His Favorite Color is Blood - Coffin Nails MC (gay biker dark romance) (Sex & Mayhem Book 8) (13 page)

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 not to 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.