by D. A. Young
“What do you mean?” Holt demanded sharply, curious about his enigmatic confession.
“Let’s call it intuition, shall we? Neither of us has gotten to where we are without following our keen instincts. We will discuss my suspicions upon your arrival. And when will that be exactly? Bojku must be contained immediately! He’s out for your imbecile cousin’s blood, and I’m tempted to give it to him! You know that I cannot abide by betrayal and stupidity! One can be curbed but the other is irredeemable.”
“Oh, so now, he’s ‘my imbecile cousin’ instead of your precious grandson?” Holt taunted him. “Tage and Julian offerin’ to sit down with Bojku isn’t unreasonable. You stepped on toes, ruffled feathers, call it whatever you want, but you know I’m right. The slight is against him. He’s owed an apology and some compensation to let bygones be.”
Ivar’s fist came down on his desk hard enough to rattle the pens in his sterling silver octopus pen holder on his desk. Glowering at his grandson, he decreed, “Absolutely not! Bygones are the same as forgiveness, Holton. Do you think I need forgiveness from Falk enemies? A man who seeks such a thing is already dead! Your uncles are searching for a solution to a problem that cannot be resolved unless it involves Bojku’s demise.”
The chance to needle his grandfather further would not be passed up. “You created this mess with Otto. He wouldn’t be this way if you hadn’t continuously mind-fucked him to overcompensate for the role you played in his mother’s death. It’s too late to put him on a leash. The damage has been done.”
Ivar reached for the hand-blown, gothic-style, black crystal decanter of cognac designed by Baccarat, stationed on the corner of his desk. He poured a generous helping into a tumbler and gulped it halfway down, regarding Holt morosely. “I don’t owe anyone any explanations, least of all, you.”
“The hell you don’t, old man! You sit on a throne of lies and delusions, and your demons have finally caught up with you. It’s time to get rid of them instead of nurturing them. Have you never asked yourself why my mother felt the need to make the choices she did?”
Holt shifted forward, jaw locked and eyes blazing. “Tell me. Did you ever regret what you did to her? And my father? How did you ever think I would embrace you after learnin’ of the havoc you wreaked in their lives?”
“No. Instead you tell me what bothers you most about what I did? That it was your mother? She may be your mother, but Elin was my daughter and employee first, and she betrayed me on both levels! Rules are established to be abided. Because of her positions, exceptions should have been granted? Hardly. Remove your feelings from the equation and put yourself in my shoes. If I made an allowance for her, then I’d need to excuse everyone. Operating in such a manner would be highly ineffective, wouldn’t you agree? It is because Elin knew there would be consequences for her actions that she prepared a contingency plan. My course of action was already predisposed.”
“Stop tryin’ to shove that shit sandwich down my throat! One’s choices always reveal their true character. You acted out of spite. Don’t bother denyin’ that shit because we both know it’s your modus operandi.”
“I refuse to elaborate further on the subject, Holton. Your efforts to malign or burden me are growing tedious. Regret is an ineffectual emotion and waste of time.”
“As is gloatin’.”
“Have you ever considered that some wounds aren’t intended to heal?” And because Ivar was Ivar, a fulltime dick, he snidely added, “Literally.”
This was why Holt tried to live a simple life. The more he engaged with Ivar, the harder it grew to extricate himself from the tangled web of malice his grandfather seamlessly wove. “You just keep diggin’ yourself deeper, old man.”
“I’ve tried my best to do right by the family,” Ivar dismissed. “It wasn’t always the most diplomatic. Nonetheless, it was my best! Even despite your efforts to vilify me. None of you have ever lacked for anything! I’ve given you the best that money could offer.”
His lips lifted cynically. “Although, I distinctly recall one occasion that you were actually appreciative of something I offered. If memory serves, you were so grateful that you returned for an encore performance.”
Instead of rites of passage that were suitable for children, Ivar had chosen to take his sons and grandsons to certain establishments when he considered them to be age-appropriate. Holt was fifteen the first time Ivar took him to dine with him and his older male cousins at an acquaintance’s posh home. The sophisticated raven-haired woman who sat next to his grandfather’s side as if she belonged there was named Anika. Holt would later discover that she was an elite courtesan and her home was actually a brothel, which she ran but was owned by Ivar.
Gently, she prodded the boys on their lives, discovering their likes and dislikes, what made them tick. Holt offered minimal information, instead, paying more attention to his grandfather and his environment while Matty and Otto kept the conversation flowing. At the end of dinner, Anika gracefully rose to her feet and rang the small bell placed next to her plate. Ivar remained seated, but his grandsons stood immediately as they’d been properly trained to do when a lady entered the room. Matty and Otto sported grins of anticipation while Holt remained in the dark.
***
Past
“What’s goin’ on?”
Per usual, Otto ignored Holt, leaving Matty to answer.
“Patience, cousin! Good things come to those who are patient, eh Otto?” Matty spoke, rubbing his palms together with gleeful anticipation.
“I don’t know why grandfather brought the outsider. He is not one of us,” Otto sneered under his breath.
Holt kept his eyes on the doorway with an affable grin. “Anythin’ you have to say about me would be much appreciated if it was said directly to my face.”
Otto’s flush raced up his neck and face as he snarled into Holt’s ear, “You think I’m scared of you? You’re nothing! Just a simpleton from a shitty, hick American town!”
“Otto! Try not to ruin our good time, which coincidentally is only happening because of him,” Matty explained with a hushed chuckle.
Holt glanced back over his shoulder at Otto and felt a flash of guilt. His mother had explained the reasoning behind Otto’s surliness a year after the bathroom incident. That was the only reason Holt occasionally made allowances for his petulant, asshole propensities. Not that it mattered what he said or didn’t say to Otto. His cousin doggedly continued his quest to ostracize him.
“Now hold on, Otto. ‘Nothin’ sounds a little harsh, don’t you think?” Holt drawled. “I’m also the simpleton that visits here once or twice a year and consistently whups your ass despite your best efforts. That’s gotta count for somethin’, right?”
Before Otto could respond, three young women walked in. Each was attractive and dressed in simple, black, sleeveless sheath dresses and black pumps with their hair pulled back in high ponytails.
“Hej, Mr. Falk,” they trilled politely. Ivar smiled, his eyes lingering on the brunette rather than the two blondes. Holt rolled his eyes as they practically curtsied at his arrogant ass.
“Gentlemen, your companions for the duration of the evening will be Alice, Felicity, and Geneva. Ladies, I’m sure you remember Mr. Otto and Mr. Matias, Mr. Falk’s grandsons, from previous visits.”
They smiled demurely and Anika gestured to Holt. “Mr. Holton is his grandson who comes to us all the way from America! Isn’t that exciting? Since it’s his first time here, I expect you to treat him accordingly and give him a warm welcome.”
“Ja, Madam,” they obediently replied in sync, coming forward to reach for the boys’ hands.
“Come, Mr. Holton,” Geneva cooed, moving ahead of her companions. She ignored their pouts and boldly led him from the dining room. “I have never been to America. You and I have much to discuss.”
Geneva led Holt to her bedroom, and he was so intently focused on her that he barely noticed his all-white surroundings. She directed him to sit on the edge of
the king size bed. Her fingers, tracing the hexagon pattern of his emerald and black Brioni silk tie, Geneva spoke. “Tell me all about you, Mr. Holton. Are you enjoying your time in Sweden?”
She was pretty and smelled fucking amazing. Holt’s dick was so fucking stiff that he just wanted to get to the main event. He knew the semantics of what a man and woman did sexually. He and his friends had dissected enough Playboy and Hustler magazines, courtesy of Guy, who stole them from his older brother Miguel, to figure out what women liked. Still, Holt was resentful. He would have preferred to choose his first lover instead of Ivar having a hand in it.
First, they had things to ‘‘discuss’’ as she’d said. Underneath her skillfully applied makeup, Geneva didn’t look that old. However, her jaded eyes said she’d experienced more of life than she was ready to live.
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen. I look mature for my age, though.”
Only two years older than him. He grabbed her roaming hand. “Why’d you pick me?”
“Whatever do you mean?” Geneva leaned in for a kiss and Holt evaded her lips. “Don’t be shy. You’re a handsome boy. Why wouldn’t I pick you?”
Holt gripped her face firmly with his other hand, and Geneva’s eyes widened in surprise. “Did my grandfather tell you to pick me?”
Her small pink tongue slid over her lips, and Holt watched her debate whether to lie or keep it real. He directed her hand to his crotch, allowing her to feel the power between his muscled thighs. Geneva’s eyes dilated, and she sighed in lustful anticipation at having such a prize. Perhaps, she should have felt bad about his age, but he seemed mature, unlike his overly cocky, older cousin. Notwithstanding his virgin status, Holt looked and moved like he was at least eighteen with his quiet personality, expensive attire, and watchful eyes. Geneva wanted to be the one to break him in.
“If I say yes, will we still fuck?”
His lips curled into a smile. “At this point, it’s a given, don’t you think?”
Geneva’s giggle eclipsed into a moan as Holt released her hand to snake his under her dress and palm her hot pussy. He squeezed it when he realized how wet his touch made her.
“You and me can have a real good time on one condition. Don’t tell my grandfather or Anika shit about me, understood?”
He was fondling her now, his fingers dipping beneath her panties and infiltrating her slick nether lips. Idly, he toyed with the gem nestled between them, making Geneva wonder who would break whom as her body involuntarily shuddered. It was nice to be with someone closer to her age, rather than men old enough to be her father, which was coincidentally, how Geneva got her start. No longer able to withstand the sexual abuse, she’d run away from home when her mother chose to believe her father over her and wound up here. The men climbed on top of her, and she felt nothing. They were all the same. Holton was making her comprehend the fun she’d been missing out on from having her innocence stolen and being forced into adulthood.
“Understood!” she gasped.
They ‘‘discussed’’ things until midnight. Geneva allowed Holt to explore her body and, in return, she showed him tons of tricks she’d learned from the more experienced girls. It was a mutually satisfying experience. When Holt left her in bed that night, a tired Geneva and her very happy pussy were sad to see him go.
Until the next year when he returned to her.
***
“Money isn’t everythin’. To you, it’s a golden carrot to dangle, ensuring you get your way.”
Ivar snorted. “You think you’re so much better than me because your business is a success, and it makes you financially independent? You couldn’t be more wrong. It makes you arrogant and selfish. The very things you accuse me of!”
Holt’s eyes darkened with revulsion as he rejected the comparison. “I am nothin’ like you.”
“You’ve only had to think of yourself thus far in your life, and you look down on those you consider to be weaker than you. Do you love your cousins? Including Otto?”
“They’re my blood and I’m comin’ to save his ass, aren’t I?”
“And Tage, who’s always resented your birth and what it’s represented to his family’s well-being? Do you love him as well?”
“He deflects all of his anger at me and my mother instead of aimin’ it at his real target: you. Does he even matter? He’s barely functioning.”
“And let’s not forget the sacrifices you make because of Elin and your father.” Ivar’s crafty expression reminded his grandson of the Cheshire Cat. “I think I’ve been going about things the wrong way. Thank you for helping me to see the light, Holton.”
Suspicion made Holt more leery than usual. “In what way?”
“Never mind. While you’re here, I’d like for you to undo all the damage Otto has done by strengthening our power and relationships with our allies. It’s been a long time since our name and reputation were properly feared. It’s time you restore it to its former glory.”
Sighing, Holt rubbed his eyes clear and stood. “Could you sound any more like a wacky cartoon villain, old man? Do you even hear the things that come out of your mouth? Or mine? Save your breath. My answer is the same as its always been: no. You made your choice with Otto. Let him fix that shit. I’ll deal with Bojku. See you this weekend.”
“It would be suitable for you to not be so hasty with your rejection and reconsider your answer Holton,” Ivar confidently replied, leisurely finishing the remainder of his brandy.
His eyes were too sly for him to not have something up his sleeve, Holt decided, noting that Ivar’s healthy coloring had been restored with their verbal sparring.
“If you can spare your precious time for Romankov’s plight and his daughter, surely you can accommodate me.”
“That’s different. I actually like and respect them. Unlike others, they don’t allow their wealth and power to define them. There’s no sense of whiny-ass entitlement or drastic measure they can never undo because they didn’t get their way. They treat everyone with the same respect, no matter their background. This discussion is over.”
“Your problem is that you fail to acknowledge that you are not like everyone else! It’s time you did. Adjö.”
The screen went blank, leaving Holt silently contemplating murder.
***
“What did he say?” Thea anxiously demanded, hopping to her feet from a recliner in the lounge area when her grim cousin finally emerged from the private dining room.
A bored-looking Cruz was scrolling through his phone, purposefully ignoring Ras, who was staring him down from across the room, plainly trying to incite him.
“I’ll take care of everythin’.” Holt kissed her cheek and ruffled her pixie cut. “In the meantime, stay out of trouble and give my regards to everyone. Adjö.”
Relieved, she threw her arms around his neck and hung on, blinking back tears. “Tack, kusin. We’d be lost without you.”
“No thanks needed. We’re family. Let’s go, Merada.”
“Better run along. Your master is calling you,” Ras muttered nastily to Cruz.
Instead of heading for the exit, Holt made a beeline toward him. He’d told himself to stay the course until he properly handled Liridon Bojku. Alas, any interactions with Ivar had a way of shooting Holt’s best-laid plans to hell. At least he could justify his next move because Ras had it coming.
Cruz peeled himself off the wall, shooting the asshole a pitying grin as his lips grazed Thea’s cheek. The fool didn’t even realize the storm blowing his way.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Señorita.”
Thea clasped his hand in hers, and Cruz’s hand closed around the slip of paper she passed him. “It was a pleasure to be met, Señor Merada.”
Ras finally noticed Holt bearing down on him. Panicking, he tried to throw a last-minute right hook except it was wide and uncontrolled. Holt neatly dodged it, caught his fist, and spun him around with a sharp twist of his arm.
“Aaah fuck!�
� Ras shouted as his limb was jerked upward on his back. With his free hand, Holt reached around and grabbed his tie, wrapping it around his neck and hoisting Ras back viciously, bowing his body unnaturally. Holt kicked the back of his knee caps, dropping Ras to his knees then slamming him, face down, into the carpet. Planting a foot in the middle of his back, Holt wound the tie around his fist until the other man’s eyes protruded, sweat pouring down his scarlet face. Holt stomped his other shoe down on the back of the bastard’s flailing hand, grinding his heel mercilessly until the sickening crunch of broken bones followed. A choked scream of anguish tore from Ras’s throat and echoed throughout the jet.
Only then was he released. Flipping him over, Holt calmly reached down, and a chest-heaving Ras flinched, his face wrenched in agony as he pawed at his raw throat with one hand and cradled his other injured one to his chest. Ignoring him, Holt shoved his hand into his suit jacket and extracted Kat’s garment and stuffed it into his pants pocket. Ras flinched at the discovery and curled into a ball at Holt’s feet.
“Did Otto put you up to that little stunt?”
Silence.
Holt grabbed his injury and twisted it. Ras howled and rotated around on to his back. “I won’t ask again.”
“Yes!”
“That’s what I thought. It never pays to be the messenger boy. The next time I have to address your disrespect, it will be at your funeral,” Holt quietly vowed.
Holt looked up as Alexei appeared in the entryway, still in his evening attire, which was now covered by a black Crombie coat, the wool-cashmere fabric, as well as his hair, finely dusted with fresh snow. He spared Ras a cursory glance, assessed the damage, and raised an eyebrow at an unrepentant Holt before raising his index finger at Cruz with a disapproving frown.
“You had one job, Merada!”
“Which I did, Senor Lobo,” Cruz informed him, straight-faced. “Bones may have been broken but no blood was shed.”
***
Holt waited until the jet took off to divulge Thea’s information to Alexei.
“When will you leave? Do you need the use of my plane?”