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“No, thanks.”
Win faced him. “When do you eat? Do you even eat?” He couldn’t recall seeing the other man eat at all since he’d started watching over him. “I’m sure starving yourself isn’t part of the job description and if you’re thinking I’m gonna poison you or something…” He shrugged. “Not my style.”
Linc stared at him unblinking for a bit before dipping his chin in what Win figured was a nod. “I don’t eat pork.” His gaze darted in the direction of the bacon sizzling in a pan atop the stove.
“Lucky for you, that’s turkey bacon.” He gave the other man his back and returned to doing his thing. Scrambled eggs with onion and bell peppers, bacon, reheated fried potatoes from a few days prior, and avocado. He rolled that up into a tortilla and served it up to his bodyguard along with a side of salsa and some OJ. He got a nod of thanks in return. Then he made his own plate and sat opposite Linc.
They ate in silence until Win couldn’t help asking, “Where are you from?”
“Up north.”
He might as well have said not your business, because what kind of answer was that? Again Win rolled his eyes. “Are you not supposed to talk to me or something? Did Jairo tell you that? Because that’s fucked up.”
Linc stared at him.
“Fine, I won’t ask you anything.” Win chewed angrily. “I just think it's stupid you’re always so serious and shit. The job doesn’t have to be like that if you don’t want it to be.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Cool.” Win finished the rest of his meal in silence then brought his dishes to the sink and cleaned up. “I’ll be upstairs. Please do not follow me up there.” That had been the one rule he and Jairo put in place. Linc wasn’t to go upstairs unless it was an absolute emergency. They couldn’t have strangers figuring out their sleeping situation. Win didn’t know what other rules Jairo had given Linc, but he was thankful that he at least had a way to escape the bodyguard.
In his bedroom, he locked the door and went to his desk, turning on his laptop. He had a lot of work to get done with the new job Mathieu had given him, but he couldn’t do much of anything with Linc always around. The bulk of what he had to do could only be done over at the spot, which was where his tools and materials were. He didn’t keep anything related to his forgery in the house he shared with Jairo, that was just asking for trouble. And there was no way he could leave the house since Linc would only follow.
He hadn’t yet heard anything from Mathieu regarding the whole Linc issue and Win was getting fucking antsy. He snatched up his phone to fire off a text to Mathieu but put it right back down. His ex had to contact him, it was his job to find a solution.
Win had been the one to suggest they provide documents for the people that were being smuggled into Miami. Until then, Mathieu hadn’t fucked with the smugglers, but Win had seen lots of innocents who only wanted better lives get caught due to shoddy forgeries. He’d known he could do better.
He’d learned everything there was to know about forgeries from his parents. His father had been an artist, broke and struggling, until he began making forgeries. Win’s mother served as her husband’s agent, altering documents, covering their tracks. Between the two of them, Win had gotten a complete education in fraud and forgeries, but he’d promised himself he wouldn’t mess with that life after his parents had gotten killed by someone they’d duped. He hadn’t ventured into that world until he’d met Mathieu.
His lover at the time had been shocked by Win’s suggestion, skeptical too, until Win had shown him what he could do. Win had been scared shitless to embark on something as dangerous as that, but with Mathieu at his side, Win had surged forward, confident he was doing the right thing. He’d found the courage to not only try but to excel at it. Their shit was impeccable and foolproof. And as their reputation grew, so did demand and their client list. It’d been Mathieu who’d insisted they only work with people he actually knew and trusted, and even then, he kept the list super short so as not to overwork Win. Win had protested at the time but eventually came around to Mathieu’s way of thinking.
Before Mathieu fucked things up between them, Win could’ve sworn he was his safe place. When they broke up, the last thing he wanted to think about was continuing the work they’d started, but in the end, he’d decided it was all bigger than the two of them. There were people out there who needed the kind of services they provided. So, he’d stuck it out, working with Mathieu when it was the last thing he wanted.
His phone vibrated where it sat on his desk and he picked it up. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered. He tapped the message to see what Mathieu had to say.
“I’ve found a solution for the bodyguard issue.”
Well, okay then.
13
Two whole dayssince Mathieu sent Win that message. Two whole days before he got to see Win. He’d become that person apparently, going from months of no face-to-face with Win to needing to see him every fucking day. Out there searching for any excuse to make that happen. He’d come back from New York needy as fuck.
He didn’t know what it was he wanted and he should leave Win alone until he figured that out, but to him, Win was the one place he’d never had to force anything. The one person he’d shown all his different sides, who’d accepted them. Him.
With Bishop—
No. He cut that thought right the fuck off as he paced the length of his office. Bishop didn’t belong in his thoughts. He didn’t deserve any airtime. It took way too long for Mathieu to come to that conclusion and that mistake wasn’t one he was eager to revisit. He faced the window, staring out at nothing.
It was way past midnight and Win was taking his sweet time to show. He’d already sent the text informing Mathieu he was on his way. It was funny how a simple text could change the entire trajectory of his mood. Could send his heart off at a gallop even though he knew Win wanted nothing to do with him.
At least, Win’s words said that. His actions spoke louder, though. His eyes too. Mathieu loved his eyes, always had, even back when they were filled with the most terrible fear as he stared up at Stavros, waiting for death.
A sound at his back made him turn around just as Win ducked into the room, closing the door softly behind him. He wore a black hoodie pulled over his head. When their eyes met, he slid the hood back and Mathieu stared at him. His father had warned him about loving Win, about bringing someone like him—who knew nothing about who they truly were and next to nothing about their business—into their world. Mathieu had battled with his father to keep Win alive when the old man had wanted him dead. It was the first time he’d gone against his old man’s wishes.
Every moment since then only solidified his belief that he’d made the right choice.
Win might say differently, though.
