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)
Nero rolled the back of his head over Miguel’s forearm to look at his face. He wondered whether changing his position might make the other man reconsider embracing him, but after a moment’s thought, he placed his hand on Miguel’s back.
He felt weird. And it wasn’t the alcohol. “You’re a good dancer. Though I admit I didn’t expect a Mexican to be so into the tango.”
Miguel shook his head, and a smile ghosted on his lips.
“Oh, my mother didn’t want me to do it. I sneaked away when my sisters went to salsa classes. I fell in love with the dance and begged my father to allow me. Once he agreed, my mother gave in as well. But I stopped going after—never mind. I’m glad you can’t tell that I didn’t have any practice for the past twenty years.”
Nero chuckled, pushing closer to Miguel despite no longer being sure what he wanted from him. Obviously a fuck. But it wasn’t like they’d do that in a small bar that smelled of cigarettes and spilled booze. He pulled out of the embrace as they entered the drab interior. It had black walls covered with numerous posters, and the clientele consisted of people in band T-shirts and leather jackets, but so late in the night, the number of patrons was sparse.
A part of Nero knew he’d had enough to drink, but as they both settled in the darkest corner of the establishment with two glasses of straight whisky, and he felt Miguel’s thigh against his own, he was glad for the way the liquor burned his tongue.
Miguel groaned and followed his lead, leaning over the table. In the faint light, his braids shone like two snakes, and Nero had the strangest urge to run his fingertip over the parting in his sleek hair.
Miguel shook his head after a big gulp of the liquor. “Why’d you fuck up the job tonight?” he asked out of nowhere, stunning Nero’s alcohol-infused brain.
The whisky swirled in the glass, about to suck him in under the surface. So Miguel hadn’t been fooled after all.
Nero smirked and shifted closer, floating on the soft waves of booze. “I got sick and puked on the wrong person,” he still said, even though he’d targeted the cops on purpose.
Miguel would so often pull away when Nero attempted to be close, as if that was the natural thing to do. Yet something had changed in the past two days, and Nero couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Miguel’s long, black lashes hung low over his eyes, but his gaze still drilled into Nero with the insistence of a hungry puppy searching for its mother’s tit. Rock music played in the background, making their conversation private, and the low light in the bar only spurred on the feeling of intimacy between them.
“Did you though?” Miguel whispered, raising his eyebrows as he placed his chin on Nero’s shoulder.
Nero looked away, staring at the sticky circles left behind on their table by glasses of beer. What would Miguel do if he found out the truth? He might attempt to pass this on to Father, and regardless whether Raul Moreno believed the claims of a man who was new to his organization, a shadow of doubt would remain on Nero for a long time.
But then Nero remembered how Miguel risked his life to save him, and the dance that still made him feel odd inside, and he couldn’t imagine Miguel working against him for the sake of more money or rising in the ranks.
“No. I did it on purpose.”
Miguel sighed, staring at a Metallica poster hanging over an empty table that still had a crowd of dirty glasses in the middle. “We could have died. But I guess we pulled through. I thought the cops would try to arrest us, and we’d have a shootout right there, in that street. But that lie about stealing the van was smart.”
Nero shrugged, because yeah, it could have gone badly. But why worry about the past when things ended up working out? It would have been smarter not to trust Miguel either, but he'd so far proven himself nothing but loyal. And if he eventually revealed himself as a snake, Nero likely wouldn’t get enough time for regret. Death could take him at any moment, and he’d made his peace with that.
He inhaled the sharp, woody scent of the whisky and downed all that remained in the glass. He could already sense an upcoming hangover but didn’t care. “My mother was trafficked. That’s the only reason she had me.”
Miguel nodded with a grim expression. “It’s ugly business. I’m no white knight, but I avoid it if I can. I’m glad you pulled off that stunt tonight, even if your father rains down shit on us for it. I’m guessing your mother’s not around anymore?”