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)
“No, I already have something else in mind,” Nero said in a casual manner and padded through a walkway that passed underneath the house and led to the front yard.
Miguel couldn’t help but let his gaze slide to Nero’s ass, disappointed the sweatpants obscured its swaying contour. But when he raised his eyes, they met Nero’s and the sick bastard winked at him, as if he’d just caught Miguel red-handed. Only the guilty explain themselves, so Miguel clenched his lips, ready for a stupid comment about him being thirsty, or an invitation to grab a piece.
With a pat to Aaron’s back, Nero fell behind, letting his guest walk on ahead, but instead of attacking Miguel with lewd comments, he reached for a baseball bat mounted on the wall.
Blood drained out of Miguel’s skull, but he kept on walking like a robot as Nero approached Aaron and took a swing at the bastard’s head.
The dull thud of wood hitting bone never stopped making Miguel cringe, as he always wondered when it would be his turn to fall to this praying mantis of a man, who kept smashing the tool against Aaron's head as if he wanted to behead him.
Aaron barely managed to get a scream out before his face turned to red mush.
“You gonna steal from me, motherfucker?” Nero hollered, landing another deadly blow. “Did you think I was born yesterday and wouldn’t notice that the money’s been forged?”
Miguel stood there, spreading his arms, because Nero wasn’t the one needing saving now. Perhaps Malverde’s portrait, or the bracelet, helped him find out Aaron’s true intentions, therefore protecting his interests? Blood dripped from the necklace as it swung through the air each time Nero landed a blow.
By the time Aaron had stopped moving, it was clear there would be no point in calling a doctor. Stiff with fury, Nero, wiped blood and brains from his favorite weapon on the dead man’s pants and faced Miguel, panting more than he had after the fuck.
“Some people, right?”
“So you knew this, and still let him fuck you?” Miguel asked, unable to keep the frown off his face. He was no stranger to violence, but this was messed up.
Nero shrugged. “It wasn’t that much cash. Figured I’d see if he’s a good fuck first, but he wasn’t worth keeping.”
Miguel’s shoulders sagged as he wondered whether he would have been worth keeping, were Nero to find out about Miguel’s true purpose. Highly doubtful, considering Miguel’s lack of sexual experience.
“Do you have no self-respect?” he asked. It was the kind of question he wouldn’t voice in public. He didn’t know if Nero considered it teasing, or didn’t give a shit, but he always took Miguel’s comments in stride.
“Plenty. I just really like cock. You should try it,” Nero said and slapped Miguel’s ass in passing. The indignity was a fair price to pay for the insult. He whistled before Miguel could have choked out an answer. “Come on now, my sweet Pitbull.”
“Your guest is now…” Miguel looked back at the mess of blood, brains, and teeth spread over the tiles, “gone. Do you still need me?”
“Yes. We’ll have Laurel and Hardy take care of the mess,” Nero said, making Miguel stall. Had he ever shared his observation about the Correa cousins, or had Nero come up with this comparison on his own?
An odd sense of camaraderie spread in his dead, cold heart.
Miguel just nodded as he followed half a step behind, not at all to get a whiff of citrus mixed with fresh sweat. “Business trip?”
Nero smirked at him over his muscular shoulder. “No, I just need you to check if my bedroom is safe.”
Miguel sighed to make his mind known without words. “You want me to watch you sleep?” Again?
While not the worst of possible tasks in Miguel’s life, it was hardly challenging, and he wouldn’t get to call his mother either, because Nero was the type of person to pretend-snore to spy on private conversations.
He followed Nero inside the villa and shuddered at the cold air inside, but didn’t comment as Nero walked through a empty hall and put his hands to his face, shouting. “Hey, Correa!”
There was a moment’s hesitation, then Carlos’s voice came from across the house, likely the main TV room. “Yes, boss?”
“There’s roadkill outside. Take care of it before the maids arrive,” Nero shouted back before climbing the wide stairs decorated with fresh plants.
Miguel exchanged a glance with the taller Correa, who hurried their way with a face full of suffering and shook his head to comment on the murder. Nero had a spring to his step now, and it was impossible to tell if it was the sex that made him so happy or disposing of a traitor.
Nero was known to move between several homes owned by the cartel, but this one was his favorite, so his room here expressed his personality the most—loud, gaudy, luxurious, yet somehow still violent, courtesy of the two gold machine guns on the wall. It belonged in some weird theme park.