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)
Nero shrugged, staring at the empty glass, which refused to magically give him any more alcohol. “I never met her and I never saw any photos. I heard she was tricked, and Father liked the look of her so... you know what happened. He promised he’d let her go if she gave him a son. And she succeeded,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling cold. He used to be resentful about her leaving him, but as he grew up, her motivations had become painfully clear. Why would she stay for a child she hadn’t wanted in the first place?
“Who wouldn’t run from Raul Moreno if they could, right?” Nero asked with a chuckle and poked Miguel with his elbow.
Miguel downed his whisky to keep up with Nero, but his head swayed from side to side, as if he was beyond the capability of keeping it straight. “Can’t blame her. At least we did our good deed and can fall asleep telling ourselves we’re not complete monsters.” The bitter note to his voice suggested he didn’t believe that to be the case.
Nero clinked their glasses. “We’re both scumbags.”
Miguel watched him with dark eyes, which only from up close revealed that they were brown rather than black. He leaned in, and the scent of whisky on his warm breath made Nero’s skin erupt with goosebumps.
They’d kiss. Any second now. And while Miguel would either not remember it tomorrow, or deny it, Nero could hold it in his memory for as long as he wanted.
But just as Nero parted his lips in invitation, Miguel’s body slumped and his head slid from Nero’s shoulder, falling face-first into his lap as if Miguel’s mission, even in drunken sleep, was to induce blue balls.
Nero wanted to howl, but that would have drawn attention, and kept him from enjoying Miguel’s body weight in peace. With a sigh of frustration, he ran his finger along the parting in Miguel’s hair.
Chapter 8
Miguel
Miguel’s head was a can of rusty screws.
His stomach—a swamp.
But he lay in soft sheets, with a warm body pressed against his back.
Pain shot through his chest as he stopped breathing, but his heart wouldn’t keep calm and raced as if it were chased by a pack of wolves. Miguel opened one eye but stayed still, trying to work out where he was and what had happened. He’d been out drinking with Nero, and their night was a jumbled scrapbook of everything from random events in the street to pissing in the dark.
All his clothes were still on though, so what was he doing in Nero’s room?
His gaze swept over the pink zebra print pillow, and the familiar graffiti on the wall while his blood pressure rose, causing a rapid pulsing in his temples. If he was here, with warm, muscular arms squeezing him, could he have done something… regrettable?
Or, worse still, had Nero done something to him? Something he couldn’t remember? His stomach shrank, and bile rose into his throat when he realized there would be little he could do if he’d been violated… somehow. If Nero had gone for it despite knowing what Miguel thought of having sex with him, it would have been proof of the other man being exactly who he presented himself to be. Treacherous and devoid of the depth Miguel was starting to see in him. But if something had in fact happened, and Miguel chose violence in helpless fury, he’d lose the progress he’d made on his quest to kill the murderer of his father and sisters. At his age, he should have known not to have that additional drink.
The tweeting of birds came in through the open balcony door, bringing him no peace. Swallowing the acidic flavor in his mouth, he glanced at the dark, tattooed arm draped over his form and shivered before attempting to crawl out of the embrace.
It tightened around him right away, and a warm face pressed against the back of Miguel’s neck, forcing out a little whine of panic.
He froze, ashamed of making the sound, but Nero hummed before he could have spoken.
“Stop moving,” he drawled and pushed his knees harder against the backs of Miguel’s thighs.
“What did you do?” Miguel rasped out, frozen yet overheating. He remembered holding Nero against him and dipping him in a tango at a party full of strangers. He’d danced with Nero Moreno and seen his eyes light up. He’d even enjoyed making them so bright.
What the fuck was wrong with him? He wasn’t supposed to have such emotions. And definitely not if they involved Moreno’s son.
Nero grunted and squeezed Miguel closer. “We went to this costume store and dressed up as dogs, and then we chased one another through the park. And then you made me your bitch in heat at dawn while we looked at the rising sun.”
“What?” Miguel scowled and pushed his way out of the hug despite Nero’s resistance. He collapsed to the floor, but that was progress in comparison to cuddling with a man in his bed. “You’re full of shit,” he groaned, even though the images in his head blurred at some point, and he couldn’t remember how they’d got home.