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 exhaled, clawing his fingers into Miguel’s flesh as he hugged him back. “Fuck. I thought I’d be done for this time. But once again, my guardian angel intervened.” He gave a soft chuckle, of the kind Miguel had learned to be so responsive to. “Didn’t want you to see something like that. Sorry.”
Rage flared in Miguel’s chest. “Sorry that he tortured you? Just shut up, idiot,” he muttered, trying not to imagine Nero’s body joining those of his sisters on the flesh pile that had haunted him since childhood. But unlike them, he was still warm, and alive, and Miguel wished to stay with him like this all night, for fear of what sleep might bring.
But Nero slowly loosened his embrace and turned his head to kiss Miguel’s jaw. “Have it your way. But I want out of here.”
Miguel was reluctant to pull away but knew Nero was right. He jingled with the keys in his hand. “I know. We’re not safe until we know where we are.”
Chapter 21
Miguel
The vivid shade of fresh blood enhanced the darkness of Nero’s skin, and Miguel found himself unable to look away from the tattooed flesh as they climbed out of the murder cellar and explored the midsized room above. There was an old-school stone stove and oven on one side—remnants of a kitchen that hadn’t been used in ages—and a single bed, but while the interior bore traces of being used as a home in the past, it no longer served that purpose. Empty and drab, with only some animal bones for decoration, lots of farming tools stacked within sight and spiderwebs under the ceiling, it has since become a shed. No one would expect it to have a basement of horrors.
Miguel grabbed a shotgun off a stand on top of the cupboard. It was loaded and not covered in dust, so Esteban must have brought it here recently.
“How are your arms?” Miguel asked, still so shocked by what had happened downstairs that he wasn’t bothered about their nakedness, or the blood covering their bodies. His neck ached from rubbing against the metal collar, but that was a small price to pay for freedom.
Nero glanced at his wrists and sighed. “They’ll be fine,” he said despite the broken skin there.
Miguel looked back at him, haunted by the vision of Nero’s hands clenching when he held back a scream, but they needed to be sure this place was safe before moving on to anything else.
The bathroom, while basic, had been installed not that long ago, as it was more modern than the room next to it, which made sense. Esteban wouldn’t have wanted to leave bloody footprints in the family home. After skinning people alive.
Miguel had seen torture more times than he could count—it was part of the reality of cartels—but the anger this man evoked in him skyrocketed every time he saw the subdued green of Nero’s eyes. He wished to bring the bastard back to life just so he could kill him all over again.
They checked the area outside, and while it was still dark, the sky hinted at an upcoming sunrise. Esteban’s phone told them it was past 4 a.m. His truck stood in front of the small house in the middle of banana fields.
“I have a feeling his brother doesn’t know about this place,” Miguel said when they finished checking the house and established that they were alone.
“If he does, he isn’t happy about its existence,” Nero agreed. “The bed suggests Esteban sleeps here sometimes, so I’m assuming the brother would only start worrying about his absence later in the day.”
“We need to leave before he arrives, but I think we can spare ten minutes for a shower. We’re covered in so much blood we could make morcilla.” Miguel’s shoulders sagged, releasing some of the mounting tension, and he finally took the time to get a better look at Nero. With the red stains all over his face, he was a caiman who’d already sated its hunger for revenge, but Miguel stepped closer and hugged him anyway. Nothing would be the same after the frank conversation they’d shared in moments that had felt like their last. He wouldn’t take back a single word.
Despite being so greedy for Miguel’s touch downstairs, now that danger no longer felt imminent, Nero stiffened in Miguel’s arms, but he didn’t pull away and eventually stroked his bicep.
“Shower sounds perfect. Don’t want to smell of this bastard all day.”
Their clothes and belongings had been left in a trash bag next to the bed, so at least they’d have something to wear once they were done washing.
Miguel kissed the side of Nero’s head and pulled away. “Come on, we can discuss our next move under the shower… unless you’d rather go in alone?” he asked after a moment's hesitation, only now realizing Nero might want some privacy to deal with injuries the broom might have caused.