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“Yes, and while you’re hunting me—a futile act, might I add—Jairo Beltran has set your home on fire.” The call ended with a click.
Win stared at Mathieu, wide-eyed. “What did he— Did he say Jairo set the house on fire?”
Mathieu’s phone went off before he could speak. This time Win saw it was Jason calling. “Jason, what—”
“He’s burning us out.”
Win’s heart dropped into his boots.
“Jairo ambushed us.” For his part, Jason didn’t sound panicked. “Motherfucker set the building on fire and we’re trapped inside.”
Oh my god.
“Use the tunnel in my office!” Mathieu yelled as he and Win raced back to the SUV. “Use the tunnel!”
“Boss.” Jason coughed, voice strained. “The fire started in your office. He knew— He knew about the tun—” The call dropped.
“Jason?” Mathieu shouted. “Jason?”
Jesus. Christ.
38
“Get them the fuck outta there!”Mathieu yelled into the phone.
Win had never seen the other man like that, completely unhinged, not bothering to hide his concern for his people. They were still twenty minutes away from the house and their driver was running all the red lights. Win was afraid to ask what was happening, but he gleaned enough.
Mathieu was calling in all kinds of favors to get Jason and the rest of whoever was in the burning house out safely.
How could Jairo have done this?
Win couldn’t wrap his mind around it, couldn’t reconcile the man he knew with—
But that didn’t make sense because he knew the kind of man Jairo was. He held on to Jairo’s secrets even as Jairo did his best to burn Mathieu and everything he cared about from existence.
“He’s mine!” Mathieu barked into the phone. “When you find that coward, I don’t want a hair touched on his head. He’s mine.” He tossed the phone onto the seat next to Win, jaw flexing.
Win touched his shoulder and found the muscle taut and unforgiving. “Talk to me,” he said softly. “Jason—”
“So far the body count is at five.”
Win sucked in a breath.
“Jason got out. Samirah is helping who she can.” Fists bunched, Mathieu shook his head. “The house is— It’s looking like it’s gonna be gone.”
Fuck.
Mathieu pounded on the roof of the SUV. “Hurry the fuck up,” he snarled at their driver, then turned to Win. “I want to know everything you know about Jairo. Every-fucking-thing, Win.”
Swallowing, Win folded his hands in his lap. “His name isn’t Jairo Beltran.”
Mathieu’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“He never shared his real name, but he did tell me what it isn’t. Jairo isn’t his real name.” He couldn’t help the way his words trembled as he recalled the shit Jairo had shared with him, back when they’d each thought the other trustworthy. Now, he was breaking that trust, but it should have been done a long time ago. His loyalty was with Mathieu. To Mathieu. “He was set on fire when he was thirteen years old.” He’d shed tears when he’d heard that fucked-up story and Jairo had held him, had wiped away Win’s tears with a gloved thumb, and told Win not to cry for him, that he wasn’t worth his tears.
It didn’t matter who Jairo was or wasn’tnow. Win couldn’t help but feel for the boy he’d beenthen.
“His hands are scarred, from fingertips to wrist. That’s the reason he’s always wearing gloves. His back too, but it’s covered with tattoos. He was born in Canada. Vancouver. And he’s only in contact with one person from his old life, but I don’t know who that person is,” Win amended quickly. “Not even sure about their gender.”
