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.
Grim closed the door and walked into the living room. The black clothes hugged his body in all the right places, and he seemed even more handsome as he moved around, looking at a collection of miniature cars displayed on several narrow shelves. He put his hand at the edge of the first one and moved his fingers over the smooth surface, sending every item to the floor. The tiny windshields screamed as they broke, and their captive moaned, pushing back against the chair he was fastened to with even more tape.
Witnessing Grim so casually damaging property gave Misha the courage he needed, and he looked back to the man, squeezing his hand on the bat. His veins were filled with heat. For once, he was the one with power. “So, you think it’s all right to call someone with amputations ‘Stumpy’?” As soon as he said those words, so much anger bubbled up in his chest that he turned around and swung the bat, straight into the middle of the flat-screen TV.
A loud, muffled scream resonated behind Misha’s back, but as the first hit didn’t do that much damage, he smashed the bat against the television at full force. The screen dented, and the images dissolved into colorful rows around the dip in its surface, but Misha wasn’t done yet. He swung the bat again and again, powered by an energy that exploded in his chest. He wouldn’t leave a single place on that damn TV untouched!
The sportscaster went silent.
“You’re turning to the dark side,” said Grim with a loud laugh as he approached, touching the upper corner of the television. “I like it.”
Misha growled and gave the remains of the screen one more smack. “The hell I am! Fuck this! Why am I always the one supposed to take shit from everyone?” He turned toward the man strapped to the chair and bared his teeth. “You hear me? You have no right to say that kind of trash to me.” He wheeled closer and pushed the bat against the man’s chest. It dented slightly as the man tried to get away, making little pleading sounds as he did so, but if he could be a dick to people, so could Misha.
The man’s eyes went wider as he looked at something behind Misha’s back, and a split second later, something thudded in the background. “I hope you have insurance, Pat,” said Grim, and as Misha looked back, he saw the television lying on the floor.
Misha’s blood was full of adrenaline. He hadn’t felt this alive in forever. It was as if he’d woken up from a long nightmare where he was pushed so far inside his mind that only the outer shell of his body was left.
“You think that just because you’re a big guy, you can tell a guy in a wheelchair what to do?” He took a swing and hit the side of Pat’s body with the bat. “I’m a fucking person, you asshole!”
Pat tensed, trying to cower, but the tape wouldn’t let him, and so he cried out into the makeshift gag. In the background, Grim returned to the shelves and stomped on the fallen miniature vehicles. “We’re gonna give you an actual reason to hate a gay man now,” he announced and kicked a tiny car against the wall.
Misha heaved, his hands sweaty around the bat in his hands, and all he could see in Pat’s eyes was a blur of all the abusers in his life. Maybe just not Zero. No one was as bad as Zero.
“I hate people like you,” Misha spat and pushed some dishes off the coffee table with his bat. The clang of breaking glass was like the sweetest of symphonies. “I don’t exist to comply with what you want.”
Grim sat on the sofa and scowled at the pizza. He picked up one piece and started pulling off the pepperoni slices. “That’s a hobby of mine, Pat. Some people don’t understand simple persuasion. You need to knock information into their bodies,” he said, calmly watching Misha slam the bat against Pat’s chest again.
The man thrashed in the chair, and at some point, Misha thought he’d fall over, but Grim stretched out his leg to prop the seat into an upright position.
“Birdie, you need to know how much damage you want to make. Do you want him to die? Break his spleen? Or just leave him bruised?” he asked before chewing on the pizza.
Misha froze and dropped the bat to the floor as if it burned him. The murderous lust was still clouding his brain, but Grim’s words were echoing the reason that seemed to have cowered somewhere in the back of his own mind. “N-no. This is enough,” he said with a grumble. After all, Pat was a bully, a homophobic motherfucker. He wasn’t Gary or any of the other men who’d physically hurt him.
Pat sobbed and slouched in the chair. There were tears staining his cheeks, and he seemed unable to control the rapid breaths that shook his body.
Grim swallowed the food. “Yeah, he does have some padding, but not nearly enough. I need to show you where to punch so you don’t kill them.”
Pat raised his head, wide-eyed, and shook his head abruptly. Misha squinted. “I think he’s had enough. I don’t seem so faggy now, huh?”
Grim dropped the pizza to the floor. “This sucks ass. Pat. You really need someone to take care of you or you’ll die with this kind of shit clogging your arteries,” he said and got to his feet, stretching.
“Does he have anything better in the kitchen?” Misha wheeled over the pizza on his way to the coffee table. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this powerful. His heart drummed so fast he could cheat himself into thinking that he could conquer the world. Grim, him, a gun, and a baseball bat. That was all that was needed.
Grim smiled and kicked the chair over, sending their prisoner to fall on his side. “I’ll get something. You could see if he has some money or valuables stashed around here.”
Misha gave him a nod and rolled his wheelchair to a chest of drawers, pulling out paperwork and trinkets. Getting to wreck things was more therapeutic than he ever thought it could be. For such a long time he’d been a quiet, meek boy who followed every order, he’d forgotten how good it felt to do whatever he wanted.
Pat watched him from his pathetic spot on the floor and didn’t even protest anymore. He probably understood that at least one of them wouldn’t hesitate to smash his head in, and so he stayed silent with swelling growing at the side of his cheek. There were some sounds coming from the kitchen, the tapping of a knife and then the sound of the microwave doing its magic. Misha could sense tomatoes and some herbs, too.
“Is this a date?” Misha yelled as he got down to the floor when he couldn’t reach the last drawer from his wheelchair. His heart trembled with excitement. He’d never been on a date before he met his murderous Prince Charming.
Grim yelled back, “Obviously. I promised you an evening of surprises, didn’t I?”
“See, Pat?” Misha looked over his shoulder. “A gay date. In your house. I’m being spoiled.”
Pat groaned and pushed his face against the floor as Misha started looking through the drawer, which only held some DVDs. But he was reading through the backs and didn’t even notice Grim came back until his partner in crime spoke.
“Food’s ready. Will you come over, or should I help you?”
“I’m good.” Misha shifted to the table and sat on the floor. “He’s got no good movies. ”
“You smashed his TV anyway. Now you need to look at my face all evening,” said Grim and patted the sofa next to where he sat. He picked up a lighter and nodded at an untouched red candle he must have placed on the far edge of the coffee table. “Wanna do the honors? I’m not good with fire but a date is a date.”
Misha sighed theatrically. “Your face is in a mask, honey.” He moved closer to the sofa and pulled himself into the seat, but in the end, Grim helped him as well. Misha took the lighter and leaned over the table to light the candle. “This is … nice.” He smiled up at Grim and picked up one of the steaming bowls of pasta with tomato sauce.
Grim smiled at him, like a half-man, half-insect with eyes so black it was impossible to read his thoughts, even with the mouth visible. “Honey? That sounds almost like a promise,” said Grim, digging in already.
“I mean, Pat would probably want to see us kiss again before we go. Since he liked it so much the first time.” Misha didn’t even realize how hungry he’d gotten before he filled his mouth with pasta. He felt so powerful for once, and he could already see why Grim got so high on it. Misha wished he could get his hands on all the men who had touched him against his will. But if that were to ever happen, he would definitely not stop at leaving bruises. They had all known he was locked up, and they had paid for access to him. There was no way they hadn’t known he had no say in the matter.
Grim licked some red sauce off his lip and looked at their prisoner. “Pat, I gotta say you need to clean up your act if you want to live here. I will be placing you on my list, and if you ever even anonymously pollute the Internet with your shithead homophobic comments, we are going to come back for you.”
Misha nodded. “I’m a hacker. I can do that,” he said despite still being too afraid to access the Internet. The visit here was cathartic already.
Pat moaned, and it sounded like an apology, but Grim ignored him, eating from the bowl. “To be honest, this place needs a revamp anyway. What do you think?” he asked Misha.
“It’s fucking ugly, Pat.” Misha nodded and slurped the rest of the sauce straight from the bowl. He was an animal.
“If you could have any kind of house, what would it be?” asked Grim with his mouth full, and this time, it didn’t feel like a mocking question that was actually meant to agitate Pat. Misha took a minute to think as he swallowed the rest of his meal. “It would have to be accessible. With a big garden. ”
Grim smiled. “That sounds nice. You might like my place.”
“We’re still going there?” It sounded nicer every time Grim mentioned it.
Grim nodded. “It’s west from here.”
Misha acknowledged the lie with a smile. “This is the best date I’ve ever been on, and I’ve been on two.”
Gim laughed. “You heard him, Pat. We gay men are just like you breeders. We go on romantic dates, we try to get into each other’s pants on date one, and we too get to marry and have a picket fence if we want to.”
“If I had vodka, I’d drink to that.” Misha hesitated, but put his head on Grim’s arm. It was as if the heat of that strong body was beckoning him closer.
“Yeah? That’s what you want?” Grim asked in a surprisingly soft voice.
Misha nodded. He was certain a toast of liquor would taste of freedom. “I mean, I’d even take whiskey or whatever he has.” On day one, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to get drunk around Grim, but after pulling this off, his reservations were melting away like snow in July.
Grim was silent for several seconds, but he quickly walked back to the kitchen, returning with several bottles. “Whatever you want. You know I’m here to please.”
Misha snorted and reached out for a bottle of cognac. “Candle-lit dinner with a surprise guest, and now this? You’re outdoing yourself.”
Grim showed off his healthy-looking teeth and poured some whiskey into a cup with the image of a horse. “I need to keep you happy so that you don’t leave me again.”
Misha shook his head and smelled the alcohol, looking up at Grim’s powerful body, all clad in black. With the mask, he looked like a movie supervillain, yet in Misha’s book, he was the hero.
They drank, talking about their imaginary sex life, just to make Pat more miserable, but by the time Misha’s head was too soaked to take any more liquor, Grim decided it was time to go. He helped Misha back into his wheels and gathered the dishes they used, carrying them into the kitchen. Misha followed him into the large kitchen, full of all kinds of stuff that didn’t belong there. There was not a single space left on the large table because it was littered with open boxes and tools. Working past the haziness in his brain, Misha watched Grim deposit everything in the dishwasher and then switch the machine on. He turned around, and his gaze settled on Misha for what seemed a bit too long, but then he put his index finger across his lips and winked.
Misha crooked his head, leaning back in his chair as Grim opened Pat’s fridge and pulled out a huge bottle halfway filled with amber-colored liquid. According to the label, it was apple juice, but the moment Grim pulled down his zipper, Misha understood what his plan was and put a hand over his mouth to keep the drunken giggle quiet. And yet, the moment Grim’s hand pulled out that monstrous column of flesh, the giddiness in Misha was replaced by a flash of heat that coursed throughout his body as he watched Grim’s piss drizzle over the inner wall of the container, mixing with the juice.
Once he was done, Grim tapped the head of his cock against the broad mouth of the bottle. He smirked as he looked at Misha and slowly offered him the bottle that had steamed up from the heat of Grim’s urine. Misha felt guilty, but the thought of touching the warm plastic now had him revved with excitement. He quickly pulled his cock out of his sweatpants and accepted the container. Laughter rose in his throat again as he relieved himself into the bottle, and he made a point of swaying it in the air, making sure the piss would mix with the juice properly. He wished he could stay a bit longer and watch Pat quench his thirst with his favorite apple juice, only to wonder why it tasted the way it did. He shared a quiet giggle with Grim as the bottle was returned where it belonged, and that was that.
Grim helped Misha off the porch and disappeared inside the house for another few minutes before emerging with a soft whistle. They continued a lazy conversation the whole way back to the truck, enjoying the fresh, cool air and the bright stars above.
“Are you sure he won’t report this?” Misha asked, annoyed by the slur in his own voice as he looked on the blurred edges of the road ahead.
“He’d be an idiot if he did,” said Grim. “He saw the back of my cut at the mall.”
“I never got to hit back anyone who hurt me,” Misha mumbled as Grim helped him into the cab of the truck. His head was light but his limbs heavy, and he enjoyed that there was someone with a tolerance for liquor that was much greater than his own to take care of him.
Grim carefully adjusted the seat belt on Misha and took off his mask and gloves before joining him inside the cab. He petted Misha’s head. “You will from now on. ”
The world did a turn in front of Misha’s eyes when Grim started the truck. “There are so many people I would just …” he finished with a growl and squeezed an imaginary neck in front of himself.
Grim started driving away from the scene of their crime as soon as they were back on the asphalt road. “Who?”
“Gary … no. He’s dead. Fuck. The others,” he finished, and even saying it left such a sour taste on his tongue that he had a sip of cognac straight from the bottle he took from Pat’s. The silence that came after was so overwhelming that it might have as well pulled them into a black hole.
“What others?” asked Grim in the end.
Misha took a gulp of air, fighting back his sorrow and the onslaught of memories he wished he didn’t have. “After I lost my legs. Before Gary saved me—fuck. He didn’t save me for shit. He was a fucking shithead.” Misha hid his face in his hands. Grim was right. He was broken.
“Misha?” asked Grim quietly as they drove between the fields with not a single light in sight.
“What?” Misha looked through the windshield, sure that he looked as miserable as he felt. It had to be a comedown after the adrenaline rush before.
“What others?”
“I don’t know their names.” Misha took another gulp of alcohol, and it bit his tongue with such force he started coughing. “The first few only cared about the stumps. Wanted to see me naked, have me crawl. But then this one guy came who was looking for more. There were many like him. Not devotees, but just guys who saw me as a novelty. I was told I was supposed to be pleasant to the clients, but I was scared. I’d never had sex before, and I panicked, and it was so horrible. I screamed at him and he fucked me anyway.” Saying all of that aloud made Misha tremble all over, and even his teeth started to clatter as he curled up against the door and held onto the bottle as if it could shield him from the ghost of unwanted touch.
Grim stared ahead, but his knuckles seemed more defined as he squeezed the steering wheel. “And you remember no name? Nothing?” he asked in the end.
Misha shook his head. “Nothing. He had this … average face,” he said in disgust. “He could be anyone . I was available for months. And they would never tell me if I would only be touched or if the man wanted more. I’m such a coward. I didn’t fight again and just went with whatever I was asked to do. I should have done something …” He was getting nauseated just thinking about it.
Grim’s hand was a welcome, steady presence on his shoulder. “No,” Grim said firmly. “They would have killed you. You were smart. You wouldn’t be here now if you’d fought. Think about it, you wouldn’t have even been able to run.”
“Maybe I could have killed one of them if I really tried. But I was so scared. Things can always get so much worse, and then these two guards came because they were “curious,” and they wanted to try double penetration, and they tore me up, I was hurting, and I pleaded that I couldn’t take anyone again, so when Gary came with his offer, it felt like my life would be so much better from then on. Like he was a good guy. But he wasn’t.” Misha frantically rubbed his eyes, surprised at the tears that wouldn’t stop streaking down his cheeks.
Grim stepped on the brake, stopping the truck in the middle of a straight road between cornfields. He was breathing hard, and then, without a word, he opened the door and jumped out of the cab.
Misha sniffed and rubbed his face with his T-shirt. Would Grim now realize there was no way to fix him? What kind of future could he even have? He stirred when the sound of a gunshot tore through the silence, and in the bright moonlight, a scarecrow sticking out of the field like a sore thumb started twisting like a spinning top. Its straw and rag body was torn by an onslaught of bullets and eventually fell off the stick that was holding it up.
Was telling Grim his secret a mistake? Misha was too drunk to make a judgment call. He slumped against the door. He wasn’t the innocent boy Grim wanted to believe he was.
Grim climbed back into the cab and shoved the gun into the glove compartment. He was heaving as he shut the door and leaned against the steering wheel. He took a deep breath and banged his forehead against the top of the wheel several times, so hard it made Misha flinch.
Misha was seeing double, so it was hard to judge distance well, but he finally managed to put his hand on Grim’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I upset you.”
Grim rolled his head over the wheel and, with his face slack, he stared at Misha. “You’re safe now. So many bad things happened, but your life’s gonna be different from now on,” he whispered, his grey eyes seeming almost translucent in the moonlight.
“It’s already different. I can be Misha again. ”
Grim looked at him, and for the first time there was true sadness on his handsome face. He slid his arm around Misha’s shoulders and pulled him close. Misha scrambled into his lap despite the gearshift digging into his leg as he passed. He wrapped his arms around Grim’s neck and let Grim hold him in place as his head spun out of control.
“You killed Gary for me.”
Grim hissed and clenched his fingers on Misha’s hair. “I’d have torn him apart if I knew.”
Misha didn’t doubt that declaration one bit. Grim didn’t even let a guy like Pat slight him. Sure, Grim was fucked up, violent, and often inconsiderate, but it wasn’t as if Misha was the perfect fucking angel. There were so many sins in his past that he’d gladly forget, but there was no way he’d ever shed all of his shame.
“At least I’m here now.”
Grim gave a low exhale and kissed Misha’s forehead, hugging him tight to his sturdy body. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he whispered. “I’m never gonna do that.”
“You let me speak my mind. You don’t even know how much that means to me. I always had to be nice to Gary. Like I didn’t have a fucking soul.” Misha curled his fingers in the fabric of Grim’s sleeves.
Grim nodded. “You’re gonna have everything you need.”
“I really like you, Grim.” Misha leaned in to kiss him. “But I really need to take things slow, okay? Work out what I want.”
Grim stared at him, his eyes wide, and for a moment Misha thought Grim wasn’t there with him, but then Grim spoke. “You sure? I am not like Gary. You don’t have to ...” He stopped, seeming lost in what he wanted to communicate.
“I know.” Misha giggled drunkenly. “I don’t think there’s anyone in the world like you. If we met in an alternate universe, I’d probably be all over you already, but I need time to process this.” They’d had the same conversation before, but this time it really seemed that Grim was listening, taking it all in.
Grim looked through the windshield at the long stretch of black road ahead of them. He kept massaging Misha’s back with his fingers and didn’t even once look at Misha’s stumps throughout the whole conversation. It was almost as if Misha was slowly getting to him, past the thick layer of Grim’s lust.
“I think we should have a nice meal somewhere once we’re across state lines. We could order it to go and watch the sunrise. What do you think?” Grim asked eventually .
Misha smiled and rubbed away the tears still lingering in his eyes. “I’d love that.”