Page 36 of His Favorite Color is Blood
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 outof 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 mightnot 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?”
