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)
Aaron’s laugh was forced, and he lifted his hands in defeat. “I was just messing around. Does he have stud dog duties too?”
Miguel shook his head and sat back on the edge of the fountain. He was not about to entertain this conversation. He’d killed too many people to count, he’d smuggled drugs to the US, and trafficked guns to whoever could afford it. Yet here he was, doing glorified babysitting just so he could one day reach the elusive Raul ‘The Cannibal’ Moreno and stop his heart forever.
Too bad the road to him led through Moreno Junior.
Miguel lowered his eyes when the golden loops in Nero’s nipples glinted in the sunshine, like the sides of a triptych with the portrait of Jesús Malverde. The oval pendant hung on a thick golden chain that surely cost more than the average home in Colombia and featured mother of pearl, as well as precious stones, in its intricate, yet unbelievably camp, design. Nero never went to church, nor did he bother to participate any other customary religious activities, but that did not stop him from always carrying the portrait of the folklore ‘saint’.
Despite entering the narco life early on himself, Miguel never believed tributes to Malverde or Santa Muerte could make any difference to whether he succeeded or failed. Perhaps his mother’s devotion to the latter figure was what kept him alive all this time, but if he believed anything, it was that a man’s lot was ultimately up to him only, and that no help was coming—whether from above or below. Nero, however, was as superstitious as any other Colombian and wore a blue-toned bracelet of woven thread and beads to boot, though his version of the popular amulet featured gold and sapphires instead of more commonly used, and cheaper, materials. Perhaps the jewelry was simply a good luck charm, similar to hanging up a horseshoe inside one’s home, but maybe he wore them because gold and jewel shades really brought out his skin tone. There was no point in asking.
“Ah, sometimes I ask myself why I keep him around. He might be dangerous and gloomy, but what dog doesn’t want to have a taste of the juiciest ham around?” Nero asked and turned his ass toward Miguel, as if his suggestive tone hadn’t made his meaning clear already.
The trouble with Nero was that… the bastard was in fact attractive, and keeping that opinion to himself was crucial to the success of Miguel’s plan. Getting involved with Nero in any way other than strictly professional would have caused an avalanche of problems Miguel did not want to deal with. Besides, the only person allowed to touch Miguel was the girl who braided his hair every three weeks. His mother used to do that for him, but he hadn’t seen her in several years, stuck with occasional phone calls that needed to be kept private.
“You keep me around because I keep you alive,” Miguel said, mincing each word through his teeth. If Nero and Aaron went off to fuck already, instead of wasting time on this expensive champagne foreplay, he could steal a moment to call his mother and report on his progress.
Nero grinned, showing off sharp teeth as his hand moved down Aaron’s body like a snake bejeweled with a thick gold watch. He might wear more bling than the average woman, but it served a dual purpose, and Miguel had seen the havoc Nero’s signets had wreaked on men’s faces.
“That’s right. And what if he attacks me when I’m at my most vulnerable?” Nero asked, pulling on Aaron’s belt hard enough to make him gasp.
Miguel gave them a level glare. “Then don’t fuck him.”
Aaron laughed. “Is that what you do? Stay chaste as a nun?”
Nero’s gaze was like that of a panther that had chosen Miguel as its next meal. “Or you could be in the room and make sure I’m safe.”
Aaron took a sudden breath, his eyes darting to Miguel as if he were afraid the presence of another person might affect his performance.
Cold sweat beaded on Miguel’s nape despite the heat. “Is that an order?” he asked, trying to convey that the ordeal would give him no pleasure, but his true feelings on the matter were a tangled web of unwanted lust and self-loathing.
Nero put the safety on and pushed his gun into the back of his pants, suggestively stirring it back and forth. “I do have two holes, Miguel.”
Miguel was glad for the dark hue of his skin, because the heat triggered by those words reached even his ears. He was thirty, had seen shit that would give most people nightmares, and had committed crimes without blinking an eye, yet this man, this spawn of Satan, was still able to make him lose his tongue. The one-sided-flirting had been relentless from the moment they’d met, but now that Miguel became Nero’s bodyguard, there wasn’t a day without a sexual comment spewing out of those full lips.