“The address?”
I give him Laurette’s street number and name. “Be clean. No traces.”
“Is there any other way? Have I ever let you down?”
“Never.”
“Damn right and I won’t this time either.”
The line goes quiet for a second. Then, softer. “Everything okay, B?”
I pause. “Yeah. All good.”
There’s a rustle. A grunt. The unmistakable slap of skin on skin.
I pull the phone away, stare at it, then bring it back to my ear. “Are you fucking while you’re talking to me?”
A low, breathless laugh. Another slap. “Multitasking, my guy.”
A moan filters through the line. Definitely not his.
“Jesus Christ.”
His voice comes out rough, distracted, broken by a sharp exhale. “I’ll work on it… swing by tomorrow… or the next day… get you access.”
“Finish your business first.”
“Intend to.”
“Thanks, Matt. Appreciate it.”
“You owe me,” he says. “Again… and I’m thinking… this one’s gonna… cost you big.”
“Sure, whatever you want, bro.”
There’s a pause. Then a grunt. “You serious… might ask… for a Porsche… Ugh.”
“I can’t do any of this without you. So yeah, I’m serious. The Porsche is yours if you want it.”
Matt laughs. “Fine. I forgive you… for fucking up… my night.”
There’s another muffled sound through the phone. Not an apology or a concession. It’s the kind of sound a man makes when he’s right there, strung out on the edge of coming.
I could’ve lived my whole life without hearing that noise from my brother.
I clench my jaw. “From the way you’re grunting, I don’t think I fucked up anything.”
Matt doesn’t deny it. He just chuckles.
“Sick fuck.” I hang up.
I sit in the dark, the engine’s low hum vibrating beneath me. The weight of what I just did sinks deep, cold and wrong. Matthieu thinks this is a job. Another target. Another monster to erase.
But this isn’t about justice.
This is something else.
Obsession.
