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)
He spotted green hair inches above, at the edge of the sturdy table. Breath was stuck in his throat when he took in details. Nero’s hands hung behind his head, weighed down by a thick chain attached to the stone floor. The large screws holding it in place were ancient, belonging to a reality full of men in wigs, who carried muskets around, but when Nero arched his chest, attempting to twist his head enough to catch eye contact with Miguel, his thighs rose, revealing that he too was naked.
“Can you free yourself? I tried, but the fucking cuffs are too tight,” Nero whispered and tugged on his chain.
Miguel’s mind was coming to focus at an alarming rate. He stared at the cuffs locked around his wrists and pulled his hands in opposite directions, but the metal and chain had no give. His heart sped up when he once more looked up at Nero strapped down on the table as if he were a calf about to be butchered.
The precariousness of their situation stabbed him with its icy blade when his gaze returned to the framed pieces of leather.
“I think that’s human skin…” he whispered as the shadows of the small interior darkened, threatening to engulf them for good.
Nero let out a chuckle and once more tugged at the chain, but his futile attempt rendered no result. “Bastard’s caught himself two prime trophies.”
“Why are you laughing? This is some psycho shit,” Miguel rasped, fighting for breath. Just the thought of Nero’s beautiful inked skin torn off his body to be displayed for some fuckhead’s pleasure made focusing impossible. How dare this filthy bastard even think of putting his hands on Nero? This man didn’t belong to whoever captured them. He belonged to nobody but himself, and Miguel would be damned if he allowed for this to change.
Another attempt at pulling away from the wall hurt his neck without doing much else.
Nero exhaled and moved his hands toward Miguel, trying to relieve the base of his thumb, which the shackles pressed on with their entire weight. Miguel could imagine it to be painful after fuck-knew-how-long in this position.
“I’m laughing because we managed to run from the Caimans twice, and the one to get us is some farmer who kills tattooed people in his spare time. What are the odds of us stumbling on him in the middle of nowhere?” Nero asked before releasing another chuckle.
“Look at that ink. It’s all caimans. This is Moreno territory, so it’s hardly surprising that there’s a farmer with a grudge. Maybe he’ll let us go if we tell him about your father’s death?” Miguel babbled despite knowing he was lying to himself. A psycho who skinned cartel men and kept them alive for the ordeal, wasn’t about to let them go. The only reason they were still alive was because he wanted them to suffer.
Nero let out a soft exhale. “Yeah. I know. We shouldn’t have drank from that second bottle. I didn’t think about possible danger after he shared the first with us.”
“Something was off about him. I just couldn’t pinpoint what.” Miguel hit the back of his head against the solid wall and flinched when the thud resonated through his skull. The prospect of a bullet to the head seemed like mercy in comparison to the ordeal yet to come, but seeing Nero prepared for torture had his insides twisting beyond simple fear.
“I promised to get you to safety,” Miguel said, feeling hollow. He was prepared to die, but not like this, not taking Nero down with him. Because if Nero died here, it would be Miguel's fault. He'd been the one to kill The Cannibal and in turn cause the reason for Nero’s flight. “I should be the one on that table.”
Nero swallowed loudly enough for Miguel to hear. “No. You shouldn’t be here at all. You were never a real Caiman.”
Miguel wished he could see Nero’s green eyes, but they were both immobilized in positions that wouldn’t allow it. “I didn’t promise you safety as a Caiman. Those names don’t matter anymore anyway. I used to be part of a different cartel back in Mexico, but this crazy fuck won’t care.”
Nero closed and opened his hands in front of Miguel. “You tried your best. That’s more than anyone else would have done.”
Miguel pulled on the cuffs several more times, but they had no give and all he did was scratch his wrists until they bled. “Not if you die before me. I either die or give you the safety you deserve.”
Silence. And then, Nero’s voice, soft as it had been right after they’d had sex. “I don’t deserve to be safe. I’ve done bad things, Miguel. I knew I wouldn’t have if the situation were different, but I never had the guts to do what you did and change my prospects.”