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)
The fucker didn’t stand a chance, but he might just carry the keys to the shackles, so Miguel extended his hands forward as if he intended to offer his help.
Esteban didn’t manage to reach him and collapsed to the floor in a rapidly growing pool of blood.
Going from absolute despair to the elation Miguel now felt was like crawling out of quicksand. He was so shocked, he laughed out loud, already grabbing Esteban with his legs and pulling the almost-corpse closer.
“Good thing you filed your teeth after all,” Miguel said with his heart drumming as if he’d snorted too much coke.
“Maybe it was fate,” Nero rasped, breathing ever louder. “Is he dead?”
“Oh, you did it. You bled this pig dry,” Miguel said through his teeth. He hated needing to touch the sick fuck, but there was no other way to search his pockets, so he dove in, ignoring the fresh blood sticking to his skin.
Despite being cuffed together, his hands had relative freedom, and he quickly found a bundle of keys, which felt more precious than any other thing he’d ever held in his hands.
Maybe except for Nero.
“I’ve got them,” Miguel babbled in case Nero didn’t realize what the jangle of metal implied. Moments later, his hands were free and he pushed Esteban’s warm body away. The padlock on the collar was fiddly, but he got it off in no time and was up on shaky legs. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
He rushed over to Nero’s side as if the devil himself was after him. He swallowed at the sight of the gore-splattered face but leaned down to give his lover a gentle kiss that tasted of the bright red blood covering everything the glaring white light touched.
Nero opened up to him with a soft moan, and the chains at his hands clinked when he shook them, asking to be freed. Of course. Right.
Embarrassed about being selfish, Miguel scooted down to reach the heavy shackles, but removing them took forever, because his hands shook when he felt how cold and stiff Nero’s fingers were after being weighed down by the heavy cuffs and chain. He shot up, but the arms he’d just freed pulled him close to the bloodstained body in the table.
“We’re still lucky,” Nero whispered.
Miguel squeezed him with all his strength, elated by the unexpected hug. Nero was here. Alive. “I’m sorry. He wasn’t close enough until that moment. I couldn’t risk trying to reach him earlier.” He hoped Nero wouldn’t see his tears, but everything blurred, obscured by the copious amounts of blood his feet were sliding on.
“I know. Just… free me,” Nero said despite still holding him close as if he were afraid Miguel was a mirage.
Miguel pulled away and moved along the table, using it for support since he didn’t trust his legs just yet, but when he reached for the strap at Nero’s foot, he stalled at the sight of the broom between his legs. It was still there, like Esteban’s last fuck you.
Nero cleared his throat and covered his face with hands that were only now regaining their color. “Yeah, there’s that thing too… Just slowly screw it out, yeah?”
Miguel’s lips trembled as his throat filled with rocks of guilt. He couldn’t turn back time and prevent this from happening, but the stabbing pain in his heart was soothed by the fact that unlike his sisters, Nero was still alive. He grabbed the broom and, as gently as possible, he pulled it out at a pace that was surely agonizing for them both.
He’d seen Nero naked many times before, but he’d always associated those moments with sex, strength, and freedom. He was still muscular, but his sharp tongue had been dulled by the shame of what happened, and seeing his flesh shiver under the icy light above made Miguel’s heart overflow with the need to protect him. There were no sheets or blankets in the small cellar, so the only comfort he could offer Nero was throwing the broom to the floor.
“Finally,” Nero groaned as Miguel proceeded to uncuff his ankles. He made sure not to look where the object had just been, to give Nero a degree of privacy, but it drove him mad with grief that Esteban had only done this because he knew what kind of relationship Miguel and Nero shared.
Nero pulled himself into a sitting position and kept on ranting, as if he needed to establish that what happened didn’t bother him one bit. “If that fucker were still alive, I’d have sharpened that fucking thing and shoved it straight in like a spit roast. Or better yet, sharpened some old tree and impaled him on that, go all medieval on the bastard.”
But the cocky anger wouldn’t have fooled anyone familiar with Nero’s body language, and Miguel was right back for a bloodstained hug the moment all the cuffs were undone. Then again, maybe it was him who needed the reassurance that Nero would be fine after this, because the heavy weight in his chest still poisoned his every thought as he choked on air and pulled the beloved body close. Esteban’s blood was everywhere and spread to Nero’s back when Miguel stroked him there, but its tangy, metallic scent was a calming presence in the air, because it meant the bastard was dead while Nero’s heart still beat against Miguel’s. Their nakedness didn’t feel sexual, and instead calmed them down, as if they’d regressed to a state where warm touch could fix every hurt.