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)
If Nero believed in him instead of leaning into his usual mistrust, he could have easily stopped Miguel on the way, confronted him and put an end to this madness. Instead, he was stuck watching Miguel put himself at risk to find an opening in a situation where none could come.
Nero held his breath when Miguel raised his gun just as a familiar silhouette emerged from behind a black vehicle. Something shiny flew out of Ramiro’s hand with the precision of a cobra attack, and Miguel howled when it struck his hand, knocking his gun away.
Nero’s hand dashed to his own pistol when he spotted one of the Caimans using Miguel’s distraction to sneak up on him from behind, but if he did shoot, they’d all know Miguel had backup, and the benefit of surprise would be lost. Nero put on the safety and shivered when two men descended on Miguel, who thrashed like a massive fish thrown onto the shore. But it did nothing, and he soon ended up cuffed at Ramiro’s feet.
“You managed to really fucking piss me off,” the Axe said, towering over Miguel with a tense expression while… Ezra Correa of all people checked Miguel’s trunk to find empty plastic bottles and a tire pump.
“Nothing!” Ezra yelled as if that wasn’t obvious.
Miguel was being held down by a man with graying hair, but he managed to twist and kick Cano’s foot, as if even now, his only care was the bastard’s death. When he was satisfied that his personal enemy was dead for real this time, his eyes darted to Ramiro. “Now we can negotiate,” he said through gritted teeth.
The gray-haired Caiman punched the side of his head, making Nero’s hand tickle with need for steel and gunpowder, but instead of revealing his presence like some impulsive halfwit, he used their distraction and moved along the building, where he spotted a window no longer fitted with glass.
People often thought him careless and borderline-suicidal, but the seemingly random bouts of violence were often curated to strike fear in the people Nero wanted to keep in line. And if Ramiro meant to question Miguel, there would be enough time to reduce the number of Caimans per square meter and perhaps even get rid of them all without him and Miguel dying.
Still, as Miguel grunted under an onslaught of kicks and punches Ramiro allowed to let his men release some steam, everything inside Nero compelled him to just run in there and turn them all into mincemeat. But then Miguel could die. And so could Nero. So he hung on to the hope that Ramiro would take his time extracting information out of his new prisoner, and focused on the window. The empty space carved in the wall was surrounded by an ugly graffiti that the ‘artist’ likely meant to be Jabba the Hutt from Star Wars, with the window as his gaping mouth.
“You’ll be negotiating with pliers,” Ramiro shouted, sending a shiver down Nero’s spine and amplifying the sense of urgency. “Get him inside. You, stay on watch by the door just in case. Fuck knows where Moreno is.”
The other Correa, Carlos, emerged from behind the wall that had so far kept him hidden from Nero and swept the trees with his gaze, holding a machine gun. “Are you saying he could be here right now?”
Ezra snorted, shaking his head as he stretched his gangly form. “If he were here, he’d have come at us like a rabid hyena the moment the Axe threw that knife.”
Shame settled on Nero’s shoulders, but underneath it was pride that he’d managed to keep his instincts in check. He would get Miguel out of this and then punch the hell out of him for that deception.
And then kiss his bleeding lips.
The Caimans dragged Miguel inside, and Ramiro followed, leaving one man at the front door. “Stay in touch,” Ramiro ordered the guard.
Nero didn’t hesitate any longer and climbed inside through Jabba’s mouth. He couldn’t start his killing spree with the one man expected to be reachable for Ramiro, but if he gutted this multi-headed hydra from the inside, the guy at the door would be none the wiser.
A bit of glass that must have survived whatever had smashed the window cut into Nero’s flesh as he pulled himself up, but he kept his mouth shut and only examined the extent of damage once he clambered into an empty space with paint peeling both from the walls and the ceiling, as if every surface had been sprayed with acid.
The cut wasn’t too bad, despite bleeding when Nero pulled out the clear shard, so he wiped it on his top before pulling out his knife. When it came to killing, it might not be as efficient as a gun, but using a blade would keep his presence secret.