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Mathieu ignored him, going about his business of getting dressed as Roe watched. He hadn’t intended to spend the fucking night with Roe. Usually he left as soon as their business was concluded, but he’d had some extra aggression to let out and ended up nodding off after they finished fucking. Roe hadn’t woken him up, allowing him to sleep, and his decision had Mathieu pissed.
He and Roe had an agreement, one that suited them both. Roe answered when he called and Mathieu came over, staying just long enough to blow his back out then leave. All this spending the night business was where shit got twisted and he didn’t like that soft gleam in Roe’s eyes one bit.
It was one week since that Stavros, Daniel Nieto, Win debacle, and Mathieu had been going about the nasty business of getting his house in order. There’d been a lapse since he’d been in New York. Some people figured if he wasn’t around physically, then his authority didn’t matter. His words and his orders didn’t hold any weight.
He’d had to discipline a few men, show them the error of their ways, and send a clear message. In doing all that, he hadn’t had the time to handle some of the urgent business that waited for him. But that couldn’t hold off any longer. He had a meeting he had to get to, and he was already running behind.
The mattress groaned as Roe got off the bed in all his pretty, naked glory and slunk over, sliding a hand across Mathieu’s collar and down his chest. He pressed a kiss to Mathieu’s throat with a low purr then shifted to his back, helping Mathieu into his jacket, smoothing the collar before coming back around to the front, a needy look in his gray eyes, a wide smile on his face. Mathieu’s rough use of his body was beginning to manifest in dark bruises that stood out on his light brown skin. Roe was a tall and skinny one, with a full head of curly dark hair. As a former ballet dancer, his body was lithe, hairless, and extremely flexible. He was obsessed with everything designer but gave good throat.
So Mathieu kept him around.
“Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?” Roe asked in a throaty whisper, fiddling with a button on Mathieu’s shirt, looking up at him from under his lashes.
“No.” Mathieu ignored the way the one word, sharp and final, made Roe flinch and turn ashen. “Why would you ask that?”
“I—” Roe’s mouth opened and closed as his confidence from only moments ago evaporated. “You stayed the night and you don’t usually do that, so I thought—”
“I don’t come over here for your thoughts or your feelings,” Mathieu told him cooly. “I come to fuck you then leave.” He cocked his head. “Or am I misunderstanding the nature of our agreement?”
Roe’s shoulders slumped and his gaze dropped to the floor. “N-no.”
Maybe if Mathieu was somebody else, he would have felt some kind of way about all of this, but all he felt was annoyance at having to have this conversation at all. He hated repeating himself.
He cupped Roe’s chin, lifting his head, waiting patiently until the other man’s watery gaze met his. “Get on your knees.” He kept his tone soft, but it was no less an order. “Put that head of yours to better use.”
He spent another half hour, time he didn’t have, coming down Roe’s throat before he got the hell out of there, leaving Roe on his knees with tears, snot, and cum fucking up his pretty face. Maybe it was time to rethink Roe. Find somebody new.
He sighed at the thought. The last thing he needed was to addfind a new fuck buddyto the ever-growing list of things needing his attention.
He drove to his place, regretting his role of being his own driver on the nights when he went to Roe. But he preferred to keep his private life private, something he’d learned a long time ago, though that preference had come a little too late.
His jaw firmed as he forced himself not to think about Win. That was a surefire way to fuck his entire day up, and it was too early for that. As he pulled into his driveway, he spotted Jason outside, waiting for him. He strode over, waiting until Mathieu parked and got out before speaking.
“Boss.”
“Where is he?”
“I put him in your office.” Jason glanced around. He and Mathieu were equally matched in height and weight. Jason’s brown skin was almost as fair as Win’s—or it would be, if he hadn’t covered nearly every inch of it with colorful tattoos. He was also bald, sporting a trimmed beard. His eyes, dark and solemn, broadcast just how dangerous he was. “Think he’s getting antsy.”
Mathieu grunted as he entered the house, nodding to the handful of men that were authorized to be there. “His problem, not mine.” He entered his office. “Cesar.”
His guest rose from his chair. “Mathieu.” He reached out, shaking Mathieu’s hand, brown eyes searching, cautious when they settled on Mathieu’s face. “I thought you’d forgotten about our meeting.”
“Never that, my friend. Never that.” He released Cesar’s hand and made his way to his desk, sitting on the edge as he faced the room.
Cesar had five of his men with him. And two of Mathieu’s own loyal soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder with them. Cesar liked to come over with an entire posse, just to show Mathieu that he had his own. Maybe in hopes of intimidating him, but men like Cesar—who needed him more than he needed them—could never intimidate him.
“What can I do for you, my friend?” They weren’t friends. At best, they were work colleagues of a sort.
“I have a new shipment coming in. I’ll need papers for all of them. A few hundred.” Cesar smuggled people into the country. Mathieu—and Win—provided their fake documents. Cesar and his people didn’t know about Win, and Mathieu went to great lengths to make sure that never happened. In all the years they’d been doing it, not once had anyone seen through their fake shit.
Win was the best at what he did, but… Mathieu frowned. “Of course, but why are we having a face-to-face for this? A phone call or a simple note would have sufficed.”
Cesar paused, then glanced back at his men. A jerk of his head, and they all exited the room. Okay, now this was getting interesting. Mathieu nodded to his guys, giving them the go-ahead to leave as well. When it was just the two of them, Cesar spoke.
“When will you allow us to make a move on Jairo Beltran?”
Ah. Cesar and his group hated Jairo, maybe as much—or even more—than Mathieu did. But nobody could touch Jairo, because Mathieu said so. As powerful as Cesar and his group were, they still had to run their shit by Mathieu, and if he said no, they had better stand the fuck down. They’d been asking for permission to take out Jairo for years. And for years Mathieu had held them back.
