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20
Samirah Mitri studiedmedicine at Stanford, worked at one of the top hospitals in New York as a surgeon, and had a brother she loved dearly. Ali Mitri used to be Mathieu’s accountant and when he stole from Mathieu, because he got greedy, Mathieu put a bullet in his motherfucking brain.
Samirah came looking for Mathieu with lies and a loaded gun, all naive and out of her element. He would have killed her too, but she had skills and he hadn’t yet added a doctor to the menagerie of people he kept on staff. He made her an offer: in exchange for not dumping her body in the same grave where her brother resided, she would quit her job and work for him as his personal doctor. She turned him down. So he made a counteroffer: she would work for him and pay off her brother’s debt because the money Ali stole was to help put Samirah through school. She said no again. This time Mathieu didn’t give her a choice.
She’d been with him for almost a year now, kept under heavy guard in one of the smaller houses on his property. After she quit her job via video conference—with him standing off to the side with a gun pointed at her head—her only contact with the outside world was the weekly phone call she made to her elderly parents back in London. Samirah’s hatred for Mathieu was like hot lasers on his skin whenever their eyes met. And he never gave a fuck.
Until she held a scalpel, about to slice Win open.
Mathieu grabbed her gloved hand, the one holding the sharp blade, forcing her to look at him. “Fix him and you go free, that’s the deal. My word is bond. But if he dies, if anything happens to him, I will make what I did to your brother look like a love tap. Then I’ll deal with your parents.” He jerked his chin at Win, so pale and lifeless on the table in the state-of-the-art medical unit he’d built for her. “There are only two people I love in this world. He’s one of them.”
That familiar hatred flashed in her eyes. “Then let me go so I can help him.”
He did after holding her gaze for another moment. He hated this feeling, so helpless and out of control. As Samirah approached Win, Mathieu spun away. He couldn’t watch her cut Win open. She told him she had to get the bullet out and he believed her but fuck, he wanted to shoot her just for what she was about to do.
He’d wanted to oversee shit—as if he’d know if she did something wrong—but he couldn’t. So he left. Jason stood just outside, expression somber, arms crossed. “Take me to the bodyguard.”
Jason led him to the room where they’d stashed Linc, with four guards surrounding him. His head jerked upright when Mathieu entered.
“How is Win?”
Mathieu dismissed the guards with a sharp glance, waiting until only he, Jason, and Linc occupied the room. “Tell me what happened, from the moment you and Win left me to when you showed back up just now.”
Linc had nothing of importance to share. Only that he’d taken Win home, where he’d had a conversation with Jairo in Jairo’s office. Then he’d heard the gunshot and raced in to find Jairo gone and Win bleeding out on the floor. None of it made any sense. Clearly, whatever conversation Win and Jairo shared had been the catalyst to the shooting, but what could they have discussed?
It didn’t matter. Win was in there fighting for his life and Jairo was out there running free. Unacceptable.
Mathieu walked out, Jason on his heels. “Boss?”
“I’m going out.” When Jason opened his mouth, Mathieu held up a hand. “Alone.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“I know, but it’s what’s gonna happen.” Back in his office, he checked his gun before sliding it into the holster at his hip. “Win is on that table fighting for his life.” Fuck, the words shouldn’t shake that badly. He faced Jason. “You know how many times Win begged me to spare that motherfucker’s life and he goes and does that?” He jerked a trembling hand at the door. “As if Win isn’t the sole reason for his continued motherfucking existence?” That left him on a roar and he lashed out, swiping everything on his desk to the floor.
“You should be here when he wakes up,” Jason said softly.
He wanted that, more than anything. But duty came first. Hunting Jairo down was his duty. Something that should have happened way before now. He’d allowed his guilt over hurting Win, and his hope that he’d get Win back, to sway him from going after Jairo. That reprieve was over.
“Let me come with you,” Jason pleaded.
“No.” Mathieu shook his head. “I want you here, protecting Win and making sure Samirah fixes him.” He saw the way Jason’s jaw tightened at the mention of the doctor. If there was anyone Samirah hated more than Mathieu, it was Jason.
“At least take some of the guys with you.”
“I’m doing this alone,” Mathieu told him firmly. “Watch over Win. Call me if anything changes.” He left the office through the secret passageway under the floorboards that only he, Win, and Jason knew about, leaving the other man staring after him.
His father had the tunnel built as a hidden entrance and exit from the main house and showed it to Mathieu when he’d been only eight years old. It was well lit and went on for miles. When Mathieu climbed the short stairs that led out of the tunnel, he entered into the kitchen of the secret house he and Win shared once upon a time. The house Win used to do his forgery work now. This was how they’d kept their relationship from everyone originally.
He exited the house’s back door and made his way to the garage, getting into one of the unmarked SUVs sitting there. It was a custom vehicle, reinforced and bulletproof, a weapon tucked into its every crevice.
He drove to the house Win shared with Jairo. There’d been a point when he couldn’t sleep, missing Win badly, that he’d do the same routine he’d just completed: leave the house via the tunnels, take one of the vehicles from the secret house, and drive down Win and Jairo’s street, hoping for a glimpse of Win. That was back when Win wasn’t speaking to him and had cut off all contact.
At the house, he didn’t see any cars in the driveway and the house was in darkness, so he drove around the block and parked in an alleyway before making his way back to the house on foot. A kick to one of the back windows knocked the glass out and he frowned. Shouldn’t Jairo’s security be better than a thin pane of glass?
He climbed through the window, shards of glass tearing at his clothes and crunching under his feet when he stood. No light was on, but he already knew the layout of the house, knew where Jairo’s office was located, so he headed straight for it. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he figured he’d know it when he found it.
The moment he stepped into the office, the lights flicked on.
