“I’m showing him around Colombia,” said Miguel in the end and ruffled Mark’s hair so suddenly it felt like retribution for all the dirty things happening in Mark’s head. The gesture felt nice, but also patronizing, and Mark was no longer a kid. He was almost eighteen now, and he’d seen and done much more than most old people. Still, as Domenico always taught him, the first rule of improvising was going along with the situation.
“It’s damp.”
The stranger grinned widely for the first time, and all of Mark’s fantasies about that lovely mouth closing around his cock got drenched in gore. The man’s lower lip revealed a row of spiky teeth that reminded Mark of a shark’s just before a bloody attack. What the fuck was wrong with this guy? It couldn’t be the result of some kind of illness. Or could it? Mark didn’t want to be insensitive, even if thinking of those sharp fangs tracing the underside of his cock gave him shudders.
“It is. What’s that accent? Are you his American cousin?” he asked, walking around them with his hand on his hip.
“He is. But I’m not from here either. I’m Mexican,” said Miguel with a smile that looked so off on his ever-serious face, Mark was starting to feel heat burning at the back of his neck.
The stranger relaxed his arms and took out his other hand from underneath the shirt, reaching it out in greeting. “I’m Nero.”
Mark’s hand shot up on his own accord as his mind filled with alarm. He’d dismissed the possibility of danger just because of the man’s hotness, but what if he was a threat? Miguel wasn’t acting like himself anymore after all. “Mark, and this is—”
“Miguel. Is this your land or something? Why’d you stop?” Miguel asked, shaking Nero’s hand.
Nero smiled and shrugged, looking at the river. “I’m bored, and I thought you’d be up for a chat,” he said, suddenly looking at Miguel as if Mark had become translucent. He still held Miguel’s hand until too much time passed, and Miguel pulled away after an awkward struggle when the stranger wouldn’t let him go.
“It’s a great luxury,” Miguel said. “To be bored.”
“Yes and no. Sometimes there’s too little to do, then there’s almost too much, so I’m enjoying myself while this lasts. I bet you two are hoping for some adventure while you’re both here, far away from home.”
Mark opened his lips, but Miguel beat him to it.
“Nah, we came to enjoy the views, maybe do a jungle trip. Mark’s a keen photographer.”
Aww! It was actually true. So Miguel did notice. Mark nodded quickly and pointed to the camera attached to his belt.
Nero’s eyes glinted, and he came closer, until his knee pressed against Mark’s. “Really? Show me some. I love photography.” Miguel stiffened against Mark but didn’t say anything, which likely meant Mark should just go with it. But while Nero was acting a bit weird, his face remained friendly, with the lively eyes focused on the camera.
Yet even with the silent encouragement, Mark wasn’t sure whether he wanted to show all the photos he’d taken on the trip to Colombia to someone they just met. Some felt too private to present them without careful pre-selection, not to mention that many had bits of Seth and Dom—without faces in the picture, like he’d been told—but still. He started sweating much more at the thought of revealing the candid shot of Miguel’s tattooed back, taken when Miguel was standing on the balcony and smoking, unaware of Mark’s perving.
“I… I mean, I’ve got some shameful selfies on there.” Mark laughed, trying to get the guy to back off. It wasn’t exactly a lie though. He had been following his own progress in terms of growing muscle, and that involved half-naked shots in a mirror. Showing them to a stranger would be painfully awkward.
Nero laughed. “Naked photos only make sense if you have someone to show them to,” he said and transferred his gaze to Miguel. “Or are you just embarrassed in front of your cousin?”
Miguel licked his lips, and his fingers tightened on the aluminum foil Seth had used to pack his sandwich. Before he could come up with something to say, Nero stepped away from Mark and moved closer to Miguel. “How about having a drink with me while your cousin takes more selfies?”
Mark’s eyes went wide as he watched Miguel’s gaze trail up Nero’s body, all the way to his face. Was Nero hitting on Miguel? Had they unknowingly stopped in a gay cruising area? “That’s not the only photos I take,” Mark grumbled as Miguel evaded the question with silence.
Nero crooked his head. “Too bad Miguel here doesn’t have any. I wouldn’t mind seeing more of him,” he said, his voice gradually becoming softer as he trailed his fingers over his top, along the waistband of his pants.
“Do you have a death wish?” Miguel hissed, but Mark quickly softened the threat by laughing.
He quickly looked through the photos until he found the one of Miguel’s back. He showed it to Nero without passing him the camera. This was too priceless.
Nero grinned, leaning down in a way that made his stomach move closer to Miguel, who pulled his upper body back, as if touching Nero could have burned him. “Oh, that is hot, Miguel. You. Are. Quite. Hot,” he said, stretching, and he curled his fingers around the hem of his long-sleeve. “I’ll show you mine.” And with that, the thin fabric trailed up, revealing a thick covering of tattoos all over Nero’s body. Crocodiles in black and white waters, taking chunks of each-other’s flesh in a wild tumble of flesh and blood. The carnage they brought to life wasn’t enough to distract Mark from the strong stomach muscles and arms Mark aspired to have one day.
Mark was still staring when Nero took his top all the way off, and he grinned like an idiot. Now this was some first-class entertainment that he hadn't expected from this afternoon. A hot dude hitting on Miguel in the middle of nowhere. But then his gaze trailed even lower, to the steel handle of a gun at the back of Nero’s hip, and he wasn’t so amused anymore.
Sadly, Miguel seemed not only unamused, but as lifeless as a marble statue. “They are… good work,” he said stiffly, settling his eyes on the single shape of a reptile crawling across Nero’s chest. Despite the pitch black ink, it still appeared lifelike because of artistically distributed scarifications.
Nero grinned. “I knew you’d like them, Miguel.” He leaned forward without hurry, as if he wanted to look straight into his eyes. Time seemed to slow down when his lips stretched into a predatory smile. “I will be staying over in this town tonight, and I think we could both enjoy ourselves if you joined me. If you show me more of yourself, I will show you more of me.”
Mark didn’t miss the drop of sweat trailing down from under Miguel’s jaw, all the way to the dip between his collarbones.
“Thanks for the offer, but it’s not gonna happen,” Miguel said in an even voice.
Mark grinned. “I’m up for it though!” Shark teeth be damned. There were other things he could do with Nero than having him suck cock.
Miguel slapped the back of Mark’s head so hard it hurt. “You are not going anywhere.”
Nero groaned. “You’re as cute as a baby duckling. Too young for me. No offense. But you”—he moved his fingers close to Miguel’s face, almost touching—”Are you certain you don’t want to take a dip into the unknown? Your cousin won’t tell your mother.”
“I’ve got someone waiting for me at home,” Miguel said as smoothly as if it were true.
Nero chuckled, as if that explanation amused him. “Suit yourself. If you change your mind, I will be at the bar in the town center. The one with two parrots painted over the door,” he said and finally stepped back.
Miguel nodded, but the tension was still deeply rooted into his flesh. They exchanged a few more sentences about the places to eat at or see in the area, but in the end, Nero headed off on his magnificent bike.
The two of them stayed silent for a few moments, so the sudden slap Miguel delivered to Mark’s head hurt all the more. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked with so much fervor Mark drew back, afraid he’d get spat on. It was shocking to see the f
ury coming from the calmest man Mark’d ever met.
“I—”
“Why don’t you suck all Moreno dicks while you’re at it?” hissed Miguel, quickly packing his sandwich into the foil, as if the meeting with Nero cost him his appetite.
A glacier made its way down Mark’s stomach, and he shuddered. “Those were...”
“Caimans,” hissed Miguel, raising the sandwich in his hand as if he intended to toss it into the murky waters of the river, but eventually he put it back into his lap. “Caimans. The symbol of the Moreno Cartel. I’ve told you so many times. And that crazy fucker was Nero Moreno, younger son of the big boss himself.”
Mark’s lips parted. “But Domenico said there were no gay men in cartels…” This was not good. Not good at all.
Miguel’s nostrils flared, as if he were a bull about to charge. “There shouldn’t fucking be any, but this holy cow is somehow still left standing.”
Mark put his face in his hands. “Why did no one tell me? Is he that open about it everywhere? Do you think he followed us here, and this was some kind of threat?”
Miguel clenched his teeth. “He is notorious for it. The only thing keeping him alive is his daddy.”
“I did think his approach was a bit… brash.” Mark chewed on his lip, ashamed of how he’d acted. “Do you think he’s here about tomorrow’s transport?”
Miguel swallowed hard and shrugged, as if this all meant nothing, but his hands shook where he kept them on his knees. “Possibly. Toro is independent. He just works with the Morenos, so maybe Nero’s here to oversee something.”
“What if he’s on the boat tomorrow? What if we have to kill him?”
“You will not be killing Raul Moreno’s son unless you want to end up dying a slow and painful death.” Miguel passed Mark his half-eaten sandwich. “I doubt he’ll travel on the boat coming with the transport tomorrow. He’s used to luxury, so he’ll probably be sunbathing and having cocktails while everyone else works for his expensive bikes.” There couldn’t be any more contempt in Miguel’s voice even if he tried.
Mark nodded and bit into the sandwich. It was too good to let it sit in the heat any longer. “So, what will be on that boat? Dana said it’s a gift for Raul Moreno from his son. A golden machine gun?”
Miguel’s mouth quirked, and he glanced at Mark, mildly less displeased. “Nah. Drugs more likely. He’d have transported a gun himself.”
“Makes sense. Wouldn’t want to be caught with too much product.” Mark watched Miguel in silence for a while. “Do you really have someone back in Mexico?”
Miguel’s black eyes turned to Mark and froze him to the rock despite the heat in the air. “What do you think?”
Mark chewed on his lip, staring at Miguel for the longest time. “Are you like... asexual? I’ve read about it online.”
Miguel grunted and had some more water. “You’d benefit from paying more attention to other things. Like learning what a caiman looks like.”
“Now I do,” Mark said grimly, and the worst thing was that he still found Nero hot when he thought back to the tattoos all over his skin. Though it was more like a one-night-stand-hot, definitely not husband material.
Miguel harrumphed and stood up, as if wanting to let Mark know the conversation about his sexuality was over.
“Miguel? You won’t tell Domenico about the girls, right? Or that I hit on Nero Moreno?”
Miguel’s expression turned blank. “What girls?”
“The ones back in town… You know, the cute ones…”
Miguel looked at him with a stern gaze. “Get in the car.”
Chapter 3 - Seth
After months of training that felt like getting ready for an extremely aggressive game of paintball, reality was dawning on Seth with every drop of river water sprinkling his face. They were on a small motorboat, heading for their target, a larger single-deck vessel, drifting along with the current without haste. The next settlement along the river was only about twenty minutes away, and so they needed to act fast and overtake the damn boat before they reached an area where someone could see the fight from the shore.
The people on board would die, and the four of them would be the ones doing the killing if they wanted to stay alive themselves. Seth kept telling himself that this was his life now, that he was ready to be at Domenico’s side to do whatever needed to be done, but this situation was so fucked up that he still ached for a drink. For a cool, spicy Bloody Mary that would dull his senses to what was to come. Sadly, his senses needed to be sharp, so there would be no cocktails until they were safe.
Domenico looked handsome in the bright blue shirt with an image of the American flag, and in the black baseball cap, even though both made him look like someone else. It was yet another costume, yet another persona, and despite his nerves being tight, Seth couldn’t help but stare at Dom as their small boat made its way with the current, to meet the larger vessel.
For a group of tourists, they were awfully quiet, and even Mark seemed less talkative than usual, which amounted to something. Seth wished they could have just put their sniper training to good use and taken down all the thugs at a distance, without so much risk, but there was no guarantee that all of their foes would be happily sunbathing on board. The face Dom had made at that suggestion shut Seth’s mouth for good.
“Mark?” asked Domenico softly. “Don’t kill any of us by accident.”
Mark frowned. “Very funny. You didn’t even give me a gun.”
Seth had one, yet he didn’t feel all that great about it. The heavy metal weapon made him feel only slightly more confident about the takeover. They were on enemy territory, and no matter how much faith Dom had in Dana’s reports, there were no certainties ahead of them.
“It’s easier to kill with a gun. Show your skills with a knife,” Miguel said, a dark presence at the back of the boat, his face expressing a readiness for war. “Or use your weight to break someone’s neck. They won’t be anticipating that from you.”
Domenico crooked his head and wouldn’t let Mark talk back, focusing on Miguel instead. “You should smile. You’re on vacation. You are happy with your friends, Miguel. We are all up for good fun,” he said and slapped Seth’s knee. “You too. Smile.”
All three of them forced their lips to curve into smiles, but Seth feared it only made matters worse. The stiff, forced expressions were those of a family who’d traveled as far away from home as they could to somehow put together the pieces of their broken relationships.
He focused his gaze on Domenico’s amber eyes, so that if he died today, he could remember them better before his soul left his body. The tension inside of him made the smile plastered to his lips seem even more fake, and he could hardly comprehend what they were about to do. Somehow, despite all he’d been through so far, he still wasn’t sure how they found themselves in such a situation.
But Domenico wouldn’t hold Seth’s gaze. They were getting far too near the boat, which up close did not look like much with yellowish stains on one hull and some of the white paint peeling off. Domenico stood up, wiggling in the boat in a way so believable Seth almost leaned in to hold him in place. From their position near the back of the boat they could see the deck and two men approaching from the cabin.
Dom took a sip from a can of beer and waved at them, as if he had no care in the world. They looked quite normal, wearing shirts and jeans, and yet their eyes remained hard, suspicious. Seth might have missed the tension in their shoulders, were he a real civilian, but he knew how people like Dom operated, and so he noticed all those details now.
Sometimes he wished he didn’t.
“Do you speak English?” asked Dom in his strongest Texan accent.
The men shook their heads and said something in Spanish. One of them scowled and waved them off, as if he were shooing away a stray cat.
Domenico scowled and leaned down to pick up a complete six pack of the same beer he was drinking. “El Encanto?” he asked and made a broad gesture with his
hands, as if asking for directions.
Seth got up too, playing his role with so much ease it weirded him out. “Donde El Encanto? Qué dirección?” he asked in his broken Spanish. He hadn’t even known how to say that much until yesterday.
The men looked at each other, and in the end one of them indicated the way down stream. Domenico made a show of acting surprised, and continued on in English, his body leaning closer to the hull while Seth’s brain became a rigid mess of electricity. He picked up every signal of danger, and he squeezed his hand on the gun hidden beneath a hoodie resting on top of his right hand.
“No way! You see, Mike? We should have gone on in that direction,” Domenico said to Miguel before flashing a grin at the two strangers. “Thank you so much, gentlemen. Have this as a token of our gratitude,” he said and pushed the six-pack into the hands of the man closest to him.
Within a split second, his right hand made a punching movement, and the man blinked, dropping the beer to reveal a knife buried at an angle just below his breast bone. The man screamed out, and the other was already reaching for a gun but Miguel was faster. He leapt to the other boat with so much impact the floor rushed from under Seth’s feet, sending him crashing down.
A crack of bone made Seth’s jaw ache in sympathy, but there was no time to feel for the enemy. He pulled himself up, grabbed the gunwale, and followed Dom to the other boat with blood furiously rushing in his ears. The stench of blood was already in the air and it mixed with the smell of the river into a nasty concoction that could only entice predators. Which was what they were.
Apex predators moving in to replace the other carnivores at a major feeding ground.
Seth landed in time to spot a third man emerging from behind the wall of the cabin in the middle of the deck, and he shot at him just before the bastard could attack first. With the engine still working, it was likely that the fourth man Dana told them about was still in the cockpit, so he kept his head low, gun ready for action.
Domenico’s gaze met Seth’s, and a brief smile flashed through Dom’s handsome features before he rolled away, hunched down as he made his way around the cabin. Unlike Seth, Domenico was in his element. Seth followed blindly, ready to assist in case it was needed. No matter what Seth thought of their plan in principle, he always felt most comfortable when he followed Dom’s lead. After all the months they’d spent training in Mexico, or even back in the US, they’d become a team. An uneven one in some ways, yet perfectly compatible in what they were. Two well-oiled cogs in a machine in which Dom was the one to set everything into motion and Seth partook in delivering the result.
Bloodbath Page 3