All We Ever Needed

by D. A. Young

  “Never said it didn’t, Thea. Now, answer my question.”

  Thea gestured impatiently with her hand toward the jet. “Hey, why don’t we quit airing our dirty laundry in front of Mr. Merada and discuss why I’m here over dinner? I’m sure he’s quite bored with our family dynamics.”

  “On the contrary, I’m sure he’s filin’ this info away for the right opportunity to annoy the shit outta me. We could eat, though. Lead the way.” Holt waited for her to put some distance between them before blocking Cruz’s line of vision. “Stop eye-ballin’ her before I crack your fuckin’ skull wide open, Merada.”

  A devious chuckle was the Spaniard’s only reply as he stepped around Holt, good mood fully restored.

  ***

  They dined in the private dining room that could seat up to twenty people. Chef Freya, whom Holt had known since he was six years old, fawned exuberantly over him as she always did and had taken it one step further by preparing one of his favorite meals. For starters, there was an appetizer of arugula salad with persimmons, sliced shallots, and toasted walnuts in a pomegranate dressing. For the main course, seared duck breast with peppercorn cream sauce, haricots verts, and mashed potatoes topped with caramelized onions.

  Zinfandel flowed freely for Thea and Cruz, who finished off a bottle and a half while trading stories about their various European escapades. Holt refused alcohol, sticking to water, instead, and listening intently to their too-comfortable banter that bordered on flirtation. Thea was a well-known celebrity/socialite and social media darling with more than ten million followers across her platforms, stalking her every move as if she was the Pied Piper. From fashion to travel, companies clamored to have her endorsement and covered her expenses. Thea hadn’t come out of pocket since she was sixteen. Despite her fame and fortune, she’d always remained grounded.

  Constantly on the move, she could be found in Sweden one minute and in the next, jet-setting to Dubai or popping up at the Kentucky Derby to kick it with heartthrob polo player Tarik Owens. Frequently pictured in Hello!, OK!, US Magazine, and every version of InStyle, Thea was the life of the party. If you wanted to make your event the social gathering of the season, Thea Falk had damn well better received an invitation and a cut check for her appearance.

  She was Holt’s favorite cousin and his greatest asset.

  A spy that moved freely in the public eye, Thea collected information, making it a point to meet as many people as possible. Businessmen thought nothing of discussing their deals while the beauty sat next to them, with an adoring expression, fueling their egos. With the amount of cleavage and skin she bared, the fact that she might speak more than Swedish and English never occurred to them. Or that she could snap their necks with warped speed. Like Elin, Thea was a master of illusion. She gave the impression of being a vapid party girl who only ran with associates of the same ilk, except they actually worked for her.

  Thea’s network of spies flitted about with transmitters in their ears, collecting data and submitting it to her. Vital information that could impact Falk Incorporated or be beneficial, she sold to Ivar. For Holt, Thea freely gave it all. She loved all of her family, and her cousins were her greatest friends, but Holt was the best. In the past, he’d always allowed Thea to tag along if she asked, no matter where he and Blaise might be going and if blood would be shed. Holt insisted she know all aspects of the family business that he knew and have the skills needed to take care of herself.

  Suddenly, Cruz straightened up and snapped his fingers, pointing at Thea accusingly. “Espera un momento! You’re the one that took out Gaspard Durand in Ibiza on New Year’s Eve!” he exclaimed, and Thea raised her wine glass to him, smiling proudly.

  Renowned for its countless nightclubs, beaches, and casino strip, the “party” island was a magnet for the rich, trendy, and well-connected. Ibiza Magna Marina had a pricey fee of almost four-thousand dollars a night. On the night in question, Thea was partying on an Indian steel billionaire’s dime.

  “Guilty.”

  The arms dealer had done business with Cruz’s employer. He’d gotten cocky and double-crossed House Hidalgo by shorting the count of AK-47s the family provided to mercenaries across the world to have their warehouses and factories guarded. As legitimate businesses funded the illegal side, protection was essential.

  “I was there, watching from the boat’s top deck! He was heavily surrounded by security.” His eyes narrowed in concentration on her. “And if my memory serves me correctly, you were wearing a slinky, black-sequined tissue that barely covered your ass, and your tits were proudly on display.”

  “Merada!”

  “What? It really was next-to-nothing to even be considered a dress! More like a handkerchief,” Cruz scoffed at Holt’s homicidal scowl. “Don’t get pissy with me! You know we’re trained to notice details!”

  “I’m insulted that you would even refer to Givenchy in such a vulgar manner. Nonetheless, it’s nice to know the dress served its purpose,” Thea reminisced with a wicked smile.

  ***

  Fireworks whizzed and spiraled into the sky, illuminating the already starry night. They bloomed in unique fiery bursts of sparkling patterns and vivacious colors. The yacht’s partygoers screamed and cheered, singing along to a house-mix version of “Auld Lang Synge” drunkenly toasting and hugging each other as they danced. Thea had maneuvered herself close enough to Durand for him to finally make his move. While she and her boisterous clique took group selfies and danced, the arms dealer finally decided to leave his group to join hers.

  Waving off his security team, he boldly interjected himself, coming up directly behind her. He’d grabbed Thea around the waist possessively while they posed and grinded lewdly against her. The group took endless pictures, dancing and screaming as the fireworks escalated and the air turned hazy with smoke. Meanwhile, Durand’s hands grew bolder in their exploration of Thea’s body. She offered no protest, her slender arm reaching back to grasp his hair, drawing his face close to hers. The group tightened around them, hands up in the air as they raged. When the fireworks ended, Thea and her hyped-up posse dispersed. Minus Durand. They were already in the air, returning to Sweden when his body was ultimately recovered floating face down in the Mediterranean Sea at dawn.

  His neck had been broken.

  ***

  “You cheated me out of a job, senorita.”

  “Hardly! I did you a favor.” Thea licked her lips, drawing Cruz’s attention to them. “I’m sure the remainder of your night was pleasantly spent. Durand was on our radar because he’d sold guns to one of Ivar’s rivals after he was ordered to decline the sale. Holt asked me to handle the situation. He was insistent on returning here in time to tend to an urgent business matter.”

  She leaned toward Holt with a crafty smile. “It’s been driving me crazy wondering when he’ll finally introduce me to his ‘urgent business’.”

  Holt remained silent. As much as he adored Thea, he was overly protective of his relationship with Kat, especially when it came to dealing with anyone with the last name Falk. For the duration of dinner, he spoke only when asked a direct question, focusing on Ras from his peripheral while calmly eating his meal. The asshole lounged by the entry with an insolent stare. Xander remained posted directly outside, ever alert. They didn’t get down to business until their server presented slices of dark chocolate torte topped with candied orange peel curls and flutes filled with a third of Madeira.

  “How bad is it, Thea?” Holt asked quietly, his fingers steepled as he studied her carefully. “What could possibly be so bad that they’re requestin’ a year of my life?”

  Without glancing around, Thea snapped her fingers imperiously at Ras. “Leave us.”

  Lips curling, he did her bidding, abruptly pushing past Xander. Holt suspected that the bodyguard wanted to go after him but wouldn’t abandon his post.

  His question took Thea by surprise. Although, she knew it was coming and had deliberately imbibed enough so that when the time came to
rip the band-aid off, the pain wouldn’t debilitate her; it didn’t work. Thea thought she could be strong and factual about it. She’d grossly overestimated herself. Her throat was thickening with unshed tears. Thea tried focusing on Merada, and all the things she’d love to do, to and with him. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.

  “Confession time! I lied to Uncle Rudii about needing a year. He was being so testy on the phone; I did it to needle him. It was terrible of me, I know. Sorry, I know the thought of having to deal with Ivar on a daily basis possibly freaked you out. However, something has happened,” she explained stiltedly. “Kusin…it’s Matty. A week ago, we were supposed to attend a Lucia Procession at Storkyrkan Cathedral in Gamla Stan.”

  Sankta (Saint) Lucy was a third-century martyr who, according to legend, brought food and aid to Christians hidden in the catacombs using a candle-lit wreath atop her head to light her way and keep her hands free to carry more. Her feast coincided with the shortest day of the year, the Winter Solstice, thus becoming a Christian festival of light. Each city, town, and school chose a girl to depict Lucia and wear a long, white gown with a red sash wrapped around it and a candle wreath on her head.

  “I was running late. About thirty minutes so, Cleo called me, panicking with Vera on the other end. Matty wasn’t home yet. It was lördag, and he’d promised to be only a couple of hours at his office. Holt, you know Matty!”

  Like most Swedes, their cousin was a stickler for punctuality. He was also a workaholic. It wasn’t uncommon for Matty to work on a Saturday. However, to be late? It was unheard of.

  “I do know him. What happened next?”

  “He wasn’t answering his work line or cell phone. I was closest to the office and offered to swing by. Farbror Julian arrived at the same time I did. We entered, using the key Matty gave him. He wasn’t there. From the looks of it, he’d never been there.”

  Holt and Cruz exchanged puzzled looks. “Where was he?”

  “Everything felt off. Matty doesn’t lie! He didn’t answer so we tracked his phone to an apartment in Södermalm.”

  The location was a trendy, laid-back residential area with some of the city's best views. The neighborhood was densely populated thanks to its vintage stores, design shops, galleries, bars, and eateries.

  “It made me curious as to what kind of business he could have had there? We both know it’s too hip for his taste, so I went to find him.”

  Apprehension held Holt’s gut hostage, making breathing impossible. He rose from his seat and moved around the table to Thea, placing an arm around her. Holt wasn’t sure who needed the assurance more. She placed her head on his shoulder, accepting his comfort, alarming him further. This was not Thea. His cousin was confident and perpetually in a good mood.

  “By yourself?! You didn’t call for backup???”

  As if on cue, Thea’s head shot up, blue fire shooting from her eyes. “I called Xander to meet me, but yes! You taught me everything you know about handling myself! Did you set me up for failure? Xander had my six! Dessutom var det Matty! No fucking way I wasn’t going in!”

  Holt rubbed the side of his temple. “I know it was Matty, darlin’! I would’ve done the same thing! I just don’t like entertainin’ the thought of you possibly bein’ caught in the crosshairs. Please continue.”

  “I sat on the apartment building, watching for movement and waiting for Xander. No comings or goings, so I had him pick the lock and we went in. I found him, beaten and unconscious, in the bedroom with a plastic bag tied over his head and his hands cuffed behind his back. Holt…he had a dagger in his chest,” Thea finished brokenly.

  “He wasn’t alone. There was a woman with him. She was lying next to him. Her face had been blown off. They were naked and their clothes were strewn everywhere. I didn’t want to believe that they were involved! That’s not Matty! He would never betray Cleo! He worships her and Jules! Unfortunately, the coroner’s report detailed that she’d recently been penetrated by him,” Thea lowered her eyes as she finished, “and his DNA was found in her mouth.”

  "Aye joder?" Cruz hissed, watching Holt carefully. His face was shuttered, but his eyes were merciless and starving for retribution. He flexed those large hands, and Cruz knew Holt was primed to dole infinite barbarity out as soon as he had a name and location.

  “And now, senorita? I suspect your cousin is in need of encouragement. Would you be so kind as to provide some, por favor?”

  Thea grimaced sheepishly. “Yes, of course; sorry, Holt. The blade missed his heart by mere inches. Matty is in a coma. The lack of oxygen…Ivar has flown in specialists and promptly tossed them out on their asses for not giving him the answers we urgently want to hear. It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have waited! If I had gone in sooner…” she trailed off miserably.

  The conversation was static to Holt. He’d been stricken into silence.

  Relief that Matty hadn’t died wrangled with his fury over the attack. Then guilt and sorrow crashed in. This would never have happened if he lived there. If Holt hadn’t rejected Ivar and his position in the family. Matty was kind and decent. He and Holt shared a mutual respect for one another. Even Otto listened when their oldest cousin spoke. With his scholarly looks and brains and serious personality, he was satisfied to live in the shadows of his more dramatic family members. When he wasn’t at work, Matty could often be found in the library at the family estate. Cleo Bergqvist’s attention in him five years ago had taken everyone by surprise. Although reserved, Matty was a Falk, not a fool. He quickly waged a whirlwind campaign for her affection, and the couple married a year and a half later. The birth of their son, Julian Ebbe Falk, nine months ago completed their intimate unit.

  “You can’t think like that! What if you had gone in and met the same fate? Who’s responsible, Thea?” Holt demanded ominously.

  There was a brief painful silence followed by a painfully quiet admission. “We don’t know.”

  “It’s been a fucking week!”

  “There is no video footage of that day,” Thea explained unhappily. “Anywhere! Cleo is freaking out and rightly so! She and Jules have hardly left their apartment. The place is swarming with the guards Ivar has hired. I thought it was retaliation, perhaps? Maybe, someone didn’t like the idea of them hooking up? Cleo doesn’t want to believe this of Matty. None of us want to believe he was leading a double life.”

  Falk Estate was a vast, gated, heavily secured property that screamed ostentatious wealth and grandeur. When it came to the décor and amenities, no expense was spared. The main house boasted a formal ballroom; a grand foyer with an oversized chandelier dripping in Swarovski crystals; a sprawling library filled with leather-bound, first edition copies of all the literary classics; Olympic-sized indoor and outdoor pools with Jacuzzis; professional scale tennis, racquetball, and squash courts; a theater-sized screening room with a man-powered concession stand; a bowling alley complete with a snack bar; a state-of-the-art gym; an indoor ice rink; and a stable full of thoroughbreds.

  Aside from the family mansion on the main grounds, there were four, four-thousand-square-foot apartments, complete with a housekeeping staff and chef per each residence. All the domestic help retired to the three-thousand square foot staff quarters behind the main residence. A fleet of luxurious cars and SUVs were parked in the twenty-car garage. The sprawling lawn with mature trees, rolling hills, and ornamental gardens was maintained by a gardening team of twenty.

  It was an ode to Ivar’s wealth.

  To Holt and his parents, it had always been a prison.

  “You haven’t given me a lot to go on, cuz.”

  “We’ve started with less, amigo,” Cruz reminded him. “Have faith.”

  Holt recognized that fact with a cynical twist of his lips. “Does Matty have any enemies that you know of? Had his routine changed in any way? A bullet to the head, front or back, is execution-style and professional. Everything feels intensely personal.”

  To him, killing was a simple and a matter-of-fact occup
ation, and Holt’s weapon of choice to get the job done was his axe. His style was never manic, gruesome, or hacking away at an adversary. To Holt, killing was an art: three swings, max, and the deed was done. He knew the power he carried, alone, in his strength and size but preferred to utilize his axe-wielding skill instead. Anything else felt personal, and in Holt’s line of work, it was strictly business–never subjective. It was the motto instilled by most of his brethren in this line of work.

  “Holt, you know as well as I do that to meet Matty is to love him! The man has never met a stranger that he didn’t turn into a friend.”

  “You should have called me when it happened, Thea! I deserved to be there!” He snarled.

  “Your last text two weeks ago said not to bother you under any circumstances! As it is, Ivar gave me an earful for coming here when I realized he wasn’t going to contact you. He’s furious that I involved you. He’d rather wallow in his pride at the mistake he made in trusting Otto. Especially after his most recent debacle. I’m so sorry, Holt.”

  Again, the guilt. With the threat of Royce and his brother removed, Holt had shifted his priorities around to devote all his attention to Kat. He wasn’t trying to have their relationship strained as it had been months ago before his mention of marriage.

  “What did Otto do now?”

  Every time Holt heard any information regarding his older cousin, he was convinced that somewhere in the world a village was missing their idiot.

  Thea’s lip curled contemptuously. “He got a false lead and ran with it. Without consulting Ivar and no fucking contingency plan! The name was Daniel Pettersson. He’s a crook that mostly deals in—”

  “Identity theft,” Holt finished in a biting tone. “Everyone knows that! He’s a little asshole incapable of pullin’ somethin’ like this off!” He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled in a heavy whoosh. “Again, I’ll ask. What did Captain Dumb Fuck do?”

  “He made an example out of him. Otto tracked him to a bar with no backup. Without saying a word, he shot Daniel and his brother, Niels, in the face at point-blank range. In a bar full of witnesses! Granted, every person in there, most likely, had an ill reputation, but still. You don’t operate like that! Otto spat on their bodies and warned everyone in there they’d meet the same fate if they fucked with a Falk again.”