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 seemed nice as 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 from Grim, 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. What was he 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 security intel 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.”
“It’s just too soon. And I’ve met creeps. You’re not one.” Misha looked down at his knees, embarrassed he’d said such nasty things when Grim, despite his obsessive behavior, was not forcing himself on Misha and even let him go. “I still haven’t shaken Gary’s breath off me. I’m not ready for sex. It doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re handsome. Or that your dick isn’t actually a massive turn-on.” Heat flooded his face at the last confession.
Grim exhaled. “You called me a creep, and it was half an hour ago.”
“I was angry.”
Grim played with the upholstery of the sofa. “You’re like a fucking unicorn.”
Misha dared to look up, unsure whether it was devotee slang. “What?”
Grim met his gaze calmly and combed his hair, which for once was a bit out of place. “There’s not that many guys I really like. I mean ...” He gestured at Misha’s stumps and cleared his throat, ungluing his eyes from them with obvious strain. “And then, most are straight, or they don’t have the right personality. Even porn is sparse, so I end up watching some with women.”
Misha sighed. He supposed that liking the stumps didn’t make Grim an inherently bad person, and it was Misha’s own aversion to them that made accepting this kind of adoration so difficult. “If you could find a gay guy you really liked and he liked you back and you got him to have an accident, where he loses his legs, and he’d never know it was because of you, would you do that?”
Grim’s face twisted, and he took a deep breath. “Why would you even say that? Who would want that to happen to someone they care about?”
“Someone selfish.”
Grim shook his head. “I don’t want anyone to deal with that.” He looked up, swallowing, and in the light of a single lamp by the television, Grim seemed deflated. “But there is this need in me to find someone who already lost his legs. Make it all up to him ...”
“I’m sorry I said mean things. I … never met a devotee who wouldn’t also be a terrible human being. Some people would say fucked-up shit to me online.”
Grim reached out his hand toward Misha. “I can be scary, I get it. But it’s so fucking hard to meet someone who’s my type. It just is.”
Misha wheeled closer and grabbed Grim’s hand. “You’re intense. That’s all.”
Grim kissed each of Misha’s knuckles and kept his hand by his face, breathing in its smell. That didn’t feel so bad or scary at all.
“So what do you like about the amputations?” Misha asked quietly, watching Grim’s harmonious face. When he’d lost his legs, he’d been sure he’d never have a hot guy interested in him ever again. He had fantasized about escaping Gary and imagined how a life outside could look for him. How he would only get pity fucks at best, but maybe that wasn’t all the world had in store for him?
Grim smirked and nudged Misha’s palm open with his fingers before brushing his lips against its center. “Can I really tell you, or will you hate me if I’m honest?”
Misha was afraid of what he would hear, but he brushed his thumb over Grim’s lip. “No, tell me. I want to understand.” Over the years, he’d heard many disturbing confessions from devotees, but also pure adoration, which he couldn’t understand, and he needed to know where Grim stood.
Grim’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked at Misha from above the hand he kept gently kissing on the sensitive inner side. “It’s like I’m conditioned to spot people who ... lack body parts. Even something as small as a finger ... I notice it right away. It’s different and draws me in. But that’s like liking a specific hair color, I suppose. What really pulls me toward amputees is that they are”—he chewed on his lip, as if searching for words—”helpless. I know that most people want to be independent, but I love how it feels to carry a man who can’t move around on his own. ”
Misha didn’t like to think of himself as helpless, yet he couldn’t deny feeling like that sometimes, even tonight, when he left the hotel. Half an hour alone, and he had craved Grim’s protection. And to think that for Grim it wasn’t a burden but a turn-on was … reassuring.
“But you wouldn’t use that against someone, right?” he said even though by “someone” he obviously meant himself.
Grim’s tongue flicked over the middle of Misha’s palm, sending a shiver down his spine. “No. I can’t see people like you suffer. I donate to charities,” he added after a few seconds, searching Misha’s face with his eyes, as if waiting for approval.
“I’m really fucked up, and I don’t know if I can ever be pieced together. But when I feel like I’m ready to do something sexual, you’ll be first on my list, okay?”
Grim smiled and pulled Misha’s wheelchair closer until one of the wheels bumped against his shin. “Deal. I can be your Prince Charming. How about that?”
Misha didn’t have the words to express his relief, so he nodded and held on to Grim’s shoulders as he used his stumps for leverage and crawled into Grim’s lap. Around Grim, he didn’t feel useless and pitiful anymore. That solitary trip was enough for him to understand he needed a protector. He couldn’t do this alone, because no matter how he imagined life when he still lived in the relative safety of Gary’s apartment, he was no hero. All he wanted was to hide somewhere where he wouldn’t be found.
Grim put his hands on Misha’s hips and supported him during the transfer. The way his eyes strayed lower, to the stumps, didn’t bother Misha nearly as much as it did an hour ago. Moments later, he was wrapped in those strong arms with Grim’s heart thudding against his arm, as they pulled close. His hand slid to Misha’s thigh and slowly made its way toward his knee.
Misha put his face against Grim’s neck. “But not lower, okay?”
But despite his words, Grim’s breathing became heavier and his fingers trailed down to the stump. Misha didn’t wait any longer and grabbed Grim’s wrist. He pulled back to look into Grim’s face with a frown. “I said, ‘not lower.’”
Grim let out a low growl and clenched his fingers on Misha’s knee. “Fine,” he muttered eventually, but his mouth was at Misha’s ear within a split second. “How about higher than that? ”
Misha’s face heated up in an instant, and he pushed on Grim’s shoulder. He reached out for his wheelchair to pull it close, so he could transfer into it. “Some Prince Charming,” he grumbled.
Grim grabbed his jaw, forcing Misha to look into his eyes. “Am I a creep again? I thought we had that behind us.”
“And I just told you I wasn’t ready to have sex with anyone.” Misha swallowed, trying not to think about Grim’s cock hardening under him. It’s not that it wasn’t a fantastic dick, but it did make things more awkward. The size of it was hard to ignore, especially with Grim wearing skintight pants.
Grim rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Take the bed if you’re so precious.”
Misha watched him in silence, trying to work out what the catch was, but Grim let him go, and he transferred to the wheelchair with a bit of Grim’s help. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
Grim waved his hand and walked over to the bed. He took one of the pillows and the blanket without a word.
Misha rubbed his face. He was too tired to deal with an upset Grim on top of his own issues. “Good night. Wake me up for the sunrise.” Misha pulled off his tank top and fished out another one, made out of lighter fabric, from his bag. He wheeled over to the bed and crawled onto it. The bedding was soft and fresh. For a moment, he put the pillow against his face and smelled it. The scent was different from his room and from Gary’s sweat. He truly was somewhere else.
Grim lingered for a few more seconds, and Misha could sense his gaze on himself, but in the end, the heavy footsteps marched away. The sound of water came from the bathroom soon afterward, making Misha finally relax. He changed into a pair of pajama shorts and crawled under the soft sheet. With Grim around, he wasn’t that scared to be in a new place, even if Grim decided to give Misha the silent treatment.
Grim took his time in the shower, and Misha could only imagine what he was up to when the hot droplets streamed down his body. With the erection he had by the time he left, it was an easy guess. He was probably pulling his fist back and forth over that massive dick until it spat cum all over the tiles. Misha rolled to his back and considered jerking off himself, but the risk of being caught doing so was too great, and if Grim saw him, he’d probably want to join in, and it would all become too confusing .
Grim walked out of the bathroom in only his underwear, which didn’t hide much, even though his erection was indeed gone. In the frame of the open doorway between the bedroom and the living room, he made a picture worthy of putting to paper. Strong muscle lined Grim’s whole body, twisting when he walked up to the window and shut the curtains, without ever looking toward where Misha was buried under the covers.
Misha curled into a ball and closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep, but kept opening them every time he would almost start dreaming. His consciousness wouldn’t give up and kept forcing him to check if he was really out of the basement. Once Grim turned off the light in the other room, darkness creeped out of every corner and crawled toward Misha’s bed. He pressed his eyelids tightly shut and pulled the sheet over his head, listening to the thudding of his own heart. He tried to let it go, think of something pleasant that would put him to sleep, but the horror that appeared under his eyelids every time he closed his eyes had him sweating and heaving again.