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)
Miguel grabbed his backpack and pulled out a bottle of vodka he must have taken from Father’s car. “Thank you.”
Sofia hesitated but grabbed the alcohol with a hint of smile. “We’ll pack you some food.”
Miguel nodded, lit a cigarette, and fled without a single look Nero’s way. He wouldn’t be the first closeted man Nero had dealt with, but definitely the most frustrating, and not just because of how long he’d managed to keep Nero off his dick. The fact that Nero did give a fuck about him made everything more aggravating.
Most members of this odd little society of strays remained tucked in their beds all around the amusement park, but Quinto waited for them in a beat-up truck, dressed in a shirt that covered most of his tattoos. He didn’t bother to put makeup over the ones on his face, but Nero supposed he wasn’t planning on waving him and Miguel off at the pier.
The riverside town was only thirty minutes away, and by 9 a.m., Miguel and Nero were having breakfast on board a riverboat. They were surprised to realize that some of the passengers were on one of the tours offering a taste of the real Colombia, whatever that meant. Having taken a hint from Quinto’s attempts to obscure his past, they’d both bought thin long sleeves before boarding. and Sofia had been kind enough to put some makeup over Miguel’s brow to hide the tiny skulls. But while fabric covered ink and Nero’s obnoxious necklace, it could not obscure attitude, and they found themselves surrounded by empty tables in the cantina while the other diners congregated on the other side of the large interior decorated with several large-scale photographs of the Amazon.
And still, after the journey here, the boarding, and the stress of avoiding suspicious men on the way, as Nero gulped down his coffee his head kept swirling with the same questions as before.
Was Miguel so shy because he’d never been with a man? Nero could help with that.
“We don’t have much, and soon enough we’ll run out of money. I’ve taken some useful supplies from your father’s car, but that’s it. A thermal blanket, some rope, a lighter, a knife, that kind of stuff.” He looked so focused, so down to earth while Nero’s head was somewhere in the clouds.
Nero scanned their surroundings. Most of the passengers were locals, who’d surely stay far away from men like them. But the tourists? They had no idea they were now trapped with two Caimans. “We could just help ourselves to some belongings.”
Miguel hummed, glancing to the trees growing along the river, then to the tourists who all wore the same badge, designating themselves as clueless outsiders. “Can you organize some distraction?”
Nero leaned back in the chair and finished his food. “Who’s the target? We should aim for cash and gold, not electronics. So someone older.”
Miguel’s eyelids lowered, and he stretched in the chair, like a cat choosing which bird it should go after. He’d been so uncomfortable with discussing his sexuality, but this situation placed him in his element. “Over there.”
He raised his chin to point out two couples who sat together at the table closest to the cafeteria entrance. All were easily over sixty. Nero couldn’t hear their animated conversation from where he and Miguel sat but one of the men wore a baseball cap with the outline of Texas at the front, so he expected them to speak in English.
“Are you a decent pickpocket then?” Nero asked and rose with his mug in hand.
Miguel nodded. “I’d say watch me, but you won’t see it happen.”
Nero’s brows shot up, and he filled the empty cup with water remaining in their bottle. “Confident. I like it. You will see everything I’m doing, so don’t focus on my ass too much,” he said and walked off before Miguel could respond. It gave him pleasure to know that Miguel would be unable to think about anything else now.
He walked in a casual manner, without exaggerating his gait to distract Miguel, past a family of five, and some kids on a backpacking trip, all the way to that big window and the two couples too enamored by the changing scenery to pay attention when he pretended to stumble.
Water spilled over their table and the empty food packaging still crowding it. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said in Spanish.
Miguel scooted down to pick up the mug and mumbled an apology, but Nero focused on the people at the table.
One of the men shot him a suspicious glance and raised his hands, but answered in English with an American accent. “That’s okay, no harm done.”
“Oh, you’re not local?” Nero started in English, but when the man frowned, his friend, the one in the Texas baseball cap, laughed hard enough to make his pot belly shake under the pristine polo shirt.