Page 26 of A Life Chosen

His second frowned. Mathias knew he shared his distaste for their hyperactive tagalong.

“Said he was getting food.”

Mathias clicked his tongue. So Junior thought he’d simply saunter off and keep them waiting? Their eyes met, and Mathias felt it again—the way things had shifted. His body was emboldened, wanting to take liberties against his better judgment—a step forward, the slip of a hand. He thought of Rayan pressed against the car. Despite all his theorizing, nothing had lessened in his want for the man.

Mathias turned toward the street, and Junior appeared, paper bag in hand, taking a bite out of a croissant as he walked. “Nice of you to join us,” he said coldly.

Junior shrugged. “I was hungry.”

“I don’t want that shit in my car,” Mathias snapped, pulling open the door and getting in.

Junior got into the back, cheeks distended as he chewed the remainder of the pastry he’d managed to shove in his mouth, the paper bag abandoned. Beside him, Rayan’s eyes flicked to the rearview, then he started the engine, and they pulled out.

“What’s the most fucked-up thing you guys have done?” Junior asked as they took the ramp toward Laval. “Hacked someone to pieces? Dissolved them in acid?”

He was grinning, leaning forward in his seat, as if this was some sort of schoolyard show-and-tell. Mathias’s eyebrow twitched. He didn’t know what was more stupid, asking the question or expecting an answer.

He turned to fix the kid with a hard stare. “Why—you wearing a wire?”

Junior blanched. “What? No!”

“Kind of question you’d ask if you were,” Mathias said, his voice low. “Are you a rat, Silvano?”

The kid shook his head adamantly.

“Here’s a free lesson: you want to get anywhere in this business, keep your fucking mouth shut.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. When they reached Industrial Boulevard, Rayan turned the car down a narrow delivery driveway that led to a series of enclosed lumber sheds belonging to La Fabrique Allwood,a local furniture manufacturer. The Russians had stores in various buildings in the area, and this was their preferred meeting place whenever money changed hands. It was a cut-and-dried operation. His arrangement with the Bratva went back years. Once a month, Belkov sent a couple of his lackeys to meet Mathias with a bag full of cash, and they parted ways without ceremony. Something low stakes, Tony had said. Well, this was as low as it got. Mathias sighed bitterly. Right now it was easier to appease the little shit than it was to create friction with his father.

“Stay in the car,” Mathias instructed Rayan, opening the door. “Junior, you’re with me.” He caught Rayan’s look but ignored it.

“Wait, you serious?” Junior said, getting out of the car. “About fucking time!”

The kid walked around to join him, his mouth pulled into a shit-eating grin.

“We’ll be in and out,” Mathias said to his second, who was watching them with barely concealed disapproval. He slammed the car door and began to walk toward the lumber shed, Junior at his heels.

“Do I get to meet Belkov? Heard he’s crazy as fuck,” Junior said as they reached the metal sliding doors. “Cuts off the fingers of his enemies and keeps them in a refrigerated box.”

Mathias grabbed the handle and pulled it open with a screech. “You’re here to carry the cash, not talk.”

Junior’s face darkened as he passed him and stepped into the warehouse. Belkov’s men were already there, one of them squatting while pulling leisurely on a smoke. He stood as they approached.

“Beauvais,” the Russian soldier said in a thick accent, giving Mathias a slow nod.

He nodded back. The soldier dropped a black duffel bag onto the concrete floor and slid it over in their direction. Mathias tilted his head at Junior, and the kid stepped forward to pick it up.

“Your boss keep his word?” Mathias asked.

“Twenty extra, as promised.”

“Good.”

Usually, he would have had Rayan count it, but he didn’t trust the kid not to mess up. Mathias doubted Belkov would shortchange him under the circumstances. He was about to tell Junior they were done when he saw the gleam of the kid’s gun in the corner of his eye.

The first Russian went down before Mathias fully realized what was happening. By the time he did, Junior had shot the other man and turned his piece on him.

“Always wanted to kill a Russian,” Junior said with a sneer.

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