Gray's Shadow (Kings of Hell MC 4)

The accusation was yet another punch—so hurtful Shadow might never recover from its blow.

“I would never hurt you!” Desperate to stop the large wound from bleeding, Shadow squeezed it shut with his fingers, but that only made it hurt more, and left him sobbing. So maybe he wasn’t obedient, but he hadn’t meant to hurt Gray, only to hold him close. To reconnect with his other half. Even now, with his skin slashed open, hurting and rejected, attacking Gray wasn’t an option. The concept felt like planning to cut his own hand off.

“You already did. You have no right to touch me, or anyone, without permission. Am I making myself clear, or should I put an end to your pathetic existence here and now?” Gray spat.

Shadow’s sweatpants were still down, so when he sat on the floor, its cold touch made him wince. Was this misery really how humans lived? Were some of them simply not allowed to ever touch another person, banished to the hell of rejection forever? “No, don’t hurt me.” He dared to look up at Gray, who was still pointing a gun at him, as if he expected a vicious attack.

Gray’s mouth twitched, and his arm faltered, as if the weight of the gun could no longer be supported by just one hand. “What have you learned today?”

Shadow whined, finding it so hard to focus with the open wound prickling with pain every time he inhaled. “Not to touch you. Or anyone,” he whispered, but saying that out loud was like yet more torture. Being with Gray was the purpose of his existence. How was he supposed to deny himself what was at the core of his nature?

Gray swallowed and finally lowered the gun with yet another click. “Get up,” he said and walked past Shadow, straight into a small space adjacent to the bedroom.

It was simple in design, though it contained a large tub and a collection of bottles on shelves. When Gray ordered Shadow to take off his pants and sit in the tub, he did so despite the throbbing pain that at this point overcame his entire body, even the places where he hadn’t been hit.

“Will this ever stop hurting?” Shadow asked, pointing to his torso. Still, he would have taken a thousand slashes like this if it meant a chance to touch Gray again.

Gray picked up the showerhead from an attachment on the wall and directed it at Shadow, as if it were yet another weapon. His face was still, like a statue’s, with only the lips moving when he spoke. “If I hear one more word from you, I will lock you up underground.”

Shadow opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Gray wasn’t joking. He knew no mercy when angered. He was cold, unfeeling, and cruel to the one person who lived to please him.

When icy water splashed Shadow’s face, he wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. But Gray’s threat was terrifying, so he bit through his lip, desperate to remain still under the cold stream that extinguished the fire in his loins. Even when his skin was going numb, he stayed silent, defeated.

The water torture seemed to last for ages, until the biting needles stopped bringing pain and transformed into a steady discomfort. In the end though, Gray tossed Shadow a towel and exited the bathroom, leaving him alone with his pathetic reflection in the mirror.

When Shadow looked intensely enough, he could almost see the darkness of the Other Side looming beyond the surface, but he was stuck here, in a world of loneliness and suffering. Why had Baal chosen him for this miserable short life? If only Shadow could melt back in with the others and forget all this humanity nonsense, existing would have been much easier.

“Come in,” Gray said from the bedroom. He didn’t sound as scornful as before, which lit up the tiniest flicker of hope in Shadow. He covered his shoulders and upper back with the damp towel, to protect himself from the cool air, but his teeth still clattered when he entered the main room.

Gray watched him from above a white box and called him over with a gesture. “Let’s take care of that wound. I don’t want you bleeding that goo all over my floor.”

Shadow didn’t dare object, and approached Gray, making sure to not cross the couple of inches of space between their bodies, no matter how much he craved the warm touch. Did humans deny themselves everything pleasant, or was it just Gray?

Avoiding his gaze, Gray dried Shadow’s wound with a paper towel and then applied something to the open flesh, keeping skin-on-skin contact to a bare minimum. It stung a bit, but the discomfort was nothing in comparison to the pain Shadow had experienced earlier, so he carefully listened when Gray explained what he should avoid until the skin healed.