Page 15 of A Life Chosen

“Problem solved,” Bastien said, stowing his weapon.

Rayan stared, the only sound his heart thundering in his ears. Forced to bear witness, he could not tear his eyes away. One final familial duty.

“Get rid of it,” Bastien instructed his men tersely. They picked up Tahir, his shirt already darkening, eyes open yet unseeing, and carried him to where the crane dock dropped into the river.

We belong to Allah, and to Him do we return.

The words came to his mind unbidden, like a lyric from a children’s song. It had been a lifetime since he’d last believed his mother’s stories of faith and repentance, read from the special book she’d carried with her from a mystical homeland. His hands began to shake, a tremor that rose from inside his body, pushing through to his fingertips. He saw his mother kneeling on the living room carpet, Tahir’s arms looped around her neck as she kissed him.

“It’s all here,” the man who’d counted the money announced, popping the trunk and moving to stash the bag.

“Who’s the kid?” The tall mafioso was looking at him, and their eyes met for an instant before Rayan dropped his gaze.

“Junkie’s brother,” Bastien said. “Want me to take care of him too?”

The man was quiet. Rayan felt his slate-gray eyes on him, the thread of his life casually placed in this stranger’s hand.

“One dead kid, cops look the other way,” he said finally. “Two’s bad for business.”

Bastien shrugged. “Your call, Mathias.”

“If you’re late again next month, a little extra won’t cut it.”

Bastian shrank, giving him a curt nod. Without another word, the dealer and his men got into their car and pulled out, Rayan already forgotten, left to his fate.

“Who’re you with?” the man called Mathias asked, addressing him in English.

Rayan searched for words but found his mind blank. Seeing Tahir dead on the ground had rendered him mute. He stared back, saying nothing.

“Don’t make me ask again.” Mathias reached into his jacket, and Rayan wondered how it would feel when the bullet pierced his skin, tearing through him, shredding his insides. But instead of a gun, he pulled out his cigarettes.

The fear parted for an instant, allowing Rayan to think. “No one.”

“Smart kid.” Mathias lit up and took a drag. “Smarter than your brother, at least. It’s not a good idea to steal from the family.”

Rayan remained silent, still convinced he would kill him.

“What did you see here today?” Mathias asked, giving him a pointed stare. This time, Rayan did not look away.

“Nothing,” he whispered. The thought of denying his brother’s existence while his body sank to the bottom of the Saint Lawrence was too much to bear. He felt a swell of tears and swallowed hard, refusing to let them come.

“Good.” Mathias exhaled a plume of smoke. He appeared to be considering something. Rayan did not know much about the family, only that if you traced any street activity far enough, it led to them.

“Roll up your sleeves.”

Rayan obliged, pulling his sweater up to his elbows to expose the unmarked insides of his arms. Users were unreliable. They had nothing to lose.

“Come with me.”

Rayan’s feet moved on their own. There was little choice in the matter—he couldn’t risk refusing a member of the family, someone with the power to make Jean Bastien flinch. He could take his chances and run, like his brother. But to where? He had nothing—and no one—to go back to.

“You Quebecois?” Mathias asked as they walked around the black Mercedes to where his partner waited, a frown on his face.

“Oui.”

“I’m tired of speaking English,” Mathias said in French. He gestured toward the car. “Get in.” Then he turned to his subordinate. “Drop him off at Guillet’s.”

“Boss?” the shorter man asked, eyeing Rayan suspiciously.

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