by D. A. Young
“Did I already die and have yet to realize it?” Ivar lashed back at his grandson scathingly. “Since when do I take commands from you? You’ve done more than enough, Otto!”
“I did what was necessary based on the information that was given to me!” Otto shouted.
“Is a junkie really a credible source?” Ivar derided. “You can’t even find him now!”
“He was sober when we spoke! The reason we can’t find him is that you refuse to let me leave! You’re humiliating me and don’t seem to give a damn that the entire world is watching! Let me deal with Bojku man-to-man! I’m not afraid of him!”
“I am the only one standing between you and death, you idiot!” Ivar slammed his fist on the desk. “You’re not smart enough to take him on. You still act like the same hot-tempered, petulant child that you’ve always been. Holton has done an exemplary job and has practically rendered the position unnecessary. A man of his reputation became the last thing anyone wanted to see in their path. That is why it baffles me, that on the rare occasions that you’ve had to actually handle things, you screw them up royally. The only thing you’ve managed to do is piss everyone off! I knew this position was too much for you!”
Otto regarded Ivar with blatant aggression. “Then why did you give it to me if I’m so unworthy, Grandfather?”
“Honestly? Because I thought your ambition to be better than Holton would make you embrace the opportunity! To prove once and for all why you deserved to be valt en!” Ivar answered coldly. “Instead, the acquisition of power went directly to your head. Your hubris has made you sloppy and careless and it will be your downfall! Yes, you are correct, Otto. The world is watching…and whispers of doubt surround this house because of you!”
Otto’s felt like he would choke on his rage. The disappointment and disgust marring his grandfather’s face were like acid eating away at his soul. Ivar had always championed him. Not because he was overcome with love for him, Otto knew. It was because of his guilt over his mother’s death and his sorry ass father’s condition. Otto wasn’t a fool. He wasn’t blind to the way that Ivar obsessed over Holton, chasing and panting after him like a bitch in heat, wanting what he couldn’t have while his cousin and his whore mother remained unimpressed with him.
He hated the entire Brammer family. If it wasn’t for them, Otto’s mother would still be alive, and his father wouldn’t be a dismal, pitiful drunk. He would have grown up in a secure, loving unit like Holton. Their visits triggered Otto, filling him with fierce despair and the need to commit violence as the rivalry renewed with his cousin. Every time Elin hugged him, Otto smiled, imagining plunging a knife between her ribs and twisting until her innards gushed from the mortal wound he’d inflict.
No matter how many hugs and kisses she forced on him, Elin was nothing to him, and never would be, except his mother’s murderer. She and Rudii. If the piece of trash American hadn’t inserted himself into their lives, Otto’s world would still be perfect. The murderer and the manipulator with their golden boy offspring. God, he wished they’d all die. That he could send them all straight to a place that would make hell seem like heaven. If Elin wasn’t a seasoned killer, Otto would have already tried it. But then he’d have fucking goody-two-shoes Holton who could do no wrong to contend with. And his grandfather.
Fuck them all.
“You’re a liar,” Otto bitterly declared. “You only did it to spite him! You’ve always considered Holton to be the best of the five of us, and he’ll never give a damn about you or our family. He rejects you at every turn, yet you keep chasing that elusive fucking unicorn, Grandfather! What a high it must give you! I hope you choke on it.”
He exited with his grandfather’s glare singeing his back.
No matter how much Otto goaded, poked, prodded, and jeered, Holton simply bestowed a humongous ‘fuck off’ smile on his face, his blue eyes either laughing at them or indifferent to them. In the past, nothing Otto said or did ever got to Holton. It was as if he had no weaknesses. Until he started seeing Katerina Romankov.
Otto had been waiting, biding his time for the right moment to strike. Being put on the back burner for Holt again was a perfect time. He retreated to his apartment suite and pulled his phone out.
“Hej?”
“The information we’ve been compiling?”
“Ja?”
“It’s a go. He will arrive in four days. Have it completed to my specifications in two days’ time and go. Understood?”
"Yes, it will be done."
Otto disconnected the call, permitting his anticipation to soothe him.
Thea, Matty, and Blaise would be disappointed in him. Otto was willing to live with that and Ivar’s anger.
Destroying Holton’s happiness would go a long way in filling the vacuous hole where Otto’s heart used to be.
***
Ivar rubbed his pounding temple, unable to control his rising fury. There was no outlet or whipping dog for it. Blame could only be found in a mirror he knew. He rose to his feet and moved to the window. Security patrolled the grounds with the dogs, their flashing lights crisscrossing the sprawling lawn. Although everything appeared undisturbed and quiet, a chill wracked Ivar’s body. He hadn’t lied to Holton about his forewarnings. It was too quiet. Something was skulking; what, Ivar was unsure. He only anticipated it to appear on the horizon when they least expected it.
The door opened again, and this time Julian and Vera entered with matching faces of dread.
“You summoned us, Father?”
Chapter Twelve
Holt was dog-tired when he arrived at Americana Traditions before dawn. He’d tossed and turned Thea’s tale of what happened to Matty a haunting lullaby in his ears. A familiar aroma assailed him when he opened the double glass doors. Stomach rumbling, he relocked the doors behind him and made his way to the breakroom where his boys were gathered around the large, rectangular Maplewood table. It held Holt’s favorite breakfast from Noelle - baked French toast casserole with fried apples, cheese grits, and homemade sausage patties. Cappuccinos and orange juice were the accompanying beverages.
“About time you got here!” Jack ribbed him good-naturedly, but Holt could see the concern marring his brow.
“Shiiid, I came to work. Now, I’m strictly here for breakfast,” he shot back, conveying none of the turmoil he was sinking in like quicksand. “Noelle is a lifesaver.”
“She knows it’s your favorite.”
“Our favorite!” a smirking Guy corrected. He lifted his coffee mug in greeting. “I was about to eat both of our portions. Pull up a chair!”
Shaking his head adamantly, Holt removed his beanie and sheepskin jacket and scarf. “Pip, ain’t no way in hell I woulda let that shit ride. Y’all ready to get this work in?”
He accepted the plate Darby handed him and sat down across from Casey. Holt squinted hard at the youngest of their crew and pointed to the corner of his mouth. “What’s that on your face?”
Casey’s hand flew up to touch the indicated spot and swiped it clean. “I had some cereal in the car before leaving the house.” At the men’s puzzled stares he warned, “Don’t ask. It involves my wife.”
“Definitely don’t tell then,” Holt kidded. He grabbed the spatula and heaped some casserole onto his plate, followed by the fried apples and a couple of sausage patties.
“Rule number one of datin’ and marriage? Always make sure that you’re the crazy one!” Casey grumbled. “Don’t ever pick someone that can out-crazy your crazy.”
Everyone stared at him again, this time with varying degrees of amusement.
“That’s your number one rule?” Jack regarded his brother incredulously.
“Don’t judge; we both know what I married,” Casey said defensively, helping himself to some orange juice.
“Perhaps you could have just bypassed Crazyville altogether?” Holt suggested delicately. “Aww hell, who am I kidding? Y’all are a match made in an asylum.”
Darby nodded enthusiastic
ally. “Facts! Or “Tom & Jerry”? Listen up! I’ve got a bone to pick up in here! Is everyone includin’ food in their kink but me? Jackie’s got spices and Casey’s apparently into cereal…”
“For the love of God!” his oldest brother groaned when heads swiveled his way. “My wife was preparin’ dinner and we shared a brief kiss. Our son was right there in the kitchen with us! It was all perfectly innocent! The kitchen is off limits.”
“Kinda like it was that one particular mornin’ I had my heart set on those biscuits?” Guy ducked out of Jack’s reach and fell into a laughing Casey. “Homeboy can’t be trusted in the kitchen. What’s your excuse, lil brother?”
That sucked the humor straight out of him, and he pushed Guy off him. “I’m not allowed to eat certain foods in the house.”
Holt stared at him with concerned interest. “Sid still experiencin’ mornin’ sickness?”
“Nope,” Casey answered through a yawn. “I already told you not to ask. We ain’t goin’ there this mornin’, bruh. I’m tryin’ to preserve what sanity I have left.”
“Considerin’ you only had a thimble-sized portion, to begin with…” Guy responded mildly. “That’s pretty damn pitiful.”
“Don’t you have a nursin’ home you should be casin’ for your next date?” Casey shot back. This time, it was him dodging Guy’s fist. “Chill! If you hurt me, I’m gonna sic my wife on you!” he laughed. “Relax, man. You know I’m just givin’ you shit. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with an older woman.”
“All that’s in the past, big dummy! However, I do agree with your assessment of older women, but I’m with Fern now,” Guy answered proudly.
“Since he can’t stop gushin’ about it, we should get him a shirt with that slogan,” Darby suggested.
“And a collar too,” Holt chimed in. “If found, return to Fern. Don’t forget to add it to your resume too.”
Guy gave him the finger. “And how’s your love life goin’? Where did you and Kat disappear to before you left?”
It was the proverbial needle on the record. Utensils clattered as the Sullivan brothers’ heads shot up and they lasered in on a glowering Holt, who kicked Guy under the table. Even after nearly a year of dating, it still occasionally took the trio more than a moment to adjust to seeing their childhood best friend in the role of their baby sister’s significant other.
“Oww! Guys, what’s wrong with his face?” Guy questioned playfully. To Holt, whose death look was darkening by the second, he said, “I don’t understand what your face is doin’ right now?”
“Do you even bother reading a room before you speak?” Holt wondered. “’Cause you’ve been fuckin’ overdue, Pip!”
“Uh-huh.” Guy’s lips curved devilishly as he concentrated on adding a scoop of shredded sharp cheddar cheese and shredded Monterey to his piping hot bowl of already cheesy grits. “Just gon’ head and add it to my tab, Thor. Meanwhile, we’re still waitin’ for your answer.”
“That’s a check your scrawny ass won’t be able to cash,” Holt warned. Guy cracked up laughing at the threat and soon, everyone joined in. Shaking his head, Holt dug into his breakfast until their howls receded. “You chuckleheads done?”
“Depends on your answer. Where did y’all disappear to?” Jack responded with grave speculation. Identical expressions of curiosity stamped his brothers’ faces as they folded their arms across their chests in like manner.
“Hold up, now! I don’t ask any of you what you and your women do when you’re alone,” Holt defensively countered. “My business with Kat is exactly that: mine. Besides, do you really want to know everythin’ we do? You’d be ready to persecute me if you found out what she calls me when we—”
Jack recoiled so fast, he almost fell out of his chair. Meanwhile, Darby covered his ears, and Casey practically jumped onto his lap. He became their spokesperson, hollering, “Nooo!” at the top of his lungs while Guy lunged forward eagerly. “This sounds private. Hell yesss, I’m in!”
Holt frowned at him. “Keep in mind that it’s never too late to get acquainted with Jesus, Pip and get on his hotline. Just sayin’. Come on, y’all know me! Kissin’ and tellin’ ain’t my style. We’re happy together. Let’s leave it at that. The only thing I’ll divulge about last night is that I now have Alexei and Ms. Vivienne’s approval to ask Kat for her hand in marriage.”
“Yoooo!”
“Ayye, that’s wassup!”
“Hot diggity damn!”
“My man!”
Holt’s grin stretched ear-to-ear as they jumped out of their chairs, crowding and congratulating him. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
They settled back down to eat, but it wasn’t long before Jack wondered, “When are you goin’ to pop the question? Before Christmas?”
Holt’s good mood evaporated. “I’ve got some business in Sweden to handle. I planned to propose at Christmas.”
“Is that why your family did a fly-by last night?” This came from Darby, the only one in the group that knew Holt’s entire background.
“You didn’t even tell us! We would have gone with you for moral support. You took the butcher, though?” Guy’s ordinarily lively personality was subdued by his hurt.
“Okay, I’d just like to interject that you sound like he broke your heart by askin’ someone else to prom! FYI, I will be fuckin’ with you about it in the very near future,” Casey informed Guy. He got his ear plucked for his efforts. “Ouch!”
“He does, right?!” Jack laughed. “Did he rub your back and make you a mixtape we don’t know about, Pip?”
“Look, I know that you’ve got a whole other life we know nothin’ about, Holt. I’m not gonna sugarcoat anythin’. It hurt like hell findin’ out about it the way we did. We’ve known each other practically our entire lives! You can trust us,” Guy curtly replied. “If you ever need us, say the word and we’ll be there. You’re family.”
“Ain’t no shakin’ us,” Casey confirmed, making the group smile.
“I hate that I made you guys feel that way. It was shitty of me, and I’m sorry for it. It was never a trust issue, for me, concernin’ any of you. Loyalty and trust are rare and fragile for some but not the five of us. I’d go to the grave for y’all, on everythin’. What I did was to keep everyone safe. The less you know about that side of me the better. As much as my grandfather wishes otherwise, my life is here.”
“What’s really been buggin’ me is how Darby seems to know more about ‘The Woodsman’ than we do,” Guy freely admitted, throwing his hands up in frustration. “He can’t hold water for shit but managed to keep this secret for decades!”
Darby and Holt exchanged a long look filled with compassion and understanding. Eventually, Darby answered, “It was my story but wasn’t really mine to tell.”
“Until now,” Holt added somberly.
“Yeah, that sounds about right, Thor,” the redhead agreed. “Until now…”
***
Past
“Get yer ass out the car!”
“No! I ain’t doin’ it!”
Patrick Sullivan yanked the truck door open and snatched his middle son, Darby, by the arm until he tumbled out onto the damp grass. His hand rose, and the leather belt sailed through the air and landed on Darby’s bare, dirty back.
His flesh felt as if he was being roasted alive as five more searing lashes found their mark in rapid succession over his arms, face, and chest, robbing Darby of oxygen. He tensed up, forcing himself to take the punishment, knowing that cowering would only bring the fucking devil joy.
“Yer gonna do as I say, boy!”
Patrick grabbed a handful of his son’s red hair, so like his own, and jerked his head back to meet the emerald eyes also identical to his. His moonshine-soaked breath wafted over Darby’s face, making him want to puke at the strong, turpentine stench. “It’s the last fight of the night, and ya got a perfect record! Now it’s time to get yer goddamned head back in the game! I swear if you make me look bad—”
“He a
in’t but half my size! I’ll most likely kill him! Don’t that mean anythin’ to you?!” Darby shouted. “I ain’t doin’ it!”
Patrick shook him by his hair, threatening, “The hell you ain’t! Yer gonna give ‘em the fight of yer life if I have to beat the fire back into ya!”
Eyes watering with frustration, Darby spit into his face. “Well, get that strap ready then ‘cause I’m done! I ain’t puttin’ hands on a baby! Your sick ass can’t make me!”
His rebellion earned him a cuff to his ear, and Darby fought to stay on his feet as the pain radiated down his jawline. His ears were ringing, and he felt nauseous after a night of fighting on an empty stomach. The son-of-a-bitch treated his own son like an animal, starving him the entire day, making him mean and desperate enough to fight anything in his path with a pulse just for a bite of anything. Patrick’s hand clamped down on Darby’s neck and squeezed as he dragged him over to a tree with a linked chain wrapped around it and a collar attached to the end. He threw his middle son to the ground and wrestled the metal and leather band around his neck.
“I’ll teach ya to defy me!” Patrick snarled, cuffing Darby again as he tried to get away. “Hold still!”
Once he’d completed his mission, he grinned maliciously down at his son, who regarded him with hatred burning in his defiant eyes.
Patrick let the belt fly.
Buckle first.
The little shit lasted ten minutes before he collapsed.
Patrick tossed the belt to the ground and stumbled over to some shrubs to empty his bladder. Whistling tunelessly, he unzipped his pants and relieved himself, stomach rumbling. Moira better have made something edible for dinner. None of that shitty Irish fare. Fuck soda bread and corned beef with cabbage! A man needed meat for sustenance. Meatloaf sounded real tasty. With some mashed potatoes and gravy…