to make
Misha follow Grim like a sheep until a new buyer for his mutilated body was found.
What if he was taking Misha to some fucked-up orgy with other devotees.

But those worries quickly
dispersed without much effort. Buying the things they had that day and shooting
lessons probably weren’t a part of your typical pre-orgy agenda. “
Now
I’m worried.”

“Really? Why?” asked Grim,
driving past the boundary of their lane as he turned his head, looking at
something. He quickly adjusted their direction with the steering wheel and
slowed down.

“Because you take pleasure in
perving on amputees,” Misha said but softened the blow with a wink.

Grim sighed. “And blood.”

“You perv on blood?” Misha raised
his eyebrows.

“No. I just like how it smells
and feels on me,” said Grim.

Misha stroked the bat. “So if I
was bleeding, you’d be happy to see that?”

Grim shuddered visibly. “God, no.
That’s a fucked-up thing to say.”

“You’re the one to talk. You said
you liked it.”

“Yeah, but if a person says they
like meat, it doesn’t mean they will eat, say, a cat. I’d never drain a broken
boy.”

Misha frowned, not sure if he
should slap Grim or ignore the comment. “‘Broken boy’?”

Grim slouched. “You’re gonna hate
me again now, aren’t you?”

“Oh, so you do learn.” Misha
pouted and looked out of the window to the forest that looked like it could be
the backdrop for an
X-Files
episode. “I’m not a weakling.”

Grim pressed hard on the brake
and then slowly rolled the truck into a narrow road that led into the woods.
“You aren’t fine either. You need my help.”

As much as Misha wanted to, he
couldn’t argue with that. “So who do you …
drain
?”

Grim exhaled and finally stopped
the truck, turning toward Misha. He even unbuckled Misha’s seatbelt for him.
“My contracts.”

“And what? You sit around and
smell their blood?” Misha’s frown deepened, but if he were completely honest,
there were a few people he’d gladly drain.

Grim laughed and patted the
baseball bat in Misha’s lap. “Maybe you should find out yourself?”

Misha cocked his head to the
side. “Wow. That sounds like a very indecent proposal.” Something about Grim
made the morbid humor natural, like the magnetism of a predatory big cat
inviting him to play.

Grim opened his door and jumped
out. “You have no idea.”

He soon returned and pulled Misha
out of the cab, carrying him between the fragrant trees. It had been ages since
Misha smelled fresh wood and leaves, and the pristine air made his head spin
for a moment. But Grim was there to hold him up. Misha put his face against
Grim’s neck, enjoying the guilt-free hug under the pretense of being carried.
He was disappointed to leave the embrace when Grim helped him into the
wheelchair.

“What now? Should I take my gun?”
What was Grim planning? The fact that he wouldn’t say made Misha even giddier
with excitement.

It was hard to say in the dark,
but he somehow sensed Grim’s smile. “Yes. And the baseball bat. You are gonna
enjoy this.”

“And it’s not even my birthday
yet.” Misha gripped the bat, watching Grim move in the darkness. He was the one
shadow Misha wasn’t afraid of.

“We need to change. Can’t have
your nice new stuff damaged,” said Grim and passed Misha a plastic bag with
what felt like clothes. Now that Misha’s eyes were getting used to the
darkness, he could again see contours of the shapes around him.

He looked inside, getting more
curious by the second, but pulled his pants off as soon as he put the bat down.
The bag contained a set of cheap sweats Grim bought earlier that day. He had
been planning this for hours but kept Misha in the dark.

“You won’t tell me anything?”
Misha asked as he was changing.

“It would ruin the surprise,
wouldn’t it?” asked Grim through the black shirt he was putting on. For a
moment, Misha wondered how much taller than him Grim would be, if he still had
his legs, but it was such a draining thought that he pushed it deep into the
back of his mind.

“I give up.”

Grim insisted on pushing Misha’s
chair as they started making their way back down the side of the asphalt road,
and Misha didn’t even want to argue, because their arsenal was stored in a big
black bag that he was keeping in his lap.

Misha kept silent, afraid that
talking could make them too visible. They wore black and melted into the
shadows. For once, even in the wheelchair, he’d be what hid in the night, not
the one afraid of it.

Only one car drove past them
throughout what seemed like a pleasant walk. Misha used to be afraid of the
dark, even when he was still able-bodied and knew where he was. But with Grim’s
confidence to fall back on, it was hard to experience any distress at all, and
strangely, it felt like they had known one another for much longer than two
nights.

Grim pushed him to the other side
of the road as they neared a medium-sized house between the fields. There was
light coming through twin windows on the ground floor, and Misha wondered if he
were to witness some kind of deal or maybe meet a friend of Grim’s. Then again,
he doubted he got the bat for playing baseball.

“Do you need me to do something?”
Misha whispered, completely out of his depth. He’d done some shady things while
he was still in Russia, but that was years ago, when he still had legs to keep
him away from harm.

Grim smiled and approached the
house, stopping next to a pickup truck parked in front of it. The building was
in poor shape, with paint cracking off the wooden siding and a broken banister
at the porch, but he could see the reflection of a television screen in the
window. A lot of green and moving dots. Someone was watching sports.

“Wait for me here,” said Grim and
pulled out his mask. He tossed some talc inside it back at the truck, so he
didn’t have that much trouble putting it on.

Misha nodded and didn’t waste
time, donning his own as well. His heart began drumming in his chest in
anticipation. Could he handle this? What the hell was he doing out here? This
was crazy.

He followed Grim’s lead and put
on his new leather gloves, but before he could voice any concern, Grim leaned
close and kissed him gently. It was like a flame suddenly appearing in the cool
air.

“Give me five minutes.”

Misha was so focused on the
unexpected touch that he unconsciously followed Grim’s lips when he pulled
away.

“I’ll be okay,” he muttered as
soon as he composed himself. He didn’t want to be an anchor at Grim’s feet.

Grim nodded and opened the bag in
Misha’s lap. He took two guns and put them into shoulder holsters before
walking off into the night. Misha watched Grim’s silhouette, hypnotized by the
sway of Grim’s shoulders. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t deny the
intensity of the connection they’d forged in less than three days. Would he
have felt the same way about anyone who saved him from Gary’s basement?
Somehow, he doubted it.

He pulled out his new prized
possession, the Ruger, and when he held it, despite only having an hour or two
of practice with it, he felt as if he could withstand even the toughest
onslaught of bullets and take out enemies one by one. The shadows around him
kept at a distance, and he wasn’t very afraid, too focused on watching the
light in the window. Would it go out? Would someone scream? Would there be
gunshots?

A muted yell came as a surprise,
even though he anticipated hearing
something
. For a moment, the
reflection of the television disappeared, and he couldn’t hear any more noise
as he stared into the darkness and waited. Grim must have silenced his target,
because if there were a struggle, Misha would hear more screams.

He was in the middle of nowhere
with a biker assassin, and yet, he still felt more protected here than he ever had
in the fake safety of his nightmarish room. He could breathe out here. He
wasn’t sentenced to follow every whim of a man who took away his freedom and
could sell him off any day he got bored of him. At least if he died here, in
the outside world, he’d have a chance to fight.

He gasped when the front door
opened, and Grim appeared on the porch, waving at Misha as if nothing happened.
“It’s all ready for you,” he said, walking over casually.

Misha put the gun in his lap and
wheeled forward, though it was hard to keep steady on the uneven ground. He
would soon find out what was going on, but now that he approached the house, he
wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

“What’s that face?” asked Grim,
who must have noticed Misha’s hesitation.

“It’s a mask, not a face,” Misha
answered sternly, but there was no way he could get up the two steps to the
porch. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. He had a gun and a baseball
bat, but couldn’t go up a flight of stairs.

Grim leaned down, offering his
arms. “Damn, you’re right. I have such a smart sidekick.”

Misha grinned and let Grim sit
him on the intact part of the railing. “I’m the brains.”

“But are you also the one with
guts?” asked Grim, helping Misha into the chair as soon as he pulled it up.
That
Misha wasn’t sure of.

The voice of a sports commentator
was loud as he talked about the game that was still playing on the television
in the background. The changing colors reflected on the wall beyond the wide
open door of a house to which they clearly came uninvited. It was so surreal.

“Maybe,” Misha said and slowly
wheeled inside, wary of what he would find inside, yet certain Grim had cleared
the way for him. The house smelled of burnt food and had yellowed photos
hanging on the walls, but the sofa he could see in the living room was modern,
made of leather, and it housed a big pizza box.

The baseball bat burned his knees
as he entered, but the sight of a pair of bloodshot eyes staring at him from
above a patch of grey tape wrapped around a bushy blond beard startled him.
Misha was taken aback until he recognized the broad nose and his mind filled in
the gaps on that face. It was the guy who tried to bully them at that mall
after they bought the wheelchair!

There must have been some
recognition in the guy’s brain, because he started to mumble something behind
the tape. Misha’s breath sped up.

“My surprise …” Misha whispered, surprised
and yet oddly appreciative. Grim must have felt bad about not being able to
show the damn homophobe his place back at the mall, but he hadn’t forgotten
that the bastard had hurt Misha’s feelings. Now that he could actually take
revenge on the asshole, he wasn’t sure where to start.