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)
“What the hell bit your ass, J?” Arturo asked while Nando attempted to communicate for him to shut up. Which was a good call. Nero might be a caiman they tamed, but a wild animal retained its killer instincts forever.
“Why would I want to keep one if I can have whoever the fuck I want?” Nero asked, leaning against the back of the booth while Juan’s face darkened.
“If you can fuck whoever then why did you have to gun for my man, huh?” Juan got up while Nero tried to work out which of his past fucks was Juan’s sweetheart. Whoever it was, he clearly hadn’t been bothered enough to stay true to his apparent partner.
Nero shrugged, watching him from across the table while the music changed its rhythm, pumping at the perfect darkroom pace. “Don’t know what the fuck you’re on about.”
“You’re drunk. How about you take a breather?” Nando asked, pulling on Juan’s shoulder, but instead of the compliance he’d expected, he was shoved so hard he tumbled to the floor, clashing with a twink who’d been gathering empty glasses. Both collapsed in an avalanche of drinkware.
“That’s enough,” Nero said, raising his voice as he stood. He spread his arms in frustration. He didn’t go for a night out to be dealing with some asshole’s jealousy drama. “Get the fuck out!”
“Not before I shoot your fucking face off for what you did to Aaron!” Juan yelled, and reached back to pull out a gun.
Nero lost his remaining good humor.
Screams erupted around them and the herd of people ran toward the exit like cattle fleeing a wolf pack, but in Nero’s head, time ticked away second after painful second. He always knew he’d die young, but it had never occurred to him it might be at the hands of someone unrelated to cartel business.
Juan didn’t know he should hold a gun with both hands, but even if the recoil fucked up his wrist, it might be too late for Nero. One bullet could kill no matter how inexperienced the shooter.
Arturo, who’d gotten up to help Nando, was now dragging him away from the table, and they disappeared in the flood of bodies trampling whoever had the misfortune of falling over. The music remained loud, pumping faster than Nero’s blood.
“Do you have a death wish?” Nero asked, trying to assess whether he had the time to reach into his own holster without getting shot in the forehead.
But this was it. Juan didn’t answer. With two fat tears dripping from his eyelashes, he pulled the trigger… just as Miguel crashed into him like a boulder rolling down a steep hill.
The bullet drilled somewhere into the ceiling, sending down a shower of glass and plaster, and for a second Nero was too stunned to do anything but watch the two men tumble to the floor like two beasts.
One blink later, he grabbed his gun, but Miguel kept getting in the way of a clean shot, grunting with fury as he managed to wrestle the firearm from Juan’s hand.
Nero’s heart beat faster than the rhythm of the music still shaking the near-empty club, but as Miguel slipped on a piece of glass and rolled to his back, leaving an opening for Juan, Nero grabbed a broken bottle and stepped closer. Ignoring the shards scattered under his knees, Juan shifted his weight to grab the gun again, but Nero took hold of the bastard’s hair before he could have reached the weapon. One deep cut across the throat, and the little piggie was bleeding out.
Miguel scrambled away from the red flood spreading at their feet, and as he turned, the extent of glass stuck all over his shoulder blade was revealed to Nero. His skin was like meat scored for a barbeque.
“I leave for one minute!” Miguel yelled, panting as he attempted to get up from the slippery floor. “Some friends you have.”
Nero’s throat tightened as he studied Miguel, confused by what had just happened.
This guy wasn’t a friend. He’d openly expressed his distaste for Nero’s lifestyle, and this would have been a perfect opportunity for him to end up attached to a different boss within the cartel, someone less… gay. But despite all this, he’d thrown himself at Juan to save Nero and got injured in the process.
Why would he do that when no one would have blamed him for failing?
“Juan’s no longer invited to my upcoming parties,” Nero said, tossing the broken bottle into the mess at their feet. “Let’s get the first aid kit. They must have it behind the counter,” he said, stepping past the dead body.
Miguel pulled himself up, but stumbled a little, so he used the table to keep himself from sliding to his ass. “You’re joking? He’s dead, he won’t need fucking first aid!”
Nero frowned. “There’s so much glass in you that you look like a freak hedgehog.”