Chapter 12
Grim
The week following their revenge visit at Pat’s was among the quietest in Grim’s life. Misha wished for some peace, so they rented a cabin in the forest. The property was primarily used by hunters, but there was a comfortable double bed in one of the two bedrooms, and the house had everything they could possibly need, including a generator. A shed for skinning animals brought back many memories.
After finding out more about Misha’s past, Grim felt like a failure. He knew that technically he couldn’t have intervened when those things had happened to Misha, because that was even before he found out about Andrey’s Internet presence. He also knew that, most likely, Misha wasn’t the only boy put through this, but he still couldn’t shed the helplessness that opened a void in his chest and wouldn’t close, no matter how hard he tried to make Misha forget all the bad things.
Even the stumps he adored so much were now yet another instrument in Misha’s misery. There was something about the image of a man with no legs being abused by people stronger and taller than he was that made Grim itch for blood. He couldn’t stomach the thought of someone hurting the boy who uncovered the many colors of his personality every day. He was witty and sarcastic, with a proclivity for black humor that Grim couldn’t resist. He liked to discuss things and was stubborn at pursuing his goals. When Misha told Grim he needed to learn how to defend himself, Grim had no idea how serious Misha was being.
Within three days, they had used up so many bullets Grim had to buy more ammo. They did a lot of strength training and self-defense techniques, and the longer they were together, the less surprised Grim was of the desperation at the core of Misha’s attempts. After being through so much, Misha would rather die than be taken again, and Grim couldn’t bring himself to argue about this no matter how uneasy he was about bruises appearing all over Misha’s body. Misha’s fear was as unreasonable as Grim’s own guilt.
But while Grim longed for something to relieve the itching in his bones, the bloodlust that crept farther into his conscious mind with every day of complete peace, he didn’t want to sacrifice his time with Misha to get his kicks. It was the glint of a blade versus the lively glimmer in Misha’s eyes and the scent of fresh blood versus the aroma of Misha’s cum and sweat. And yet, he wished the Coffin Nails would come up with a contract for him and give him an incentive to leave the calm embrace of the forest and sense the warm blood sinking into his skin. He was growing impatient. Nervous. But Misha didn’t seem to sense any change in Grim’s behavior, as he was warming up to him every day.
This morning was just as sunny as the ones before, but at least it was less humid. The area around their bungalow was completely secluded in a valley with a stream down the road where Grim took Misha on his back a few times and wild animals passing their house at night.
Those moments when Misha explored nature, when he was in the moment instead of in his head, were the happiest Grim had seen him yet. Far away from people, he could adjust better to being outside after such a long period of captivity. It was working. Misha even fell asleep in the grass once on a sunny day after going through yet another book of sudoku. His decreasing anxiety could have something to do with the fact that there was no technology here, no Wi-Fi, only a barely there cell connection Grim managed to catch at the side of a hill nearby.
With sun pouring down from the sky, Misha sat outside in just a pair of denim shorts, wearing his new sunglasses and eating a popsicle from the stash in their freezer. As days passed, their sexual relationship hit a plateau, but they slept together, touched, kissed, and jerked each other off a few times. Misha wanted to take things slow, and he wasn’t going anywhere, so Grim settled on giving him the time he needed. To his growing excitement, Misha was also less shy about his stumps, and despite that under-the-knee area still being taboo, Grim could at least see them, touch them with his own legs in bed, and enjoy the thought that one day, he would get to lick them all over again .
“Hey, lazy bum! Stop playing with your phone and come train with me,” Misha yelled to Grim despite still sucking on the popsicle himself.
Grim smirked and made his way down the hill without haste, enjoying the warm sun on his skin. In his downtime, Grim prepared some makeshift exercise equipment that was meant for Misha’s size. They kept them in the shadow of a tree nearby, but it didn’t seem like Misha was inclined to move that way yet unless he wanted Grim to carry him again. He’d been fine with that recently, especially when they ventured farther away from the cabin. Grim loved the trust Misha offered him whenever Grim took him on his back and trekked through the forest, giving Misha as many possibilities to enjoy the fresh air as possible. Misha was already getting a healthy glow to his skin, and his freckles became darker.
Misha sucked in the rest of his popsicle, making Grim want to lick up all the sweetness that dripped down Misha’s lips. He moved down the stairs, supporting himself on his arms, and reached out for Grim’s hand.
Grim smiled and raised him with one arm, making the transfer into the wheelchair much easier for Misha. “Ready for more, birdie?”
“Let’s go.” Misha rolled his wheelchair forward. With the grass short and the ground even, he had a lot of freedom to move around the clearing surrounding the cabin. “I want to practice standing on my arms. At least there’s something that should be easier for me than for people who have more weight below.”
Grim nodded and cupped Misha’s head, petting his hair. He enjoyed having him low enough to be able to do this, and doing so instantly calmed him down. “Your choice. If that’s what you want. I suppose it also trains balance.”
“Yeah, and stomach muscles. I don’t want to be a slob, and you bought me too many treats.”
They had taken a big shopping trip before coming down here, and Misha had spent ages reading the packaging and looking through hundreds of products he’d never seen before. He told Grim that he kept in shape not to lose Gary’s interest, but it was nice that he still wanted to keep up his fitness habits. Grim flattered himself that it was for him, even though Misha wouldn’t say so.
“You do have very nice muscles for someone who lived most of the last few years in a basement,” said Grim, walking next to the wheelchair.
“I did pull-ups and all sorts of stuff I could. I didn’t want to feel like I’m useless. Otherwise, I could just as well lay in bed all day and wait ‘til I die. ”
Nothing like a touch of morbidity on a sunny day, but Grim appreciated the comment.
“You feel very alive.”
Misha stopped once they reached the area where they trained and looked up at Grim, grabbing his hands. “When all of this settles down, and it’s safer for me to be around people, you will get me prosthetics, right?”
Grim’s head bobbed up and down as he stared at Misha, mesmerized by the honesty he could see on his face. Misha was already planning their future together. “Yeah. It will be easier for you, because we will be moving around a lot.”
“I’ll never have legs, but I will be able to walk into a store without everyone staring at me. Maybe I could even get those blade legs and run again.” Misha squeezed Grim’s hand with a smile.
In that moment, Grim wanted to get Misha every single thing he could possibly want. “Okay.”
“And if my stumps get tired or sore from the pressure, you could massage them at the end of the day …” Misha bit his lip, never looking away from Grim’s eyes.
Grim exhaled, squeezing Misha’s hand as his mind wandered to those lovely legs, cherished and glistening with oil between Grim’s hands. “You are such a tease.”
Misha laughed and pushed at Grim’s hip. “You should have seen your face!”
Grim rubbed his eyes. “It’s all your fault. I should spank you for baiting me like that.”
“Sorry,” Misha said and looked away as he made his climb down to the ground, but Grim could swear that he heard him whisper “not sorry.”
“I will kiss them for such a long time that it’ll make you come,” he said, looking at the back of Misha’s head with a sly smile. He knew for a fact that it was possible.
“Are you going to leave hickeys on my stumps?” Misha asked and supported himself on his hands and knees. It was just banter, but Grim loved the future tense in it. Like it was a real possibility. Like Misha was deeming him worthy of worshiping those heavenly stumps.
“I can, if that’s what you want, but I like to be really gentle,” whispered Grim.
“I don’t want hickeys on them!” Misha slapped Grim’s shin. “People would see and think I’m a freak.”
Grim’s face twisted into a scowl. “I just told you I’m gonna be gentle. ”
“Okay, okay. Support me.” Misha put his cheek on the ground and pushed his hips up but quickly fell back. “Wait. I’m getting there.”
“Don’t hurt yourself,” said Grim, watching the pink scars crisscrossing the bottom of the stumps. He had no idea why they looked like this, and why there were so many of them, but maybe Misha’s doctors had been shitty and botched the work aesthetically? He didn’t want to ask.
Misha snorted. “I’m not made out of glass. And I’m stronger every day. All it takes is upper body strength.” He grunted and pushed his hips up again. This time, Grim touched Misha’s thighs as soon as they lifted and helped Misha raise his body without losing balance.
The stumps were so close, and Grim could see them in full sunlight. Even the little bit of muscle beneath Misha’s knee tensed, and Grim wanted to pet it so bad it was hard to focus.
But he knew he wasn’t allowed to yet, so he looked down at Misha, who was looking at him upside down with an oddly serious face. The muscles in his arms were strained, so was his stomach, but with a bit of support, Misha was able not to fall over.
“Help me down,” Misha grunted, and a droplet of sweat from under his knee trailed down to Grim’s finger.
Grim squeezed Misha’s thighs and slowly lowered him to the ground. “Well done.”
“Now you do it.” Misha sat on the ground and raised his eyebrows in challenge.
Grim smiled and bowed like a stage performer. Heat was simmering beneath his skin as he felt that curious brown gaze running across his abs. He leaned his body back before ducking toward the ground and propping all of his body weight on his hands. For a horrendous second, he believed he had used too much force and he would fall down and embarrass himself in front of Misha, but as he tightened all his muscles, he managed to keep his body upright.
The effort was worth it when he saw Misha gasp and bite his lip. “That’s hot.”
Grim laughed, blinking against the sun, proud as if Misha were petting his abs already. “It’s all yours, birdie.”
“Look who’s teasing now.” Misha didn’t even blink as he ogled Grim with no shame. “I can’t believe you’re still standing. ”
Grim would drink Misha’s praise until he burst. “That’s because I have a killer body,” he said before lowering himself to his feet when the weight started becoming too much.
Misha hesitated for a moment before he spoke. “You do. You’re really my type. I used to like watching porn with really fit guys. Maybe because I’m fucked up, so I like seeing their healthy limbs.”
Grim felt his mouth fall, and he wasn’t sure what to say at first. “You’re a bit broken. Not fucked up.”
Misha pouted and wiggled his stumps. “I used to hate being like this with all my heart, but I guess they’re what got me out and caught your interest at the end of the day, so all the pain was worth something .”
Grim slowly sat on the ground. For once, he was uncomfortable about the way he felt when he watched Misha’s struggles. He quickly swallowed, pushing the darkness away, deep into his skull. Grim knew he was a catch. Strong. Handsome. But he wasn’t worth going through what Misha had gone through.
He didn’t come up with an answer, and instead looked to the horizon, surprised by the sound of a car approaching, his focus instantly razor sharp. He got to his feet, listening to the engine. “Wonder who that is,” he muttered, stretching as he walked toward the clearing that bordered the forest.
Misha pulled his wheelchair closer and transferred into it with a bit of Grim’s help. “Tourists? Hunters? The owner?”
“He did say he wanted to pick something up next week. Maybe he needs it sooner,” said Grim, walking toward the dirt road, which soon revealed a blue van with three young men sitting in the front, squashed like sardines. It was one of the small vans used for transport with no windows in the back and ledges running along the body below side doors at the front.
Misha went quiet when Grim approached the road to meet them. One of the men smiled and raised his hand in greeting.
Grim nodded and walked up from the driver’s side, listening to the bird chatter above their heads. “Looking for something?”
“You ask, Bob, you got us lost. I’m gonna go take a piss,” said the man on the other side of the cab before jumping out of the van. He was dressed in a red-checkered shirt, like a stereotypical lumberjack—or maybe it was currently fashionable .
Bob sighed and looked at Grim apologetically. “We were heading for Knappsville, took a wrong turn I think. Would you know how to get to Calvan? We will handle it from there easily.”
Grim frowned. The van had an Arizona license plate, so maybe the men had no idea that driving a dirt road into the woods would take them nowhere. It pissed him off that he had to deal with this shit. Lumberjack hid behind the van to relieve himself, and Grim wished he would just do it somewhere in the woods, not in his and Misha’s Goddamn front yard. To add insult to injury, the guy wearing uncomfortable-looking black clothes, who traveled squashed between the other two, was now moving toward the door as well. What was this? A public toilet?
“If I were you, I wouldn’t go off the asphalt if you want to get to a town. I’m just a tourist, so the best I can do for you is tell you to go back to the nearest crossing and maybe try stopping a local’s car. Or drive on until you reach the gas station. It’s a few miles north.”
Bob nodded, listening to each of Grim’s words as if he said something especially clever. It was just common sense. But Grim’s body went rigid the moment Lumberjack emerged from the back of the van pointing a gun straight at him. An armed robbery? In the middle of a fucking Tennesee forest?
“Don’t move, and you might survive this,” Lumberjack hissed, and the guy dressed in black was already circling the van.
Grim’s muscles turned into barbed wire, scratching his bones and piercing skin. The fucker was lying. It would make no sense to let them leave after he and Misha saw their faces. His thoughts immediately wandered to Misha, but he didn’t dare look away from the glistening metal around the dark hole of the gun’s muzzle. Lumberjack was relaxed, so it seemed this wasn’t his first time using a firearm to intimidate someone. He held the grip right, with both hands, and he was pointing it straight at Grim’s forehead. He was far enough to put three pieces of lead into Grim’s brain before they clashed. This was bad.
“What do you want?” he asked calmly. “I paid for the house in cash, but I don’t have more than a a few twenties.”
To make matter’s worse, the man in black left Grim’s sight, no doubt heading for Misha.
“Grim?” Misha called in a high-pitched tone.
“I’ll get more than a few twenties for the boy.” Bob snorted as he opened the driver’s door and stepped on the narrow ledge above the wheels. His closeness was almost palpable, and Grim’s fists itched for his throat. But he couldn’t risk it, not with Lumberjack being so sure-handed with the gun. If Grim died, Misha really would have no hope left.
Gloom fell on Grim’s shoulders all at once, piercing his stomach and twisting between his guts. Those people must have tracked them because of the damn photos he took at the hotel. He’d told Misha he was being unreasonable back then, laughed at him, but Misha had been right. There was no other way for a team of men to target Misha somewhere in the middle of the forest.
“Let me go! Let go!” Misha yelled behind his back, making Grim long for blood.
Grim’s chest heaved, calculating patterns, routes he could take, but nothing made sense. It was three armed men against him, and if they got their way, Misha would be back to the horror he had reluctantly told Grim about. Without Gary, he would be public property again. He would burn somewhere in another basement, and no one would ever trace even the ashes that remained of him.
Gunshots made birds in the surrounding trees screech and flee, and for a split second, Grim was sure he was dead but didn’t know it yet. But the three shots came from behind him, along with Misha’s scream. Lumberjack lowered his gun in confusion.
“He needs to be alive, you im—”
Grim dove forward, his body tense like an arrow sent straight into Lumberjack’s heart. The bastard blinked, shock briefly replaced by fury as he pulled the trigger.
Grim threw himself at the van and changed his direction, charging straight at the enemy, grabbing Lumberjack’s thick wrist. His brain screamed for the gun in his hand. What if Misha was hurt? Already dead?
He hooked his arm around Lumberjack’s head and squeezed it hard. A scream tore out of his mouth when sharp teeth emerged from the curly bush of the man’s beard, pulling on Grim’s flesh as they struggled, falling against the side of the van.
“He shot me! The fucking cripple shot me!” the guy in black screeched from behind, and Grim’s chest filled with pride. As worry over Misha subsided, he focused all of his strength on the man in his grasp and made them both topple into the dirt.
Blood rushed through his brain like a flash flood, turning his vision red as he squeezed Lumberjack with his thighs while holding the gun away. The man was frantically hitting Grim’s side with his fist, but it only made the fight rawer, more real. Grim had been itching for a bit of action, and now it came to his doorstep. As they said, be careful what you wished for.
With a hoarse cry, he twisted his body, scrambling on top of Lumberjack, and used his whole weight to turn the fucker’s head as if it were a soda cap. With a sharp popping sound, Lumberjack went limp.
“Stay put, motherfucker, or I will blow your head off!” Bob yelled and cocked his gun, but there was panic in his voice that Grim could lick up as easily as a wolf could a sheep’s bleeding leg.
He grabbed Lumberjack’s gun and fired straight into Bob’s right hand. Bob fired as well, but the bullet hit the van and ricocheted somewhere between the trees. He gasped, soundlessly dropping his weapon and ducking behind the van like the pussy he was.
Grim swallowed a big gulp of air. “Misha?”
“I’m fine! He’s down, and I’ve got three more bullets for him if he fucking moves!”
Grim’s lips spread into a broad smile. Only now could he think straight. With Misha safe, he was allowed to enjoy the hunt. “Good boy!”
The sound of the van’s side door sliding open pulled all of Grim’s attention back to his immediate surroundings. Bob could have anything in that van, so Grim needed to act fast.
He picked up the gun Bob left and briefly wiped the slick blood on his sweats before looking into the cab. There was a white wall between the front and the loading space of the van, so he quickly put his foot on top of the wheel, climbing on the hood. With one firearm in each hand and Bob’s blood clinging to his skin, he felt as if he could conquer the world. He leaned back and jumped across the windshield, straight to the roof that thudded when he landed.
The moment he took one more step forward, a bullet flew through the roof of the van and barely missed his foot. Grim became the epitome of wrath and steadied himself as his fingers worked simultaneously on the cool steel in his hands. Recoil was pushing him back toward the hood, but he would fight against gravity itself if it meant he’d get his vengeance. No one would slight Grim with a blind bullet .
“You’ve got enough, Bob?” he yelled and ran along the roof, jumping off from the side of the back door. He had one last piece of ammo left, and it would be his key inside.
He shot the lock in the door to open it and reveal Bob on the floor with blood all around him. His fingers still twitched, and he seemed to be gasping for his last breaths.
Grim put his hand inside and was about to enter and make sure the fucker was dead when a gunshot came from the other side of the van.
“Grim!” Misha yelled, and the other assailant's scream followed.
All of Grim’s attention hung on that single call that seemed to pull him to Misha by the throat. He immediately ran straight to their outdoor gym. His legs were flying so high it felt as if he could reach his bird within seconds, but he was still so far, far away.
The man in black was struggling with Misha on the ground, and Misha was putting up a fight, but the gun lay far away in the dry dirt. Misha’s stumps were kicking at the man’s sides, but despite all his attempts, he was still on the losing side.
Grim fell down on Black like a harpy. He hooked his elbow around the man’s throat and pulled so hard he could have broken his bones if he went a bit farther. “You’re the only one left, you piece of shit,” he growled, pulling Black off Misha. The scratches and bruises forming on Misha’s arms and chest had Grim tumble into a fit of rage, only fueled by the blood dripping to his fingers from the red mess of flesh in Black’s eye socket.
“More will come!” Black spat, writhing in Grim’s grip.
Grim nodded at Misha and pulled back one of Black’s arms as he roughly dragged him to their cabin. His heart was longing for a blood feast, and this man would be it. “You don’t know who I am, do you?” he whispered, pulling Black’s weakening body up the few stairs onto the porch.
Misha followed on all fours once he retrieved the gun, scrambling forward quickly enough for Grim to assume he was fine. Black on the other hand was bleeding from his shoulder and arm and getting to that lucid state Grim enjoyed in his bounty.
“Fuck you!” Black snarled at him and tried to spit on Grim, and the moment the saliva reached Grim’s skin, disgust made him snarl. He threw Black down, grabbed him by the hair, and slammed his head against the floor so hard the man was knocked out without the need for a repeat.
“Shit,” muttered Grim and quickly rushed inside. He returned with a pair of handcuffs and dragged Black to the balustrade at the porch. With the man still out cold, it was easy to fasten him to one of the thick wooden balusters.
“I’m sorry,” Misha said, and his breath hitched when he reached the stairs. “I shot, but it only grazed him, and I lost the gun.”
The revving engine of the van had the hairs on Grim’s forearms bristle. Was Bob not dead? He didn’t get to check when Misha cried for help.
“Flying fuck,” he growled and rushed into the house again. He always kept several loaded guns on hand, and so he reached into the black bag and pulled out two. By the time he burst out the door, the blue van was disappearing between the trees.
“What do we do? He knows where we are now.” Misha moaned, following the van with his gaze, but Grim wouldn’t give up now. He ran for his bike, which stood underneath an awning on the side of the house. Just mounting it felt like coming alive again, and when the engine started, it sent octane-rich blood through his veins. “Grim’s going to reap!” he yelled and rode off at full speed, his brain completely focused on the bubble of sound ahead of him. He hated being made a fool.
The smell of blood on his skin had just been an appetizer, and he would not let his prey get out of his grasp. The bike was quick, maneuverable, and he’d be able to drive into a narrow path if needed. He moved faster than the van could, with much more space to spare, and even with the sand floating up from underneath the wheels, he went faster, voicing his excitement with laughter as he saw the back of the van emerge from behind the trees.
“Your blood is mine,” he yelled. Bob might not hear him, but his spirit would know the Grim Reaper was out to get him. Grim’s eyes were drawn to a tall sycamore tree on his left, and the smile broadened on his face as he realized where he was. The dirt road led through low terrain, snaking between the hills, but there was a footpath, a shortcut that ran past this very tree, and Grim knew, because that was the road he and Misha took to the lake nearby.
The narrow clearing between the trees loomed to his left, and he slowed down before taking a sharp turn toward the hill. The path was narrow, so he needed to keep his bike steady, but it gave him enough leeway to avoid roots sticking out of the ground. He couldn’t drive nearly as fast as when he followed the van, but the road was making quite a big loop around several hills, which gave Grim just enough time to make his shortcut.
The sharp, warm scent of pine penetrated his lungs as he rode on, completely focused on the green wall of trees and bushes on both sides. The tall tree briefly emerged somewhere on the horizon again, but he didn’t have time to pay it any mind. His arteries were pumping at a steady pace, and his mind relaxed like when he was young and assisted his father on a hunting trip. Only now, Grim didn’t hunt innocents. Every ounce of flesh on the men whose lives he’d taken was soaked with their brutish character. And Bob deserved to die just like all the others on Grim’s neverending list. He slowed down when the dirt road loomed ahead of him, and he quickly dismounted his ride, propping it against a tree on the ground that seemed more or less even.
The sound of the approaching van was unmistakable on the otherwise empty road, and to Grim’s advantage, it could only go so fast if Bob didn’t want to risk breaking his ride and getting left stranded and bleeding in the middle of nowhere, close to his enemies. Grim’s heartbeat picked up its pace proportionally to how close he was to impact. He stood behind a tree and counted down the seconds for the van to pass him. He wanted Bob alive and telling him all about their plans. How Grim and Misha had been found. With the gunshot wounds both Bob and Black had suffered, Grim couldn’t settle for one of them, as they could die too quickly.
Once he could feel his fingertips tingle, the van was right next to him, and in a jump worthy of a panther, he leaped forward and grabbed onto the car door. As soon as his feet were steady on the ledge, he grabbed the bewildered Bob by the throat, staring right at him. Both his elbows were now pressing on the driver’s door from the inside, one hand pointing a gun at Bob, the other digging into his Adam’s apple.
There was a panicked hesitation in the man’s eyes, and in them Grim could already see the reflection of the trees coming closer. “I’m gonna shoot you sooner than you squash me,” he growled, poking the barrel against Bob’s sweaty temple. Every time the van shook over the uneven road, Grim’s hold on the van became less stable. He needed to get off fast. “Slow down. Gently, and I might not kill you.”
A lie for a lie.
Bob gasped, and only now, Grim noticed that one finger was missing on his bloodied hand. “I was just the driver,” he whined, and at that moment, Grim knew he’d won. Bob slowed down, his face sweaty, his teeth clattering.
“The handbrake,” said Grim dryly, and the moment Bob did as he was told, Grim smashed the gun against the bastard’s head, knocking him out.
Ten minutes later, Grim had Bob handcuffed in the back of the van and was heading back to the house, where Misha sat at a healthy distance from the handcuffed man, and despite the visible trembling in his limbs, he stayed put, guarding the bloodied prisoner.
Grim slid out of the cab, positive that Bob wouldn’t be able to run this time, and rushed toward Misha, his bloodlust suddenly replaced by a tender sensation that made him want to drag Misha into his arms and rock him until he calmed down. “You okay?”
Misha swallowed. “I-I wanted to hide. Leave for somewhere safe and secluded, and away from this kind of shit.” He almost choked on a huge gulp of air. “But if he got free, you could have been in danger …”
Grim stood still, watching Misha from above, and only then, the exhaustion of the fight slowly settled in his muscles, and he knelt in front of Misha. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
Misha put the gun down next to him and stumbled forward to hug Grim tightly. “You’re bleeding,” he whispered and gave Grim a kiss on the cheek.
Grim frowned and looked down, even as he held on to Misha, so relieved to have this warm body in his arms again. There was a small flesh wound on Grim’s side, but it didn’t look serious, so he cuddled up to Misha, letting his eyes shut for a moment as he memorized Misha’s shape.
“I’m fine. Are you?”
Misha nodded, but there was no joy on his face. No victorious grin. “I told you they would find me. I will never be safe.”
His words re-opened a hole in Grim’s chest, but he nodded. “I will need to find out how they tracked us down. You better go inside.”
“Why?”
Grim took in a deep breath and played with a strand of hair, one of many that escaped Misha’s bun during the fight. “It won’t be pleasant to look at, birdie.”
Misha raised his eyes at Grim and squeezed his dirty fingers. “If they work for the people who held me, trust me, they deserve whatever you serve them. I want to see it.” There was a depth of darkness in the brown eyes with shadows Grim couldn’t fully understand. Nothing left of the happy boy who had been sucking on a popsicle half an hour ago.
Grim nodded and looked at Bob, who still seemed unconscious in the open back of the van. Grim might be done with the hunting, but he still had feeding time to anticipate.