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 stalled, for a moment afraid that touching any bit of him might end up causing harm, but in the end he unbuckled the straps holding his man in place and reached into an open bag full of medical supplies, which Zapata used to carry with him everywhere when he still breathed.
“You have some fucking explaining to do,” he growled, focusing on the skin flap separated from Miguel’s flesh. Even wrapping this up for the hospital trip would hurt, but there was no way around it.
Miguel groaned and while he couldn’t apologize, he leaned forward and rubbed his forehead against Nero’s shoulder like a loving cat.
“If you think I’m gonna forget how you walked out on me, I’m telling you now, it’s not gonna happen,” Nero said, lowering his voice when his throat started closing. Miguel had been repeatedly kicked, on top of all the major injuries, and seeing the cuts, the blood, and bruises had Nero increasingly frantic, no matter how hard he tried to focus on wrapping the large wound. He could only hope all the damage was external, because if Miguel didn’t survive this, Nero would hunt Ramiro to the ends of the earth.
Nero helped Miguel off the old chair as the moment the dressing on his arm was in place. As much as he wanted to berate him, rattle him, slap him for the lies, all that would have to wait until there was a healthy spot on his body to punch.
Miguel held on to him with one arm as the other hung uselessly at his side, but he still leaned in again and pushed his nose against Nero’s temple.
It was such a sweet gesture, one Nero didn’t have the time to acknowledge, yet as he dragged Miguel out of the room, over the bullet-laden body of the last Caiman standing, and down the hallway, unfamiliar emotion clutched at his chest and made every muscle inside him stiffen. The fire that burned for Ramiro’s blood moments before had been choked by thick black tar that settled in Nero’s throat and made his eyes sting with an unfamiliar sensation.
“He deserved to die,” he said in a voice so quiet, Miguel might not even hear it.
All he got was a grunt of confirmation as they left the building, blinded by the light outside. Ramiro must have fished out Cano’s phone before leaving, because it rested on top of the body, above the bullet hole, holding down a note with the address of a hospital. The nearest car had the driver’s door open, and a key in the ignition. Did this bastard think he was doing them a favor? After brutalizing Miguel, taking his tongue, and castrating the beast inside Nero with threats?
Even breathing was difficult now, but Nero helped Miguel into the passenger seat before grabbing the damn phone on the way to the driver’s side.
“Hang on tight,” he muttered, settling in and switching on the engine, full of dark thoughts.
Miguel cradled the wrapped arm to his chest, but as soon as they drove off, he reached for Nero’s hand and squeezed it. Exhausted and beaten, he sought to communicate with Nero despite being unable to speak. And while his gaze expressed an infinite array of emotion, Nero couldn’t bear knowing that things would never be the same. The familiar coldness of Miguel’s fingers was soothing though.
His vision clouded as the vehicle passed through the overgrown road and into the village on the way to the hospital. He wasn’t someone who cried. Having learned early on that showing vulnerability wouldn’t bring him anything good, he’d been resistant to it even as a boy, but the tears rolling down his cheeks weren’t ones of sadness. What he felt was helpless rage. Ramiro deserved to die, but their agreement put an iron muzzle on Nero, keeping him from biting.
He blinked to see more clearly as he sped between the walled-off dwellings of the locals, and the heat of the tears burned his skin. “I love you.”
A part of him believed Miguel was too overwhelmed by pain to understand him, but the rough fingers tightened around his, even though Miguel remained slumped against the car door.
Nero squeezed back and put his foot down, determined to take his man to safety.
Chapter 29
Miguel
When Miguel opened his swollen eyes, he felt so numb he wasn’t sure whether he was awake or still dreaming. But as his gaze regained focus, he spotted Nero in a chair by the bed, alive and well. He looked rugged and unglamorous with his head tilted back and a bit of drool sliding from the side of his mouth, but seeing him so unguarded made Miguel smile. Or attempt to because his face was still—
The memory of the pliers pulling his tongue out so it could be sliced off made him squirm with discomfort. He remembered the blood flooding his mouth, and the pain, oh the pain of it all.