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)
Ramiro must have settled with Miguel only a few rooms down the corridor, because Nero could vaguely hear them as sound echoed off the empty walls.
“Strap him down here,” the Axe ordered, which meant there was at least one man with him. “The rest of you, have a look around, make sure the building’s secure.”
Miguel’s mocking chuckle was cut short by a thud, which prompted Nero to move.
He had men to kill and one to save.
Focused on rolling his feet over the floor to make as little noise as possible, he held his breath and stepped into a corridor that gave him a moment of vertigo. The ceiling was disintegrating. The walls had cracks, but worst of all was a massive sinkhole in the floor, which looked like the result of a giant grabbing the hallway and trying to twist it in two. As he wondered whether to attempt crossing the gap by keeping strictly to one side or return to the front of the building and find a different way to Miguel, dirt creaked under thick-soled boots. He dashed back into the room, standing still with his back against the wall.
“I didn’t really think they were fucking. Miguel isn’t the type, you know,” someone said in a low, nasal voice Nero had had to endure for months. Fucking Ezra Correa.
“Fags aren’t all like Nero, so I had my suspicions after they… eloped.” Carlos snorted and by the sound of it, lit a cigarette.
But that was good. The two clowns were relaxed. Easy to kill.
“They didn’t. Nero has something on him, or promised him mountains of cash,” Ezra continued with his theory. “Or they offed the Cannibal by some freak accident and got stuck together.”
Miguel’s scream tore through the air, sending a shock of electricity into Nero’s brain.
“I’ve got nothing to lose, motherfucker!” Miguel yelled in the distance.
“He won’t be saying that when the Axe proceeds to his balls,” Carlos said grimly.
An adder twisted in Nero’s gut, and he swallowed, listening to the men, who stopped behind the wall, unaware that they were in the company of a real fucking angry beast. The protective charms they wore would not help them in the face of Nero’s fury.
“That would have made him useless for Nero,” Ezra chuckled.
Carlos made a disgusted grunt. “But weren't like… those opera singers who got castrated really popular with women in the past? So they must have been able to get it up.”
“Since when are you interested in who can get it up and who can’t?”
“It was in a documentary about Venice, or some shit!”
Ezra snarled, and then a cigarette fell into the room, landing close to Nero’s shoe. “You an opera-loving fag now?”
Carlos took a step back so Nero could see the back of his arm. “It’s not gay to watch documentaries, you flea-brained—”
A single jab with Nero’s serrated knife turned Carlos’s neck into a blood fountain. It showered on Ezra, who staggered back with eyes staring at Nero from the red-splattered face. His throat also opened into a gory grin before he could have made a sound.
Reality floated around Nero in a foggy mess, but as he breathed in the copper-scented air and stared at the two shaking bodies collapsed at his feet, his will solidified, and he grabbed Carlos’s machine gun, hanging it at the front of his chest.
Perhaps this was the day the Caiman got eaten whole by a predator who’d then sink into the depths of the river, never to emerge again.
“Hold on a bit longer,” Nero whispered beneath his breath when Miguel let out a ragged scream. Even the need to punch him subsided when faced with such suffering.
“This can go on for a long time, Miguel,” Ramiro said somewhere farther off as Nero dashed forward, on the hunt for his next target in the labyrinth of desolated rooms. “You’ve had your revenge, and I don’t care if you live or die as long as I get Moreno. This isn’t personal.” Even though torture always felt personal to the person on the wrong side of the blade.
Nero exhaled and dashed over the sinkhole to land safely on its other side. Blood tasted salty in his mouth and stuck clothes to his body, but despite the anger buzzing inside his chest, he wouldn’t be savoring any of what was to happen. He needed to take Ramiro off Miguel, because each noise, each stifled grunt echoing off the walls was like a needle pushed under his nails.
His next target was easier to deal with than the Correas, because he was looking out of the window, facing away from Nero and ignorant of the danger coming from the inside. To stifle any sounds, Nero grabbed the guy’s mouth from behind, but his bloodstained knife got to work a split second later, opening the Caiman’s throat.