All We Ever Needed

by D. A. Young

  “You dare threaten me?!” This time, Ivar’s words were a venomous whisper.

  “Oh, Elin…” Madeline clasped her hands over her mouth in dismay. “Have you gone completely insane?!”

  “I’m pregnant!”

  You could hear a pin drop as her family looked at her with reactions ranging from sheer loathing to absolute horror and pity.

  “Right now, I’m only thinking of my unborn child and husband who knew nothing of my circumstances, Mother! My loyalties now lie with them.”

  “A baby!” A relieved Madeline rushed forward to free her daughter. She cared naught for Ivar’s restless prowling behind her. “You should have said that to begin with, you foolish girl!”

  “I had to see Rudii first!”

  “Yes, of course, I understand that, Elin. Ivar, this changes everything! We’re going to have another grandchild! I’m going to have the maid prepare a bath and meal for you and your husband. Ivar, did you hear me? Get the men to assist him upstairs!”

  Madeline exited the room, and Elin stared at her father. She knew they were unfinished business, but all she wanted to do was get Rudii upstairs and tended to.

  “I’m sorry, Far. I know I sound like a broken record. I never meant to hurt my family. I just wanted my own life to live.”

  Ivar remained mute.

  Rudii groaned, “Elin! Talk to me!”

  Elin spun around, missing her father reaching for the Mammen axe hanging on the wall behind his desk. The entire blade was decorated in intricate Celtic patterns with inlays of real silver and gold as was the wooden handle, blending art and war perfectly. It dated back to the year 971 A.D. Ivar had won it in an auction at Sotheby’s and considered it to be one of his most prized possessions. He was obsessed with it, to the point that his manservant polished it bi-weekly. Ivar lifted it now and approached Elin from behind as she hurried to her husband. Underneath the chandelier lights, the patterned steel glinted sinisterly.

  Suddenly, Elin was overcome by a fiery, aching burst that felled her, landing her next to Rudii. Gritting her teeth against the blistering throb, Elin rolled to her back and stared up at her father in confusion. Rudii’s shouting faded into the background as agony consumed her body in a scorching trail.

  Ivar smiled nastily. “It’s not quite the retaliation ‘stab in the back’ given your condition, but it will have to do. Perhaps now I might let bygones be bygones. There is still plenty of negotiating to be done.”

  There was screaming.

  Hysterical screaming that drew the entire household. When Elin saw her mother’s horrified face appear above her and heard Madeline join in the chaos, realization finally dawned on her.

  She was the shrieking banshee.

  Chapter One

  Winter 2015

  Nashville, TN

  “What’s the verdict, doc?” The question, issued in a grizzled, southern accent, demanded an answer.

  Dr. Jethro Lambert waited until the black, mid-size, nondescript bus that contained a mini quick-care drove off before answering his seriously pissed-off client.

  “His face will need reconstruction. Christ, I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that!” He peered over Tucker “Tuck” Rydell’s shoulder. “She really do all that?”

  “That remains to be seen,” Tuck replied grimly.

  “Goodness gracious! Does he know?”

  “Nah, and Darby ain’t goin’ to,” Tuck advised him with a pointed look. With a harsh exhale, he raked a hand through his spiked hair until it clasped his nape. Tuck tried to ease the tension knot lodged there, but it only expanded.

  How had they gotten here?

  “This is my deal. I’ll be the one to handle everythin’. You said the motherfucker was gonna live. That’s all that matters right now.” Tuck’s face darkened with fury. “I still don’t know what happened, but I know he deserved it. I’ll definitely be by to pay him a visit in the mornin’. In the meantime, remind his bitch-ass to keep quiet.”

  Jethro chuckled knowingly. “Hell, boy! I’m thinkin’ that’s the least of your worries! He was blubberin’ and carryin’ on so bad, promisin’ to keep his mouth shut. I’d bet money he cuts his own tongue out to make sure that he does.”

  The two men shared a brief laugh. Tuck held his hand out, and Jethro firmly shook it.

  “Thanks, Dr. J. I appreciate you comin’ through on such short notice. Keep me posted, will you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Jethro’s concerned gaze found the woman again. He was filled with a combination of sympathy and admiration. “I’m gonna drop him by a colleague’s clinic of mine, Dr. Florence Veer. It ain’t much, a little outdated on modern technology, but, hell, it’s the best I can do on such short notice. Do her a favor; make sure she talks to someone about whatever happened here. She’s too pretty to have that kinda ugly on her conscious.”

  Tuck also stared at her eyes narrowed in speculation.

  “I’ll do my best. Shoot me that address and don’t forget to send me the bill. No one else. Give my love to Murleen, alright?”

  “Give it to her yourself,” the older man retorted affectionately. “She said you’re welcome anytime: breakfast, lunch, or dinner. You’d be a fool to miss out on her crawfish pie this Saturday.”

  “I’ll be there with bells on, then.”

  After Jethro left, Tuck methodically went over his checklist in his head. There was no camera system to deal with. He’d cleaned up the mess while doc took care of the victim. The hardest part was leaving Ferrara’s body undisturbed. However, Tuck was one hundred percent sure he’d accomplished it and managed to make it look like a burglary by tearing some rooms apart and unfortunately, taking Ferrara’s wallet and other items of value.

  Tuck stomped over to the little hellion that he was constantly torn between wanting to wring her neck or hugging her. Presently, his reaction depended on the explanation she gave him.

  “How the fuck did this happen, darlin’? Did we just save a sonofabitch that needed to die a miserable death?” he demanded, coming to stand in front of her with his arms crossed over his chest.

  Undaunted, Katerina Romankov stared straight ahead at a spot over his shoulder. Her fists clung to the lapels of Tuck’s black, oversized, leather biker jacket he’d draped around her shoulders. The coils of her afro whipped wildly with the howling wind while Kat remained statue-still, her eyes unseeing. If it wasn’t for the flaring of her delicate nostrils and the stubborn clenching of her jaw, Tuck would have sworn she hadn’t heard him.

  Instead of answering his question, Kat asked one of her own. “Can he be trusted?”

  “Dr. J? Yeah, he’s good people. He’s also on your brother’s payroll, but I told him to bill me for this.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’ll take care of it—”

  “Kat, what happened?”

  After five minutes of her muteness, Tuck finally exploded.

  “Christ on a cracker, woman! You better gimme somethin’! I left a high-stakes poker game with a winnin’ hand to play a knight-in-fuckin’-shinin’ armor for you! Not to mention, dragged an old man from his golf game on his day off! If you don’t start talkin’, my next call will be to Darby!”

  As Tuck anticipated, the threat resurrected Kat. He braced himself as she exploded, hauling off and jabbing him directly in the sternum with her fist. “Don’t you dare threaten me, Tucker Rydell! I’m so sorry that I dragged you away from some redneck-ass honky-tonk where an inbred stripper’s nipples were most likely being rubbed upside your thick skull! And for the record? I’m the one that got you the job with Darby in the first place!”

  With an “oomph!”, Tuck rubbed at the injured area and returned her withering glare. For a compact female, her punch packed a vicious wallop. Tuck expected nothing less. After all, he’d been the one to teach it to “Princess Romankov”.

  Kat was the daughter of the wealthiest man, not only in town but the entire state of Tennessee. Growing up, Tuck lived on the outskirts of Whiskey Row, slightly higher up in th
e mountains with his immediate and extended family. They were a quiet and proud people that kept to themselves. They lived off the land, homeschooled their children, and didn’t trust the government and its red-tape bureaucracy. The likelihood of them meeting was practically nonexistent as they’d lived on opposite sides of the tracks. But as fate would have it, the opportunity presented itself when Kat was twelve and Tuck was fourteen.

  ***

  Past

  “Faster, Jazzy!” Kat cried, clinging to her horse’s powerful neck.

  She whooped as the Arabian obeyed her command. Kat was exhilarated by the dizzying pace that Jasmine gracefully carried them up the hill toward their destination. Or was it her temporary freedom that made her so lightheaded? Kat didn’t give a flying fig, one way or another. For the time being, she was free, and it was a heady feeling.

  She’d managed to convince Ms. Eustice, the companion Papa insisted that she have, that her father had approved of her going horseback riding behind their house. An astute child, Kat had noticed the goo-goo eyes the woman always made at Papa when she thought no one was looking. It was time to use that knowledge to her advantage.

  Alexei Romankov was a devastatingly handsome man whose sole focus was his family and work. As long as Kat could remember, he’d been separated from her mother, Vivienne, who lived in Washington D.C. She and her brothers divided their time between both locations. They attended school here and visited their mother twice a month in addition to spending their summers in D.C. along with Ian Rusnik, her parents’ best friend and her mother’s business partner.

  “Papa is always complaining about being too busy with work to take me riding. Maybe you could help him out by taking me? That would free up more time for him to spend at home instead of the office. I’m sure he would be happy to know that you were thinking of him.”

  Ms. Eustice practically saddled up Jasmine and Clover, a brown gelding, by herself, in her efforts to score brownie points with her handsome employer. The joke was on her, though. Once Kat got them out into the clearing, Jazzy’s trot turned from a walk into a gallop when she nudged her flanks and whistled sharply. Ms. Eustice’s shrill protests fell on deaf ears.

  Once up the hill, Kat guided the Arabian through a dense cluster of canopied trees to the small creek that she knew was hidden there. Immediately, Kat covered her nose as it was assailed by a rotten stench pervading the damp air that normally smelled rich and earthy from the dense, mossy clumps covering the rocks. Wrinkling her nose with disgust, she decided that they wouldn’t be staying too long.

  “Woah, girl. Easy now,” Kat cooed, smoothing Jasmine’s silky, ebony mane back when the alert horse raised her head and pranced restlessly.

  The gesture had the opposite effect. Jasmine whinnied and reared up on her hind legs then abruptly came crashing down, stomping aggressively at the ground.

  Puzzled by the normally calm horse’s high-strung demeanor, Kat’s head swiveled around, nervously assessing her surroundings. She’d ridden this trail before, knew it with her eyes shut. Now, she felt uneasy as the Arabian’s anxiety increased.

  “Come on, Jazzy! Let’s head back.”

  Kat was trying to steer the fretting horse around when she heard the noise. Rattling. It was faint at first then closer, louder, and more aggressive. Both rider and animal froze, knowing what it signified. Danger. Suddenly, Jasmine reared up again. Kat tried to hold onto her neck but lost her grip and fell off the Arabian.

  “Stop, Jazzy! Stay, girl!”

  Spooked, the horse ignored Kat’s command, taking off in the direction they’d come. Pride wounded, Kat jumped up, massaging her throbbing tailbone.

  “Jasmine! Get back here—”

  Her words faded away when the menacing rattling commenced again.

  Kat slowly turned toward the sound, and her heart catapulted into her throat. She was face-to-face with a slate-gray snake, coiled about ten-feet away. Its thick, scaly body was covered in an abstract, black pattern. Forked tongue flickering, it gracefully unraveled, revealing a length almost as long as Kat’s four-foot-five-inch status, closing half the distance between them. The intimidating reptile weaved even closer, copper eyes laser-focused on Kat like a heat-seeking missile, its tail continuing to twitch menacingly.

  Paralyzed with terror and sweating profusely, Kat emitted a strangled squeak.

  “Don’t move.”

  The voice came from above her. It was rough and gravelly as if it didn’t get much use.

  Huh. That was funny.

  Her mama had always insisted God was a woman.

  “That there’s a timber rattlesnake. One of the meanest sumabitches alive.”

  It was announced with such confident authority that Kat wanted to raise her eyes upward. Except, she couldn’t look away from the immediate threat. Aggressively hissing, the serpent raised its arrow-shaped head slightly as if confirming the observation. Tired of playing the waiting game, it lunged at Kat, fangs exposed. She braced herself for the attack, screaming loud enough to make birds take flight. But the bite never came. Instead, a fierce, deafening crack filled Kat’s ears, making her jump. It was followed by a splat sound as the snake’s head exploded.

  I’m not dead; I’m not dead, Kat mentally recited, scarcely able to believe it. With relief came a bout of nausea at how close the rattler had come. Turning her head, she bent over, retching until her stomach was empty.

  A soft thud beside her made Kat aware of another presence. Swinging around, her eyes bugged at the site of large, dirty, bare feet and slightly muscled legs then traveled upward. Upon further inspection, worn, grungy, rolled-up dungarees covered his gangly body. Deep-set eyes the color of mud regarded her curiously. They were set under a mop of light brown hair with streaks of caramel. The highlights in his hair looked luxurious, reminding Kat of her mama’s. Except she knew those came from a posh hair salon that Vivienne frequented. He was a foot taller than her and older, but not by much, Kat guesstimated. Judging from how deeply tanned he was, most likely, all of his time was spent outdoors.

  “Where in the Sam Hill did you come from?!” she screeched, leaping out of arm’s reach and backtracking, mindful of stumbling over the dead snake’s remains. Kat didn’t stop moving until her back connected with the rough texture of a shagbark hickory tree across from the stranger/savior. She regarded him with suspicion as her nose twitched offensively. “And what is that God-awful smell?!”

  Lazily, the boy scratched the tip of his nose while evaluating Kat’s questions. Her eyes narrowed on his chest pocket when it mysteriously shifted. A raccoon kit poked its head out, observed her shyly before ducking back into its sanctuary.

  He sniggered at her and held up a rifle to show her, quickly lowering it when she stiffened. “I cover my scent when I’m huntin’. You don’t wanna know what it’s made of. I reckon that first question you’re gonna have to take up with your folks.”

  Kat rolled her eyes and turned her nose up at him, huffing, “You mean the sky isn’t raining fake Huckleberry Finns? What are you hunting for exactly?”

  He laughed at her sarcasm, thinking she was too cute with those expressive eyes. “I don’t know who that Finn guy is, but nah. I was sittin’ up in this here tree mindin’ my business when you and that fine-lookin’ filly interrupted my downtime. I’m in charge of catchin’ tonight’s dinner, but you bumblin’ around gave up my location and screwed that plan.”

  Kat raised her eyes to the branch that he pointed at with dismay. He’d been sitting above her the entire time, and she’d been none the wiser!

  “I can’t believe I didn’t hear you!”

  A rude snort accompanied his answer. “That’s the point. You wasn’t supposed to. Me and my kinfolk know these mountains. We been huntin’ on ‘em all our lives. Hell, when I was ten, I tracked an Eastern cougar on the western North Carolina side of the Smokies. It was five miles before it even got wind of me!”

  “You did not!” Kat was fascinated by that revelation. Despite his dirty appearance
and that horrid odor, she found him to be harmless.

  “Did so,” he stubbornly maintained, giving her a sage look. “You gotta be aware of your surroundin’s at all times.” Raising a finger to his lips, he pointed north of them and whispered, “Can’t you hear the herd of boar right yonder, behind ‘em trees?”

  Lips pursed and eyes squinting, Kat kept her eyes trained on him but tilted her head in that direction. Sure enough, faint rustling and grunting could be heard. Grudgingly, she answered, “I suppose I do hear something.”

  Smugly, he rocked back on his feet, adding, “I bet you also didn’t notice that twenty feet away from them is a lone coyote waitin’ in the underbrush for an opportunity to swipe off one of ‘em young’ns.”

  “Uh-huh, sure. I’ll take your word for it, Tarzan,” Kat replied impatiently. “Pardon my asking, but who are you?”

  He spit into his palm and proudly offered it to Kat. “Seems like today, I’m bein’ called everythin’ but my given name. Hell, it ain’t your fault, though. I shoulda led with that. Tucker Rydell, at your service, but you can call me Tuck.”

  Shuddering at his unsanitary gesture, Kat shoved her hands in the front pockets of her Guess jeans and politely nodded.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Katerina Romankov. Kat for short.”

  Dropping his hand, Tuck narrowed his eyes at her curiously. “Romankov? Ain’t that the name of the town’s commie bastard? You his kinfolk or somethin’?”

  Kat’s hands came out and fisted up, his rifle and her size be damned. “Don’t you dare talk about my papa, Tucker Rydell! You better straighten up or I’ll jerk a knot in your tail! Another mean word about him, and on my life, you can kiss your privates goodbye! I will punt them into outer space.”

  He shifted to the side to protect his balls, studying her with incredulity. “Like hell, you will!”

  “My brothers have shown me the basics,” Kat stubbornly asserted, squinting evilly at him. “Test me and find out.”