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)
In contrast to the empty interiors downstairs, this room had walls painted with images of stylized beasts out on a bloody hunt. The aggressively contrasting colors were like a visual scream, but Nero seemed to like them that way and approached his massive super king, which had been a playpen for no fewer than six of his lovers one night.
“Don’t be shy, you can close the door,” Nero teased, stretching, as if he wanted to show off every muscle on his back. The caimans inked into his skin stirred when he moved, reminding Miguel why he could not give in to Nero’s wooing, no matter how drunk or frustrated he got. Nero was the human equivalent of a Venus fly trap. Enticing as the sexiest women yet aggressively masculine, he confused Miguel in ways he wasn’t ready to explore.
Miguel closed the door and sat on the bed to make a point about being unbothered by Nero’s behavior. With a bit of a breeze coming from the open balcony door, the temperature was comfortable, and if he didn’t have better things to do, he’d gladly take a nap.
“What did you think of that guy?” Nero asked, as if he were considering a second date with a dead man.
Miguel cocked his head. “As a romantic prospect for you or a business partner?”
Nero snorted. “Miguel, I’m flattered you consider me romantic,” he said and swayed his hips, pulling on the string tightening his white pants at the hips.
Miguel frowned. “If this is a striptease, it better not become a lap dance.” Their banter was all about knowing where to put boundaries, because if Miguel didn’t, Nero sure as fuck wouldn’t either. “You dating instead of fucking around would make my job easier, but I doubt I’d live to see that happen.”
Nero clicked his tongue and turned, pushing the pants off his pillowy ass. Was that... a glint of dampness Miguel spotted on his buttock?
“Men in this business rarely stay alive for long. How many gay gangsters over forty do you know? I don’t have time for relationship drama.”
“Exactly why I don’t fuck around. Drama. Any relationships, romantic or not, are bound to end in destruction. Might as well save myself the trouble.” And yet, he studied the ass presented to him as if he wasn’t affected by it in the slightest.
Nero let his pants fall, and as he turned to face Miguel, he was clad only in jewelry.
It took all of Miguel’s will to not look at his crotch. He didn't need that element in intrusive thoughts plaguing him whenever Nero got it on with someone.
“You’re too emotional, Miguel.”
Miguel blinked. “Me? Emotional?”
“It’s just sex. Nothing to get worked up about.” Nero shrugged, and this time, the movement between his legs did draw Miguel’s attention lower. And once it strayed, he did a double-take at a golden ring pierced through the tip of Nero’s cock. Surely, it hurt during sex, or even when it accidentally dragged over things?
“You don’t feel used?” Miguel couldn’t imagine a world in which he allowed men to dick him down like he was a hole in an old mattress.
“Everyone uses each other,” Nero said, meeting Miguel’s gaze.
Well, Nero wasn’t about to utilize Miguel’s dick, that was for sure. “I’m still surprised your father is fine with this, but that’s not my business.”
Nero smirked, gravitating toward the ensuite. “He has no choice. Don’t think his dick works anymore, so I’m all he has left,” he said and shut the door behind him, leaving Miguel in the room that smelled of Nero’s favorite citrusy cologne.
This might be the only chance to call his mother in a while, so as soon as he heard the murmur of a shower, Miguel pulled out his phone and tapped in the number.
“It’s me,” he said, as his mother wouldn’t speak until she heard his voice.
Instead of a greeting, all he got was, “any progress?”
He rubbed his forehead, wishing he trusted someone enough to massage the knots out of his shoulders. “It’s slow. I need to wait for the right opportunity.”
“You’ve been waiting for the past three years,” she said in a cool voice, and he could almost see her tap her long nails against their coffin-shaped dinner table far, far away, in Northern Mexico.
No support then.
“I’ve been working—”
“You have one job, Miguel. There is only one thing I want before I die, it’s to know that the Cannibal, the man who destroyed our family, is no more. I’d rather he suffers too, but beggars can’t be choosers. Get into his son’s good graces, prove yourself, and get it done. Do you want your mother to never find peace?”
The weight of her expectations settled on Miguel’s shoulders, reminiscent of the dirt thrown on top of him in the shallow grave where he’d been buried with his sisters many years ago. Sometimes, he regretted surviving.