Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
“Very smart. For a coked-up mess.”
Nero shrugged, and his face relaxed into a wide smile. “Compliments, wow. I think the next step is for you to buy me a drink.”
“I’m not going on a date with you,” Miguel said, unsure what to do with his hands now that they weren’t touching the warm leg.
Nero snorted. “Dates are for the straights. You can still get me that drink, hm?”
Miguel exhaled in defeat. “Fine. You did save our asses. Just one though, I’m dead tired.”
Nero fist-pumped like a kid who’d just been promised ice cream and shot to his feet, perfectly sober.
Chapter 6
Nero
The vitamin B powder Nero had taken earlier to give himself an excuse for reckless behavior was called cocaine-lite for a reason. Almost two hours later, he still felt its kick, and he whooped, draping his arm around Miguel as they left the taxi in front of Hoola, a Hawaiian-themed gay bar Nero liked to frequent.
The kids would be free. Father was pissed. And Miguel seemed a bit more relaxed. Nero called this kind of night a win. “I want something really bitter.”
“Why?” Miguel asked but didn’t push Nero’s arm off. Progress? Or was he just happy that the assignment he loathed enough to ask for drugs—something that never happened before—had fallen through?
Miguel was the kind of man who always finished the work he’d been hired to do, whether he agreed with it or not but while Nero was positive their distaste for trafficking was shared, that did not mean they could talk about it openly. People lied and it wasn’t as if Miguel got involved with cartels by accident. He was here for power and money, and once push came to shove, he wouldn’t risk the wrath of Raul Moreno for a gay guy who constantly got on his nerves and challenged his sexuality.
But since the fake drugs provided a convenient excuse, the truth could be left unsaid, and they could both enjoy basking in the relief of lies.
“Since you’re so sweet I need something to balance you out,” Nero said and winked, dismissing the bouncer with a gesture as they passed into a stuffy interior booming with disco music and illuminated by colorful lights.
"Me? Sweet? Are you still high?" Miguel shouted so Nero could hear him.
Was that a held-back smile? Their bet was still on.
Nero took a deep breath of hot air rich with an unholy mixture of male cologne and looked around. The staff were easy to identify by their necklaces of artificial flowers so Nero stepped toward one of the servers to ask about a quiet table, but the guy skittered away as if he’d been spotted by the fashion police. What the fuck was that about?
The main room had booths on either side of an aisle leading up to a low stage, which often featured drag shows and karaoke. But Nero much preferred the intimacy and relative quiet of the other interior, which lay past twin columns adorned with tiki masks. He squeezed Miguel’s bicep and leaned in, whispering into his shoulder.
“Get me that drink. I’ll find us a place to sit.”
Miguel sighed but drifted toward the bar, unaware that this was a test. Would he get Nero what he’d asked for like a good dog, or would he mess with him? And if he did buy a sweet drink, would it be to spite Nero or tease him? Anything could happen with Miguel at this point, and it was both exciting and frustrating not to know what the guy was thinking.
Miguel wore a T-shirt today instead of his usual tank tops, most likely to hide the dressing on his shoulder. He’d ended up needing a few stitches after last night, and Nero couldn’t help but feel that battle scars would make Miguel even sexier. He liked a man who wasn’t just one of those poser dominants who acted all tough and claimed to have a dark personality, yet who’d break down crying if they ever saw a gun shoved in their face.
He watched Miguel lean against the bar counter shadowed by a roof of dried palm leaves, and imagined that this was a date. That Miguel would look back and shoot him a smile that would ultimately land them in a back alley where Nero could take his prize for a bet honestly won. But that wasn’t about to happen so he pushed past the velvety curtain and entered the dusky interior where sound was sufficiently muted to hold a conversation. The masks hung in a few places were the only way it upheld the tiki theme, because with the curtains hung in several places in lieu of dividers the atmosphere here reminded him of a boudoir.
“Oh, my God! Nero! I worried you were dead!” yelled a familiar voice, taking Nero’s mind off his ultimate prize. He blinked, trying to get his eyes used to the low light, but when Nando rose and waved his waifish arms, his silver romper shone like a disco ball, beckoning Nero to the booth in the far- corner.