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Win didn’t know what to say to that so he kept his mouth shut, gaze flicking between Jairo and Mathieu in the wrecked SUV with the dead driver less than a hundred feet away.
“You never asked why I was set on fire when I was thirteen.”
Again, another swift change of subject that sent Win reeling. He gaped up at Jairo.
“I killed my brother.” Jairo’s teeth appeared, stark white against his tanned skin. “I would wake up and kill that motherfucker every single day for the rest of my life if needed, because as it turns out, that bastard may not be dead after all.”
Win just stared at him. What— He didn’t know what to say, where to begin.
“I’m telling you all this to say, Mathieu Pascal is the least of my concerns, and always has been.”
Win frowned. “Then why set his house on fire? Why ambush us? Why—”
“I didnotset his place on fire,” Jairo growled. “And this ambush? It’s the only language Mathieu is speaking right now. I needed him to fuckinglisten.”
Win shook his head. “I don’t understand.” But maybe he was starting to?
“Think. With everything you know about me, what about anything that’s been happening lately says I’m responsible?” When Win didn’t respond, Jairo sighed. “There are other forces at play here. I don’t know who or what yet, but I will find them.” He jerked his head up, shifty eyes searching the area. “I need you to hear me. You’re the only one who can make Pascal see.”
“His father was killed, Jairo. A plot you were a part of,” Win hissed. “His home has been set on fire and he’s lost countless men. What do you think I can make him see?”
Face impassive, Jairo said, “You can make him see that he and I are pawns.” He glanced over to one of the armed men at his side and nodded once then stepped back. “Talk to Pascal. Then contact me with this number.” He shoved a piece of paper into Win’s hand. “Maybe we can put aside our differences long enough to unmask whoever is out there, moving pieces around on their chessboard like a grand fucking master. Dunno about you two, but that shit is unacceptable to me.”
He left Win standing there, jaw unhinged, loosely holding on to the piece of paper in his grasp, and climbed into his SUV. The engine started and Jairo whistled. Win spun around as the men who’d been holding Mathieu at bay released him and ran toward their boss, jumping into the vehicle as it took off.
Win raced over to Mathieu. “Mathieu.”
“Win, fuck. Are you okay?” They’d handcuffed Mathieu’s hands to the handlebar above the back driver’s side door. “I’ll kill that motherfucker. Swear to God. He’s dead—”
A loud boom drowned out Mathieu’s words, rocking the already smashed SUV and sending Win crashing into Mathieu.
“What the hell was that?” Win steadied himself and craned his neck in the direction of the sound. His mouth opened and a low sound escaped.
“Win?”
Jairo’s SUV was stopped in the middle of the road a short distance away.
What was left of the SUV, anyway.
Because it had exploded. No roof, no tires.
And completely engulfed in the angry orange-red flames shooting out of its blown-out windows.
39
The loud boomof a car exploding echoed in Win’s ears. The sound played over and over, like a record scratching. Almost a month since Jairo’s vehicle went up in flames with him and his men in it, and Win still had nightmares about it.
He opened his eyes and stole a quick glance at his phone on the nightstand, checking the time—4:19 a.m.Shit.Win rolled over in the bed, careful to not jostle a still-sleeping Mathieu, and got up, padding to the bathroom in the dark on quiet feet. Closing the door behind him, he turned on the light and went to the sink, splashing cold water on his face.
Sometimes when he inhaled, he got a nostril full of acrid smoke, and the gag-inducing stench of flesh burning. His eyes watered and he shook his head with a swallow, trying to knock the memory loose.
It was all so surreal. Nothing made sense.
Jairo was gone.
In the aftermath, after he’d had to pick the handcuff locks to free Mathieu—something he’d learned back when he’d been involved in sex work—Win hadn’t hesitated to tell Mathieu everything Jairo had shared with him. His lover could be stubborn sometimes, but even Mathieu couldn’t deny that there was at least one person out there who’d been pulling the strings.
Whoever killed Jairo.
