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They metin an abandoned parking lot just as night fell. It was the last place Mathieu wanted to be, especially if he couldn’t do what he wanted, which was to shoot Jairo in his pretty face.
But Win stood at his side, all silent and trusting, gaze as alert as Mathieu’s, so Mathieu swallowed down his hatred for Jairo. Hands folded behind his back, he didn’t refrain from rolling his eyes as Jairo and his single bodyguard rolled up on their loud-as-hell Harleys.
A few paces behind Mathieu and Win, Jason stood at their backs, their only backup.
Next to him, Win tensed and Mathieu shifted closer to him. Jairo parked and got off his bike, leaving his bodyguard to wait as he approached. Now, Mathieu found himself tensing. He wasn’t afraid of Jairo, but things were different with Win standing next to him. His brain pulled up the vision of Win unconscious and bleeding from Jairo’s bullet and he hissed out a breath, knuckles aching when he fisted his hands.
He could do it right now. End Jairo’s pathetic fucking life. He could do it if he allowed the anger he’d been carrying around for his enemy to escape its straining confines. He could end it all with a fucking twitch of a finger. But then he’d have to deal with Win, and after all Mathieu had done, all he’d put Win through, he couldn’t see himself betraying Win’s trust. Not happening.
Mathieu eyed Jairo as he closed the distance. There was something different about him. Not his appearance, though his face showcased cuts and bruises, likely from the explosion, and he looked ridiculous as always, wearing those black gloves. When he pulled off his helmet, his long, thick hair hung loosely around his shoulders. He wore his cut—a denim jacket with cut-off sleeves, covered in patches and logos—over a black t-shirt, paired with jeans frayed at the knees and dusty boots.
It was the way he walked. Mathieu narrowed his eyes. It was barely noticeable, but the hitch in Jairo’s gait was there if one stared long enough. He favored the right side more than the left. Probably as a result of the blast that almost killed them.
Jairo broke the silence, addressing Win when he finally stood in front of them. “I see you’ve chosen a side.” The words were without the scorn and bitterness that flared in his eyes then quickly disappeared when he faced Win.
“Don’t speak to him,” Mathieu barked. “You do that shit again and I’m laying you the fuck out.”
Jairo took his time bringing his attention from Win to Mathieu, but when he did it was all hatred in those eyes. Exactly what Matthieu liked to see.
“The only reason you’re not dead and buried is because of Win,” he told Jairo. “You may thank him for your fucking life.”
“Mathieu.” Win touched his arm. “Let’s remain focused.”
Mathieu took a deep breath, allowing Win’s calm words and demeanor, along with his soothing touch, to center him. “You called this meeting. What do you want?” he asked Jairo.
“I want to talk to him.” Jairo gestured to Win, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “In private.”
Mathieu barked a laugh. “Not only are you out of your fucking mind, but you’re a comedian. Okay then.”
“Win and I have things to discuss and—”
“Yeah, you do, but you’ll do it right here. Right now. Fuck that‘in private’bullshit.” Mathieu took a step forward. “You think I’m gonna leave him alone with you after you shot him?” Just mentioning it had his blood pressure rising. He stared Jairo down.
“Mathieu, I can speak for myself.” Win cleared his throat. “Jairo, we need to end this marriage. I’d like to do it as soon as possible.”
An emotion crossed Jairo’s face. Surprise maybe? As if he hadn’t quite expected Win to speak those words. As if it hurt to hear them. But wasn’t that what Jairo came to discuss? Why was he surprised Win wanted to end whatever the hell they called theirarrangement?
Disappointment darkened Jairo’s eyes when he told Win, “I thought you were somebody worth trusting.”
At Mathieu’s side, Win dipped his head. A show of shame. “I know.”
“No.” Mathieu palmed the back of Win’s head, tilting it back up. “Don’t youeverin your motherfucking life bow your head to him,” he whispered fiercely in Win’s ear before glaring at Jairo. “He did what he had to do to protect himself, just as you did with that pathetic arrangement.”
Everything around Jairo stilled, and in that stillness Mathieu recognized panic. Hell, he could damn near taste it. He flashed Jairo a mirthless grin. “Your secrets are safe. For now.”
Jairo’s eyes flashed.
“Mathieu,” Win murmured a warning, but Mathieu ignored it.
“Even after you put a bullet in him—just like the coward I’ve always known you to be—Win is still protecting you. Yet you have the balls to stand there and judge him.” It couldn’t be overstated just how much Mathieu wished he could renege on the promises he’d made to Win, just for this one moment, and ram his fists into Jairo’s face over and over until Mathieu was soaked and dripping in his blood.
Only Jairo Beltran could make him this bloodthirsty. And only Mathieu’s love for Win kept him from acting on the violence racing through his veins.
“I treated him the way I treat all of my enemies,” Jairo said, tone glib. “In fact, he was lucky.” He didn’t look at Win and Win didn’t speak—probably still feeling that misplaced guilt for keeping shit from Jairo in the first place—which was for the best because if Jairo kept looking at Win, Mathieu would have to take his eyes.
He salivated at the thought.
The bastard didn’t need his eyes to live, so Mathieu wouldn’t be breaking any of the promises he’d made to Win. “We’re wasting time,” he growled. “You called us here for a reason. Tell us or don’t. Either way, we’re out in the next two minutes.” He wanted to be back in his house, where he and Win could continue their conversation before he took Win to his bed and fucked him the way they both wanted. If he couldn’t kill Jairo, Mathieu wasn’t about to let the other man take up any more of his time.
