A Life Chosen (Montreal #1)

Chapter Twenty-One

A fter they’d finished for the day, Lorenzo headed home while Rayan stayed behind to talk to Tony about a contract he was reworking. He was sitting in his boss’s office, going over the daily takings, when the door opened, and Mathias walked in. Rayan blinked, surprised. He hadn’t known he was up from Hamilton.

“Beauvais,” Tony grunted. “What is it now, I wonder?”

“Giraldi.” Mathias mirrored him, reverting to their usual back-and-forth. His gaze flicked to Rayan. “You can go.”

Rayan frowned, holding his tongue. Standing, he picked up his paperwork then left the room, closing the door behind him. He considered waiting in the hallway for the men to finish—he still had things to discuss with the Collections head, after all—but decided against it. The last thing he wanted was to be seen as overeager.

Rayan sat down at an empty desk in the deserted office and thumbed through the pages of the contract he was too distracted to read. He’d been hoping to tweak the terms for incumbent councilor Pierre Larrivée, who’d used family money to pad his campaign budget and—now that the election was won—seemed less willing to pay it back. Rayan needed sign off to fast-track a second visit.

He heard the door to Tony’s office open and watched as Mathias strode past him toward the stairwell without so much as a glance. Not thinking, Rayan stood and went after him. At the bottom of the stairs, he caught the door before it shut and stepped out into the crisp night air. In his rush, he’d left his jacket inside.

“When did you get here?”

Mathias stopped and turned to Rayan with a scowl. “What’s it to you?”

The man continued to his car. He pulled open the door and slid in behind the wheel. Emboldened, Rayan followed, climbing in on the passenger side.

“This is getting old,” Mathias warned quietly .

Rayan stopped himself from reaching between them to touch Mathias’s face. “What was that with Tony?”

“Russian port fees.”

“You came all the way for that?”

Mathias’s eyes narrowed. “Focus on your own turf.”

Rayan looked at him, the resentment churning in his stomach. “For every time you tell me you’re here, there’s two other times you don’t.”

Mathias stared him down. “You’re not my second anymore, Rayan. I don’t need to tell you shit.”

Rayan yanked open the car door and slammed it behind him. He stalked back to the office. When he got inside he threw on his jacket, leaving the contract abandoned on the desk. He didn’t care if Tony was expecting him—he would sort it out the next day. He descended the stairs and strode into the parking lot, reaching into his pocket for his keys. Mathias’s black Bentley pulled out in front of him, blocking his path.

“Get in,” his former capo instructed from the open window.

Rayan pretended to consider, holding himself back for one breath in a feeble attempt at control. But he’d known. As soon as he’d seen the car, he’d known what he would do.

They’d gone from explosive, indiscriminate urge—a race to have their most base needs met, skipping everything else that might get in the way—to more hands, more mouths, a want to savor and make it last longer. Rayan didn’t know when the shift had occurred—neither of them had acknowledged it—only that it meant he got more of Mathias, greater reign over his body.

And still, Rayan was held captive by the unpredictable nature of Mathias’s presence in the city. He would go weeks without seeing him, sometimes months, only to be startled by the sound of the man’s key in the lock or to wake to find Mathias asleep beside him. Needless to say, when they did finally find themselves together, he lost all sense of control.

Back at his apartment, Rayan moved his mouth along Mathias’s cock, the desire ensnaring him, dulling his thoughts, straining between his legs. He felt a hand slip beneath his chin, lifting his head. Mathias pushed him backward onto the bed, kissing him hungrily. Rayan buried his fingers in Mathias’s hair, relishing the taste of his tongue in his mouth .

Propelled by a growing sense of urgency, he rolled Mathias over, straddling his hips. One hand traveled the length of the man’s cock, the other stretching, opening himself. Mathias lurched in his grip, and Rayan saw he was watching him closely, eyes clouded with lust. Fighting the heat rising along his neck, Rayan took him in, concealing a groan as he was filled, his body brimming with pleasure. This was what it yearned for in the time that lagged between seeing him.

On top, he was in control of the pace and the angle, but Rayan found himself unable to surrender. The frustration must have registered on his face, as Mathias flipped him onto his back, driving him into the mattress.

“Ask for it,” Mathias demanded. “Tell me what you want.”

Rayan’s pulse hammered.

“I want you to…” Mathias prompted, grinding into him, a moan escaping through his teeth.

Rayan flushed violently, looking away, distancing himself from his own shamelessness. “Fuck me,” he whispered. “Hard.”

Mathias’s lips curled. “That wasn’t so difficult.” Then he proceeded to give Rayan exactly what he wanted.

“He pissed himself?” Mathias snickered, pouring more scotch into his glass.

He sat at Rayan’s kitchen table in only his slacks, his shirt on the floor by the bed. Propping his legs up on the chair beside him, he looked utterly in control. The beast had been tamed—for the moment.

“First time Renault’s given us trouble,” Rayan said, recalling the terror on the construction magnate’s face. “Maybe he thought we’d go easy on him.”

The microwave dinged, and he pulled out a plate of leftovers, the sweetness of shredded lamb wafting through the small apartment.

“Why you insist on making this place smell like a roadside stall is beyond me,” Mathias said as Rayan sat across from him, setting the food down on the table.

“There’s only so much French peasant food I can take,” Rayan said, picking up his fork. It was almost nine, and he hadn’t eaten since lunch, other things naturally taking precedence.

Mathias reached over and picked up a chunk of meat with his fingers. He chewed slowly, looking not unimpressed. “Things are going well, then?”

Rayan shrugged. “Is that hard to believe?”

“Working with Lorenzo? Yes. ”

“I wouldn’t say he works. More shows up. Grudgingly.”

“Look at you,” Mathias scoffed. “A natural leader.”

The derision was clear, but Rayan let it slide. The sentiment was one he shared. He hadn’t asked for the responsibility. “How’s Hamilton?” he asked, regretting the question immediately.

Mathias frowned and took a long swig from his glass. When he put it down, his face was stony. “Fine.”

“I’ve heard rumors about your work with the Reapers. Apparently, De Luca’s never seen so much blow come through the port.”

“Just rumors.”

“Liar.” Rayan took a bite of lamb. He wanted to say something but, at the same time, knew what a minefield the subject was. “Jacques still around?” Rayan had met him once at a meeting with Tony that Mathias had driven up to attend. He’d found the man simple, not qualified to protect his former boss.

Mathias stared at him. “Are you fishing, Rayan?”

“He seems slow, unreliable,” Rayan said, scooping up a forkful of rice and shoveling it into his mouth.

Mathias rolled his wrist to reveal the faded scar along his forearm. “Happened on your watch if I remember correctly.”

Rayan bristled. “Only because you were drunk.”

Mathias smirked. “He knows his place. More complacent, less complicated.” He gave a low chuckle and reached over to thumb Rayan’s swollen lip. He had bruised it with his teeth. “Not what you were after?”

Rayan pushed his plate away, no longer hungry. He felt a familiar prickle of defensiveness. “Just asked if you were working with the man.”

Mathias picked up his abandoned fork, stabbed it through a piece of meat, and brought it to his mouth. “If I were you, I’d be more concerned with who’s watching your back. Lorenzo isn’t exactly quick on his feet.”

“He doesn’t have to be,” Rayan retorted. “Worst I’ve got coming after me is a shady politician. You, on the other hand…” They both knew Mathias had accumulated powerful enemies before his expulsion from the city.

Mathias studied him, swallowing. “For looking like it was run over by a truck, this isn’t half bad.”

“Why’d you need to see Tony?” Rayan pressed.

Mathias sighed. “I’ve been covering Belkov’s port fees in exchange for his cooperation,” he said, guarded. “We’ll need the Russians when the time comes. ”

Rayan knew little of what Mathias had spent the last few months machinating. He’d deliberately kept him in the dark. But he did know, from the snatches of information he’d managed to assemble, that it involved Belkov, the boss’s dwindling health, and a growing alliance with the head of the Hamilton Red Reapers. How each of those pieces fit together, he still wasn’t sure.

“You could have told me.”

Mathias gave him a sharp look. “Why? I don’t need you to sort out my business.”

Rayan exhaled, rubbing a hand across his face. The man was right. And what was worse, it only served to illuminate how little he’d needed to be involved. As Mathias had said, he wasn’t his second anymore. Rayan no longer had a reason to be kept informed of his former capo’s activities.

“Tell me when you’re in town,” he said, relenting. “I don’t need to know why.”

Mathias speared another chunk of lamb. “No promises.”

It was dark, and Rayan’s body was folded into his mother’s embrace. He was small again, fitting against her softness, drawing her scent into his lungs—cinnamon and anise. She was saying something quietly, her lips moving in his hair. He smiled and pulled away, staring up at her as he had done as a child.

She ran her hand across his forehead, smoothing his hair. “Where is he?”

Rayan looked at her, confused. “Who, Mama?”

His mother’s smile faded, and fear began to gather in her eyes. “Tahir. Where is he?”

Rayan took a step back, then another. His vision narrowed, and with each step, he felt himself growing taller until he towered over the small woman. Rayan looked down and saw he was dressed in his suit. His hands were sticky, and when he opened his fists, they were covered with blood.

“Where is he?” His mother’s voice had taken on a shrill pitch, and she was fumbling with her headscarf, pulling it off to reveal her long black hair. She snapped her gaze up to meet his. “Who are you?” she cried, digging her fingers into her hair and beginning to tug. “Where is my son?”

“It’s me, Mama.”

Her voice spiraled into a mournful howl, her hands latching onto chunks of hair and tearing them from her head. “Where are my sons? What have you done with my sons? ”

A child once again, Rayan stood outside the bathroom door of their old apartment—the door, always the door. His brother’s desire to protect him had instead cursed him to return to this moment, reliving his own gruesome reimagining over and over again. He no longer knew which was worse—what his brother had seen or what the dreams had conjured. He reached out, against his will, and gripped the cold metal handle, every cell of his body trembling at the thought of what he would find when the door opened.

“Rayan.”

There was a hand on his shoulder, jolting him awake. He lurched to the edge of the mattress, away from the man, his chest heaving. Rayan swiped the back of his hand roughly across his face, feeling a wetness on his cheeks.

Mathias was sitting up, eyebrows knitted. “You were talking.”

Rayan realized how thoroughly he’d exposed himself. He’d been a fool to think the dreams wouldn’t find him while Mathias was here. He cursed the boy he’d seen by the metro, unleashing thoughts of his brother, exhuming the dead.

Rayan turned to get out of bed. A hand gripped his arm. He yanked it out of reach, standing.

“Sit down, Rayan.”

He began to dress silently, forcing his hands to remain still.

“I said, sit.” Mathias’s voice—flat, hard—cut through everything else.

He stopped, lowering himself to the bed, his back to Mathias. There was a creak as Mathias moved behind him, arms encircling his shoulders, pressing Rayan to his chest.

“Breathe for a second, would you?”

He could feel the slow thump of Mathias’s heartbeat along his spine and the steady rise and fall of his lungs. Rayan tried to match his breathing, but his pulse slammed in his throat, refusing to cooperate.

Mathias rested a chin on his shoulder, speaking in a low murmur by his ear. “Fibonacci. Each number the sum of the two before.” He eased him back into bed, the numbers falling from his lips like a spell. “Three… five, eight, thirteen…”

Arms wrapped around him, Mathias held him as Rayan’s mind began to still, his breath finally leveling. He closed his eyes and focused only on that voice.