A Life Chosen (Montreal #1)

Chapter Twenty-Four

M athias lowered the phone from his ear, Giovanni’s eyes on him. First Tony, now Rayan—they weren’t picking up. Sitting around the meeting table at the safe house on Maisonneuve, the Quintino were assembled, waiting silently.

Something was wrong. Biding their time, they’d waited too long. Standing, Mathias grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, Giovanni following suit.

“Stay here,” Mathias warned.

“The fuck with that,” the councilman growled. “I’ve known Tony since you were in diapers.”

“And if you’re next?” Mathias hissed. “The family will be torn to pieces without a head. All of this—for nothing. Stay here.”

Giovanni scowled, clearly conflicted. But they both knew the stakes. He turned to his second. “Henri, go with him.”

Mathias descended the stairs quickly, passing the men Giovanni had stationed by the front door. He strode out to the car, Jacques and Henri one step behind. “Start at the Collections office,” he said, slamming the passenger door closed while Jacques started the engine.

As they drove, he tried Rayan again, a knot forming in his chest. He felt the panic encroaching and knew he needed to disassociate, keeping his head clear to tackle what would come next. Yet all he could think about was his apartment a month before, with Rayan lying beside him in the dark, his face so close Mathias could see the sliver of light from the window reflected in his eyes.

“What would you be if you’d never joined?” Rayan had asked, his voice a low murmur as though not expecting a reply.

“That’s a stupid question.”

“Is it?”

“And you?” Mathias countered. “ Don’t say ‘pilot.’”

“Would I still have met you?”

“It’s your fucking construct.”

There’d been the pull of a smile at Rayan’s lips, and he’d said nothing further.

Mathias should have gotten Rayan out when he had the chance, but he’d been greedy—had wanted him too much.

Jacques turned into the parking lot behind the office, and Mathias saw the body, face down, unmoving. His blood froze. He reached for his gun, opening the door before his second could stop the car.

“Boss, you can’t go out there!” Jacques cried, but Mathias was already sprinting to the figure and crouching to find a pulse.

“Christ, Tony,” he whispered, taking in the man’s familiar features, the skin already cold.

He heard the shuffle of footsteps as Jacques and Henri approached, weapons in hand, glancing around nervously. Mathias stood, heart pounding in his throat, unable to register the slug of grief as his eyes scanned the lot for Rayan.

“Henri, stay with Tony. Call for backup,” he ordered. “Jacques, with me.”

Did Rayan leave to get help? No. Mathias had seen the Mercedes when they’d pulled in.

Gun drawn, he began to walk toward the car. There, barely visible in the shadows, was a shoe. Mathias raised a hand, signaling to Jacques before rounding the car.

The shoe belonged to a man on his back, eyes still open, a series of holes through his chest. Mathias’s gaze fell on another figure, who was slumped against the car. Rayan’s eyes were closed, white shirt blackened with blood. Mathias’s breathing slowed, and he lurched forward. Dropping to his knees, he put a hand to Rayan’s neck and felt a pulse. Mathias yanked off his jacket and pressed it against the wound on the man’s shoulder. Jacques appeared beside him, helping to pull Rayan up, and together, they carried him back to the car. Henri was kneeling beside Tony, speaking quietly into his phone. He glanced up, taking in Rayan’s limp body, and gave a brief nod.

Mathias didn’t respond, his mind narrowing to a single focus. He hauled Rayan into the back seat with him while Jacques got behind the wheel.

“Drive,” he snarled.

The warmth soaked through his shirt, sticking to the skin. Rayan’s head rested against his shoulder as Mathias gripped the jacket, keeping pressure on the wound.

“Hold on.” He pulled out his phone with one hand and dialed Martin’s number. “The apartment on René-Lévesque,” Mathias instructed his second. It was the only place he could think of. He knew Martin had a clinic somewhere in Brossard, but it was too far. “Faster!” he barked.

Mathias felt the ring of the phone in his chest. He was unable to tear his eyes from Rayan, who looked paler by the second. Pick up, pick up, you fucker.

Finally, the doctor answered. “Is he conscious?” Martin asked after Mathias had briefed him on Rayan’s condition.

“No.”

“How long has he been out?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you get him to wake up, even for a minute? It will give us an idea of how much blood he’s lost.”

“Rayan,” Mathias snapped, jostling him. “Get up.”

He didn’t move. Mathias felt his palm grow damp as more blood soaked through the jacket. His chest tightened in panic. They might not make it to the apartment.

“God dammit, Rayan!” he growled. Pressing the phone between his ear and shoulder, Mathias raised his hand and struck the man hard on the cheek. Rayan’s eyes rolled open, and he lurched in pain, his body stiffening.

“He’s conscious,” Mathias reported into the phone, hiding the relief in his voice.

“Try and keep him awake. I’m leaving now—will be there shortly.”

Rayan was writhing in his grip, teeth grinding in agony. His eyes kept losing focus, his breathing so irregular it was almost as if he wasn’t breathing at all.

“Hang on. Do you hear me?” Mathias demanded. His voice seemed to make it through the clamor.

Rayan stilled, pulling himself back. “Tony’s hit,” he choked out, barely audible.

“I know,” Mathias said quietly. He had yet to fully register that fact. That was something for another time.

“Mathias,” Rayan murmured.

“Focus. Stay awake.” Mathias’s voice was urgent, constricting with fear. He’d never been so powerless, standing on the precipice, about to lose everything.

“I…” Rayan started, eyes fixing on his face before rolling back.

Mathias heard the blood rush in his ears. This couldn’t be it. He wouldn’t accept it. Through the window, he saw the lights of the bank across the street from his building.

“Pull into the underground lot. Park by the elevator,” he told Jacques. He would not let Rayan die.

They brought him into the apartment and laid him down on the kitchen table. Minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door, and Jacques let the doctor in, an assistant trailing behind with a large case of equipment. Martin pulled on his gloves. The woman set up a standing lamp as the doctor removed Mathias’s sodden jacket from the wound and cut away Rayan’s shirt.

“Hold him down,” Martin instructed.

“Give him something for the pain,” Mathias growled as he reached across Rayan’s chest and pinned the man’s arms to his sides to stop him from moving. Jacques appeared at the end of the table, taking hold of his legs.

The doctor shook his head. “No time to take effect.” He placed a silver tray down on the table and retrieved a scalpel and a set of narrow forceps from his carrying case. “I need to get in now, assess internal damage.”

From the lamp, the woman hung a bag of blood attached to an IV. She took the needle and inserted it into Rayan’s wrist as the doctor bent over, easing the forceps into the hole in the man’s shoulder.

Rayan tensed beneath him, an animal cry tearing from his throat. Mathias held him down, teeth clenching. The doctor’s forehead creased in concentration as he pressed deeper into the wound. Rayan’s eyes opened, staring blindly at Mathias, his face twisting in anguish.

He could say nothing. There was nothing to say. Mathias could only look back at him, knowing it wasn’t enough. There was a clink of metal as the doctor dropped the bullet into the tray. Glancing down, he saw that Rayan had slipped away again, his body going slack in his grip.

“It’s surprisingly clean. Missed the bone, so there’s minimal fragmentation,” Martin murmured. “But we need to get this bleeding under control.” His assistant passed him a handful of gauze pads, and he began to pack the wound.

Only then did the woman take a sack of morphine and hook it up to the IV. Mathias felt the relief as if it were his own, realizing how afraid he was of the man’s eyes opening once again, revealing the pain within. The doctor dismissed him and Jacques as he and his assistant worked to clean and bandage Rayan’s shoulder.

Mathias stepped back, hands curling into fists to still the shake. His phone began to ring in his pocket. He knew who it was. He knew on the other end of the line was a looming crisis that needed his attention. The board had been hurled to the floor, the pieces sent flying. But he could think of only one. His shirt stuck to his chest with a growing coldness.

Martin turned to him, his expression grim. “He’s stable for now.”

Mathias pocketed his phone after listening to Giovanni’s message. Once the doctor had finished dressing the wound, they’d moved Rayan to the empty bedroom in the apartment. Mathias stood in the living room as if stuck between two realities. He needed to go. He couldn’t allow it all to fall apart now—not after everything that had happened. At the same time, the thought of leaving Rayan bleeding and unconscious, his fate unknown, was as impossible a task as doing nothing.

Martin appeared in the doorway, shrugging on his coat. “He’s sedated. The bleeding has slowed, but Camille will continue administering transfusions. He lost a lot of blood. She’ll call me if there’re any concerns.”

“You’re staying.” It was a command, one he expected the doctor to follow.

Martin sighed and clasped his hands, carefully choosing his next words. “Mr. Beauvais, I’m afraid I can’t stay longer than I have. The man is stable. Camille will remain with him overnight to monitor his vitals and administer pain medication, but there’s not much more I can do. As I said, call me with any concerns, and I’ll—”

Mathias grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “And if he dies?”

“That’s always a possibility, Mr. Beauvais,” Martin said slowly. “But short of admitting him to the hospital, I think you should take your chances with him here.”

Mathias released the man, the strength sapped from him.

The doctor straightened his coat and gave Mathias a quick nod. “Call me if anything changes.” He stepped into the hall, letting himself out.

Standing outside the door to the spare room, Mathias cracked it open to reveal Rayan lying motionless in the dim light, a thick swath of white wrapped across his chest and around his shoulder. The doctor’s assistant glanced up, but Mathias said nothing, simply closing the door. His phone began to ring again, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer. Mathias no longer trusted himself on the phone. He needed to see Giovanni in person.

He’d completely forgotten about Jacques until the man stepped out from the kitchen as Mathias made his way back down the hallway. “He’s gonna pull through?”

Mathias found his presence an imposition, and the question even more so. He nodded curtly.

His second appeared momentarily relieved. “What should I—”

“Stay here,” Mathias instructed, moving to the front door. “Wait for me to come back. Don’t let anyone in.” He reached for his jacket, but it wasn’t on the coat hook. It lay instead in a bloody clump on the kitchen floor.

“Boss,” Jacques said. “Your shirt.”

Mathias looked down at his shirt as if seeing it for the first time. He placed a palm on the wall to steady himself, suddenly overcome. He grasped for anger, only to discover it missing. Instead, he found a jarring blankness. If he was to be the leader they were expecting, Mathias couldn’t arrive in this state—fear lingering on his face and his greatest weakness painted in blood across his chest. Wordlessly, he walked past his second to the bedroom to change.