Page 2 of His Favorite Color is Blood
Misha bit his lips again until he drew blood. Only now, it occurred to him. What if this was a test of loyalty? What if Gary considered giving him more freedom but needed to make sure Misha wouldn’t betray him once his leash was loosened?
“I …” Misha licked his lips. His breathing became erratic, and he started wheezing in panic.
The man put the gun into a holster underneath his arm and reached out a hand in a leather glove. “Come out. I won’t hurt you.”
Misha didn’t grab the hand, but he slowly pulled the blanket off his head, knowing he wouldn’t have a choice in the matter anyway. “Does Gary know you’re here?” he whimpered, his mind spiraling into a million directions. In Misha’s experience, a mask meant the man was here to do horrible things in front of Gary’s camera without being recognized. Misha wouldn’t even know his name. “Please just tell him I don’t want to go.” This shitty, somewhat damp room was a long way from heaven, but who knew what hell would await Misha outside? He’d rather stay than risk any more pain.
The man shifted closer, and his chest fell with a loud exhale. “Andrey? Is that really you?”
This was bad. The man knew Misha’s porn name. He was close enough for the upper half of his body to duck under the desk, and Misha could smell his sweat, entangled with a rich cologne that was already twisting around Misha’s throat, about to choke him. “Yes. Who are you? Did Gary send you here? Did you pay him?”
The masked man growled, and for a brief moment, his accent slipped into deeper, somewhat twangy tones. “I know no Gary.” He took a deep breath, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “IknewI recognized this room from somewhere, but weren’t you supposed to be in Russia? What is this?”
Misha watched the man’s every move. His life or death could depend on assessing this situation correctly. “It’s made up. To avoid stalkers … Who are you?” Now that he thought about it, Misha realized he hadn’t met any new people within the last two years. It was always only him and Gary, and sometimes someof Gary’s friends or the on-call beautician who took care of Misha’s body hair and nails. And without anyone to introduce this man, Misha had no idea how to act.
The masked man reached out all the way to Misha’s face. His leather-encased fingers smelled of gunpowder, which only made Misha more rigid as the soft, smooth glove touched his skin. “You’re so pretty in real life.”
“Are you here to kill me?” Misha blurted out, unable to keep that question inside him anymore. The man had burst in with a gun and looked like a modern version of the Grim Reaper, so it would only make sense. He could be making sure he had the right person before he put a deadly piece of lead inside Misha’s skull.
“No. I’d never do that. Promise,” said the masked man and held up his hand with his pinky extended.
Misha knew not to trust promises, but it was always worth acknowledging one. In a surreal moment, he hooked his pinky with the man in a skull mask. “Thank you.”
“Will you come out now?” asked the man, gently pulling on Misha’s hand.
“Okay, but we have to find Gary … I can’t go anywhere without his consent.” Misha looked away from the man’s face and crawled out from underneath the blanket. He wore his ridiculously long hair down, because Gary liked it that way, but in these circumstances, he pulled a hair band out of the pocket of his shorts and gathered the long strands back into a loose bun. He couldn’t help but think that if this man knew his porn name, he’d seen him in circumstances much worse than this. He needed to calm down and retain some dignity.
He raised his head, but the question he intended to ask died on his lips when he noticed the stranger staring straight at the ugly stumps once they emerged from underneath the blanket. In a horrifying moment, the man’s leather-encased hand moved to cup one of them. Misha clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached, and he went still. He only moved his eyes and let them glance at the stranger’s crotch and the large bulge in his pants. Of course, the man would be an amputation fetishist if he knew Misha’s porn persona. They called themselves “devotees,” but in Misha’s experience, the only thing they were devoted to were the stumps, not the amputee himself. Misha didn’t feel comfortable around those men, and each unwelcome touch sent him deeper into his own mind.
The large hand massaged the stump, squeezing it gently, as if it were a pert buttock. This was wrong, and four years of taking it with a fake smile couldn’t teach Misha otherwise.
“You will be safe with me,” said the man, pulling Misha toward him with surprising strength.
Misha’s eyes went wide when he was forced up close to the skull printed on the mask the stranger wore over his face, but it was getting a faint glimpse of the man’s eyes behind the mesh that freaked him out. He wouldn’t be safe anywhere, just like he hadn’t been safe here. Just because the man’s body was sturdy, as if made out of brick, didn’t make him less flesh and bone, less vulnerable to a bullet or a chainsaw.
“What’s your name?” Misha gasped and grabbed on to the man’s neck when he was picked up as if he weighed nothing.
There was a deep growl somewhere in the depths of the man’s throat, but he finally looked straight at Misha and squeezed his hand on the flesh of his thigh. “I’m Grim. And I’m a fan,” he said, carrying Misha out of the room where he had spent the greater part of the last two years.
Even though Grim’s touch was gentle, the lust hiding behind it made Misha nauseated.A fan? Was Grim a crazy stalker abducting him just so he could have Misha to himself? Where would he take him? What would he do to him?
Misha slid his hand down to Grim’s chest, and the man’s heart was thudding just as hard as Misha’s. “You … watch a lot of my vids?” he uttered, desperate for any scrap of information.
The masked man nodded, completely ignoring the sounds of gunfire somewhere in the background as he entered Gary’s living room. “I watch them all the time. I was the one to send you the new Xbox to the PO Box. Did you get it?” he asked quickly, rocking Misha in his arms.
Misha’s lips parted, and he couldn’t believe his ears. Not to mention they felt hot as hellfire. He’d never actually met any of his subscribers. “I … I did actually. And the games. Thank you,” he added quickly, afraid to offend the man. “Did you … break in here?” Misha looked around the living room when they walked out into the bright light of white lamps. The TV was knocked over and lay facedown on the floor, and a broken glass vase was scattered over the rug like sesame seeds on bread.
“Yes,” said Grim. “I’m sorry I scared you, but you were the last person I expected to find.”
Misha looked toward the black granite and steel of the modern kitchen, and Gary’s absence was putting him further on edge by the second. Gary was the only person standing between Misha, and … thoseotherpeople.
“Who were you looking for?”
Grim was silent for a few moments as he approached the door, which was strangely crooked and covered with soot. “The wolves who run this place.”
Misha was about to say he didn’t know where they were exactly, but when Grim reached the door, Misha swiped his gaze over the room one last time and spotted a familiar shape behind the black leather sofa where Gary had fucked him just last week.
Gary’s fingers were twitching on the floor, and Misha screamed out in horror as his eyes met the bloodied face. This couldn’t be happening. Grim sure as fuck was no policeman, so he was here to take all theassets. Misha pushed his hand into Grim’s face and kicked his stomach with the stump, trying to get out of the steel grip. His brain was in a frenzy.
