Sweet Devil [BL]

Chapter 129. Not Like Him

The splitting headache made Misha frown in his sleep. It felt like something was burning behind his eyes, just like a bright fire. Meanwhile, the stabbing pain in the back of his head was creeping to the base of his skull. Slowly, it started to crawl down his spine, running along his back.

It felt as if his skin had been set ablaze.

The pain was such that Misha gradually emerged from his slumber. At first, his memory was blurry, and he thought he was in the middle of a flare-up. It often happened when he was a kid, his body unable to support his adult mind. However, the pain crises and fevers decreased in frequency as he grew up, and he barely had any since entering puberty. They had become something of the past, or so he had thought.

'Goddammit, I'm dying of pain here.'

Anxiety rose in the pit of his stomach. Misha could not help but think something wasn't quite right. Only, he could not pinpoint what exactly. He hadn't had a pain crisis in over a year, but it didn't mean it couldn't happen again, right...?

It was just that the pain he was currently experiencing wasn't the one he was used to. It left him puzzled and disoriented, his mind a mess.

Everything was still a little foggy, so Misha decided not to think about it and first tried to turn over on his side instead. It resulted in the pain growing sharper, enough to make him hiss. And then, he finally realized what was bugging him; his hands were tied behind his back, hindering his movements. He was also lying on something cold and hard, like concrete.

What the...?

A feeling of dread welled up in his chest as he flung open his eyes. He held his breath in, not daring to make a sound, and took in his surroundings.

The light was dim, plunging the room into darkness. It made it hard to distinguish anything, save for some vague shapes. At any rate, the room didn't look like his bedroom. It was too cramped.

So, where the heck was he?

And what the hell happened?

As soon as the question crossed his mind, images of the kidnapping flashed before his eyes, and his face turned ghastly pale. Right. Masked men yanked him, Jake, and Tristan into a van as they were walking toward Jake's car.

They fought back but weren't able to escape.

Clenching his jaw, Misha wriggled to sit up, ignoring his sore muscles. Considering how hard he had hit the car floor in his fall, his back was most likely bruised all over, thereby the pain. But that didn't matter to Misha. His body was the least of his concerns, and all he wanted to know was where the Laflamme brothers were.

"TRISTAN!" the teenager screamed, his heart in his throat. "Where are you!?"

"Shut the fuck up! He's beside you!"

Misha stilled. Goodness, he had never thought there would come a day where he would be happy to hear that voice. It usually irked him to no end, but at that moment, he found it particularly pleasing to the ear.

Not that he would ever admit it aloud, however.

With squinted eyes, Misha searched Jake throughout the dim room. Quickly, he noticed a silhouette sitting in front of him. The white shirt the man wore was particularly striking in the darkness. So were the blood spatters on his collar, the darker spots being hard to miss.

"You... Are you alright?"

"You guess."

With great difficulties, Misha restrained himself from barking back at the man; he swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue and decided not to bother answering. What was the point of bickering with someone who scoffed at him for worrying about their well-being? He might as well ignore them.