Chapter 21
Grim
Grim couldn’t have been more on edge. As if a whole twenty-four hours without Misha’s affection was a droplet of blood in the waters, sharpening his appetite yet not letting him bite into anything. He could hardly believe he had so many feelings, and he didn’t want any of them. A part of him wanted to do anything to please Misha, and another tore him apart with anger for having those thoughts. Another was brimming with lust now that his attentions were welcome. Fucking torment . How could one little bird cause this much mayhem? The only answer he had was that his birdie was in agony, hurt and desperate. In that kind of state, even a canary could poke someone’s eyes out if they weren’t careful.
It was a warm evening in Detroit, and Grim should have been happier to do the deed, but with Misha ignoring him completely, he switched on loud music in the car he borrowed from the Nails-owned garage, for once wanting to just get on with it. Maybe seeing Grim work again would make Misha rethink his behavior? Maybe he would smile again without that mocking edge to his mouth?
He parked the car a few houses down from the one owned by their target and stretched his muscles as soon as he rushed out of the vehicle. For the first time, he resented that he needed to help Misha with the wheelchair, but he did so anyway, trying not to look at the boy too much. Misha wore a sleek black outfit and gloves, but none of those would help him remain unrecognizable. Grim had even suggested to Misha that he shouldn’t go, and they could just film together, but Misha was stubborn like a goat and insisted he’d go with Grim. So there Grim was. An assassin with a sidekick in a wheelchair .
This wasn’t a completely destitute neighborhood, and no matter how ill kept the houses were around here, the people could still provide a description of a suspicious newcomer to the area, so Grim pulled a thin black scarf around the lower part of his face and wore a baseball cap that he stole from the clubhouse. His ears picked up noises of muffled music and voices, all accompanied by the steady sound of the wheels next to him. He really didn’t feel like doing this with Misha tonight. All he wanted was a quick kill. A fast relief. But he wouldn’t have gotten that even without Misha following him like some kind of mute examiner who took notes of Grim’s performance. They needed to film the damn thing, and even though Grim was sure the video wouldn’t see the light of day in the end, it still made him uncomfortable.
“Maybe you go in through the window, and I’ll get inside from the back?” Misha asked.
Great, now Grim, the Coffin Nails Reaper, was getting advice from a complete newbie.
“Maybe you’re the one who should approach from the front? You look completely harmless,” he said as they approached the small, rundown house with rotting wooden panels for decoration.
“Isn’t the black a giveaway?” Misha asked, sounding a lot more innocent than he had for a while now, considering his crappy attitude.
Grim frowned at him. “You’re in a wheelchair. No one suspects a disabled guy of anything.”
Misha gave a long, disgruntled sigh. “I can still do things. I’m not useless,” he said as if that was what they were discussing now.
“No one said that.” Grim took a deep breath and looked at the house with whitish, pulsing light reflecting in the window. The pedophile was watching TV.
“Okay.” Misha wheeled away, straight for the driveway and a paved path leading to the front door.
Grim looked after him for several seconds before rushing into the man’s garden through a broken gate. The backyard was left unkept with weeds the size of young trees licking Grim’s legs as he rushed to the back of the house. And as he got there, it became clear he wouldn’t even have to try his luck with a window, and with a door as basic as the one he saw there, he doubted getting inside would be an issue at all .
He pulled out his tools when the sharp sound of a ring made him look inside the dark room. The sink he noticed in the moonlight confirmed his suspicions that he’d be getting into their target’s kitchen. With Misha surely already talking to the pedophile, Grim needed to act fast, and he opened the door, sliding inside while holding his breath.
He was in his element as he creeped through the dark corridor like yet another shadow, but when he reached the living room, from where he could see the front door, he stalled. He could hear Misha from outside and see the man Misha was talking to, still inside the house.
Tomas Ornish was in a wheelchair. Just sitting there. And when Grim looked around the house, he instantly noticed the little hints of the place being accessible to a wheelchair user. The furniture was low, and so were the pictures hanging on the wall in the corridor. When he looked at the old wheelchair, which was probably creaking with the man’s every move, Grim’s limbs became paralyzed, and his brain emptied, drained of any will to go through with the plan. He started retreating along his own footsteps even before consciously making that decision, his brain a cool sponge of ice crystals that made it unusable. His breathing only slowed down once he was safely back in the ugly garden that was possibly in such a bad shape because Tomas couldn’t freely move around.
This was some kind of joke.
He rushed around the house, his head spinning when he saw Misha again, smiling at Tomas as if the two of them already shared some kind of connection. When he came up to them, Misha stalled mid-sentence, while Tomas, a pudgy man in his forties, adjusted his glasses.
“Can I help you?” he asked Grim.
Grim forced himself to smile and put his hand on Misha’s shoulder. “There you are. I got completely lost back there,” he said, trying not to look at Tomas. Was he really the man they came for?
“I—yeah, I was asking for some directions.” Misha smiled back, and even though his face looked honest, Grim knew nothing about that sweet expression was sincere.
“That’s fine. I already found it,” said Grim, hoping Misha hadn’t given Tomas any details. “Let’s go.”
Misha nodded and shook the man’s hand. “Thank you anyway. Have a good evening. ”
Grim pulled him away from the house more roughly than he originally intended, his blood buzzing aggressively as he broke into a run toward the car, with Misha at the front.
Misha gripped the armrests with a gasp. “What are you doing? What happened?”
“This can’t be him. The fucker must have moved,” said Grim breathlessly as he stopped next to their car. This night was such a failure.
“Tomas Ornish. That was him.” Misha whispered, already scrambling into the seat.
“How do you know if you were asking for directions?” asked Grim, jumpier by the second. It was as if his brain refused to work as it normally did. He would not question the identity of a target at any other time, even if it wasn’t confirmed by a photo.
“I asked him if the house was someone else’s, pretending I was looking for that other person, and he said that I was wrong, he was Tomas Ornish, and he lived there.” Misha stared at Grim with his eyes wide open.
Grim clenched his hands on the roof of the car, sucking in long, scattered breaths. “Come on ... he couldn’t have done it.”
“What? Why not? Didn’t someone in the club give you this intel?” asked Misha, transferring into the seat.
“Yeah, but it’s just Milk. Something’s off,” Grim said and stuffed the wheelchair into the car, jumping into the driver’s seat as if the asphalt were burning his feet.
Misha looked out of the window as they left and didn’t question Grim anymore.
Grim drove into the parking lot by the club-owned garage with the squeak of tires. Misha was silent again, but Grim didn’t even bother with putting on some music, as his brain was the source of enough noise. Getting out of the metal box was both a relief and yet another reason for anger. Milk would be here tonight, and he’d have some explaining to do .
“I’ll be fine, just get it close,” Misha said as Grim went to get his wheelchair on autopilot, even though his brain was still going over what had happened.
He put the wheelchair next to Misha when Milk’s blond head appeared in the doorway leading to the garage backrooms. Grim rushed toward him, trying to keep his hands low as he approached. The moment Milk saw him, he walked up to him as well.
“How’d it go?” Milk loud-whispered with his eyes wide, but the moment heat exploded in the depths of Grim’s chest, he grabbed Milk by the shoulders and pushed him against the wall.
“You gave me the wrong guy!”
“What? No. I checked the address a few times. Show it to me. Did you hurt someone innocent?” Milk asked frantically as Misha wheeled closer.
Grim pulled the crumpled piece of paper out of his jean pocket and pushed it into Milk’s hand. “Of course not, but I could have, and the guy’s already in a wheelchair.”
Milk looked down at the paper and then stared up at Grim with that dumbfounded expression. “That must be him. He’s in a wheelchair.”
Grim took a deep breath that didn’t seem to fill his lungs well enough anyway. He let go of Milk. “No way ...”
Milk frowned. “They’re kids. He didn’t exactly need to chase them down or lock them in a basement.”
Grim swallowed hard, staring at him with a heaviness spreading in his limbs. “But ... he’s defenseless,” he whispered.
Milk spread his arms. “So it should have been easy to deal with him! What the fuck? I stuck out my neck to get this for you.”
The squeak of wheels was an insistent presence behind Grim, and all he could focus on was the grating feeling of failure and the thought he’d have to hurt someone like Misha.
He gave Milk a slow nod and pushed back his hair, turning away from him only to see Misha moving back and forth in his wheelchair. “I’ll think about it,” he muttered and slowly made his way toward the clubhouse.
By the sound of it, Misha didn’t follow, so Grim looked back to see what was going on with him. “We’ re going.”
Misha stopped riding around the yard, only to resume after a few seconds and roll the wheelchair Grim’s way. He didn’t say a word as he passed Grim, and his hair obscured his eyes.
Grim stuffed his hands down his pockets and watched Misha trying to get inside through the door. Grim eventually pulled it open and gestured for him to enter. Misha looked around the empty lounge, cautious as if he were on enemy ground.
“Is that the only reason why you thought it wasn’t him? Because he was disabled?” he asked quietly and groaned as soon as he wheeled over to the steep stairs to the second floor. He muttered some curse words under his breath.
Grim smirked. No matter how angry Misha was, he still needed Grim’s help. But the question hung in the air like toxic gas, making Grim’s stomach flip. “Do you want to tell me something?”
Misha punched the wall.
Grim leaned against it and stared at Misha without a word.
“I was so stressed about this. Being in a wheelchair doesn’t make him a good guy,” Misha groaned and crossed his arms on his chest, pretending there were no stairs he needed to conquer.
Grim swallowed hard. “I ... don’t do this kind of stuff. He’s weak. He can’t defend himself. Like a bird with broken wings can’t get away from a cat.”
Misha looked up the stairs and then back at Grim. “The less challenge the better. This isn’t about you having fun. We need to get this guy to save Dennis. And he’s a child molester, for fuck’s sake!”
“Maybe you should have stabbed him then, if you think it’s so fucking easy!” hissed Grim, folding his arms.
“Maybe I would have if I wasn’t counting on you. Why don’t you install knives in my wheelchair? That would make things so much easier.”
Grim frowned, and all of a sudden, he could see many places that could be used for hiding weapons so that Misha would always be safe, even without Grim around.
“So what? If you find out Zero has a peg leg, you won’t kill him anymore?” Misha grumbled.
“But he doesn’t!” insisted Grim, pulling away from Misha.
“That’s not the point! ”
Grim looked away from him. He couldn’t explain why, but the thought of hurting someone who couldn’t freely move around had always been something he found despicable, and having Misha unload on him like this was even more depressing, especially after the failure of the previous day. “No? I think it is.”
“It isn’t! If he had prosthetic legs or whatever, it wouldn’t make him a good person. Christ!”
A backdoor opened not far away from there, and Priest peeked out at them. “Is everything all right?”
And there it was, Misha instantly moved closer to Grim, and Grim’s hand trailed over his nape. It was such an immense relief to touch him again.
“Yes. Everything’s fine. I don’t have much experience with lovers’ quarrels.”
Priest chuckled and shook his head. “And you, little guy?”
Grim couldn’t help a smirk, but Misha wasn’t impressed. “I’m not little. I’m short because I have no fucking legs!”
Priest raised his hands. “Okay, okay,” he said and disappeared behind the door again.
Grim shook his head. “He’s letting us stay here. He offers us protection. Show some respect.”
Misha took a deep breath and couldn’t look into Grim’s eyes. “Can you help me up the stairs, please?” he muttered in the end.
Grim scooted down in front of Misha and stroked his knee. “Sure. Embrace me.”
Misha’s face was painted with guilt, and he shifted forward in the wheelchair to wrap his arms around Grim’s neck. “I’m not that used to being allowed to speak my mind, so I don’t know when to stop sometimes,” he whispered.
Grim’s mouth widened in a smile, and he slid his arms around Misha, hugging him with relief flooding his muscles. “You’ll learn,” he said and pulled Misha up, grabbing him by the ass.
“I’m so stressed out. Every minute Dennis spends with Zero is a minute where he could be hurting, and it’s all my fault. And if we don’t get that video done, he’ll probably kill him, and he won’t stop hunting me.” Misha hugged Grim back, and only now that Grim held him, he realized Misha was trembling all over.
He looked at the empty lounge helplessly and leaned his head against Misha’s. “There were people who hurt Coy because he was defenseless. I don’t want to be that. I’m not a good man, but I don’t want to be that,” he whispered .
Misha kissed Grim’s ear. “Help me take him, and I’ll … d-do what needs to be done.”
Grim took a deep breath and tightened his arms around Misha, pushing him against the wall, not to let go. Grim’s heart galloped without warning, leaving him confused and with a scorch inside his skull. “All right.”
“We’ll try again tomorrow, okay?” Misha squeezed his thighs around Grim and stroked his nape. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
Grim leaned back to look at him, unsure what he could say. He felt so naked and out of his depth for once. “I hated that. It’s not like you.”
“I know. I’m still trying to find out who I am now, and it will take a while. Am I a quiet nerd who enjoys gaming and sudoku, am I the sexy amputee porn star who takes it up the ass every Tuesday, or am I a Russian immigrant who likes birdwatching from a blanket? I don’t know which parts are real sometimes.”
Slowly, Grim started moving up the stairs, his eyes focused on Misha and his heart in his throat. “They are all true. Well, you’re not a porn star anymore, but you are very sexy, and you can take me every Tuesday. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
“I guess. I just need to piece myself back together.” Misha leaned away to open the door. “Thank you for not dumping me yet. I’m struggling with containing my emotions sometimes.”
Grim walked in and shut the door with his foot, slowly carrying Misha to the bed. “I’m not gonna dump you. You’re irreplaceable.”
“It’s just that you’re doing so much for me, and I don’t have a lot I can give in return.”
“That’s not true. You’re letting me save you,” whispered Grim, gently lying Misha down and leaning over him, trapped between the need to fetch the wheelchair and the sweetness of Misha’s warm body.
Misha gave Grim a shy smile and stroked his arm. “Thank you. It seems that I say that a lot, but I’m guessing you don’t mind.”
Grim smiled and gave Misha a peck on the nose. “No. I like it.”
“And you don’t mind carrying me around. I bet that would get old fast for most guys.” Misha took a deep breath, and Grim was happy to see him so much calmer.
A few inches lower, and Grim was slowly trailing kisses down Misha’s jaw, exhilarated by his closeness. “No. I want to always help you. ”
Someone banged on their door. “Is that your wheelchair lying around?” Blitz. “Milk is goofing off in it in the lounge. Just so you know.”
Misha groaned and put his hands over his face. “Christ.”
Grim rolled his eyes. “Ah, we’re kinda busy right now. I’d appreciate it if you stored it somewhere safe for me.”
Blitz’s footsteps sounded as if he was stomping on purpose to let Grim know what he thought of that.
“Grim … Please get my wheelchair. It’s not a toy,” said Misha, making that irresistible sad-pout face.
Grim rested his face in the crook of Misha’s neck and groaned. “Fine,” he said in the end and pushed himself up.
“It’ll all be better tomorrow,” Misha offered with a kiss to the top of Grim’s head. He’d rather get a kiss to his cock head instead.
Grim petted Misha’s leg before getting to his feet. “Find something on TV? I’ll be right back.”
Misha smiled. “Don’t be too long. I’m out of sudoku.”