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)
“Why aren’t we moving?” Nero asked, sitting up, but then an armed guard opened the side door and peeked in.
“Mr. Moreno says he only wants to see his son and his man for now. Take Doctor Zapata to Hotel Celestin in town,” he said, moving away to glance at the driver.
Nero’s gaze swept over Miguel, but he didn’t bother catching his eye and got out of the vehicle, adjusting his joggers. “I needed some exercise anyway.”
Miguel followed, hoping Nero wouldn’t make a point of humiliating him by choosing to go with Carlos or Ezra instead of him. He thanked Dr. Zapata and took in the opulent gate opening in front of them. It shone in the sunlight, presenting the initials J.N. on a copper background. Miguel had no idea whose house this could have been originally, but if it was Raul Moreno’s property, then he must have left this relic of the past owner’s presence to keep the location more private.
Nero didn’t bother waiting for Miguel and stepped past the gate as soon as it opened, following an asphalt road disappearing in dense greenery ahead. Because it could hardly be called a driveway if there seemed to be no end to it.
Miguel walked behind him like a dog that knew it shouldn’t have eaten the sausage off the counter. He watched the back of Nero’s head, hit by an urge to lick the short cropped hair from nape to forehead. Would it turn his tongue green?
Silence wasn’t something he’d often experienced around Nero, and its weight was making his shoulders hunch ever deeper until he found the courage to speak.
"I don’t... dislike you," he choked out, breathing in the dense scent of plants growing on both sides of the asphalt. "The Correas are busting my nuts about me sleeping in your room, and I wanted them to get off my back. It doesn't have to ruin our... friendship." He was surprised by his own choice of words, but the last few days have been a revelation. He'd seen a new side of Nero and realized that maybe Raul’s son didn’t deserve his hate just because he was a Moreno. Maybe, like Miguel, he also played the cards he’d been dealt.
Nero glanced at him over the shoulder, walking between the two walls of densely growing trees and bushes without hurry. At least here, the sun didn’t reach them and only lit the tips of the trees above. “We’re friends?”
“I hope so,” Miguel said and took Nero’s leisurely pace as a sign to catch up with him. “We’re in the same boat in some ways.”
“How so?” Nero asked, in no hurry to see his father. He took off the hoodie he’d put on at some point during the air-conditioned drive and revealed toned arms, which stared at Miguel with caiman eyes etched in ink and flesh.
Miguel sighed and stuffed his hands down his pockets.
“We’ve both been put on a path we haven’t chosen. You just seem to find more joy for yourself along the way. But neither of us is a victim. We made ugly choices for our own sake.”
“What set you on your path?” Nero asked after a moment.
Miguel shrugged. “Violence. Blood. A promise. My mother sculpted me to be her warrior when she had no one left in life. What I do, I do with her in mind.”
Nero walked in silence, eventually clasping his hands in the back, right above his ass, as if he wanted Miguel’s gaze to drift there. “It’s a good thing to have family you care for.”
“What would you do if you weren’t Raul Moreno’s son?”
Nero chuckled, glancing at him with a smile so honest he must have really not seen this question coming. “Are you being serious?” When Miguel shrugged, Nero licked his lips and held his gaze for a moment longer. “That’s easy. I’d be a tattoo artist. Did some of this myself,” he said, presenting Miguel the intricate scale pattern on his left forearm.
Miguel’s eyebrows shot up, and he grabbed Nero’s arm. The answer was so unexpected, he stared at the ink for a while, recognizing that while it had flaws, the artist did have raw talent. Miguel had learned to assess that when choosing his own ink over the years. “You’d apprentice somewhere? You’d hardly be able to afford the lifestyle you have now.”
Nero grinned and gave Miguel’s shoulder a nudge. “Come on, Miguel. If I wasn’t born my father’s son, I wouldn’t be missing a life of luxury in the first place, would I? But it would have been a good life. A blank canvas to fill with anything that comes to mind.”
What was that dreamy expression when Nero looked up to the bright sky?
"With a good man, not some scumbag?" Miguel asked. If all went according to plan today, Nero would be free to decide his future, or at least as free as a Moreno could be.