All We Ever Needed

by D. A. Young

  Kat jumped at the crash on his end and the hiss of profanity that followed. “Holt! What’s going on? Talk to me!”

  Holt stared at the hole he’d punched in the wall. If his hand hurt, he couldn’t feel it, and that numbness was a welcomed blessing right now. Katerina Romankov had just stomped her designer heels all over his heart, and it felt like death had come calling for him.

  “There’s nothin’ more to say right now, is there? You’ve got all the answers. You want space to run? Then fuckin’ run. There are more than four thousand miles between us. Use it. Go as far as you need to. Just make sure you make it worth my while.”

  Icicles formed down Kat’s spine, and she shivered at his ominous threat, anxiety making her heart beating double-time. “What does that mean?”

  “You’re a smart cookie, darlin’,” Holt drawled in a silken tone. “Figure it out. In the meantime, don’t you dare take that ring off.”

  The line went dead in Kat’s ear.

  It wouldn’t be until later after she’d called a family meeting and told them of her plans and was tossing and turning in her bed, that Kat would grasp Holt’s meaning.

  “It would behoove you to remember that runnin’ from me isn’t an option that you would ever want to entertain, Katerina. I will always come for you and enjoy the consequences of your defiance.”

  She’d been so busy certifying she wasn’t underestimated that Kat had underestimated Holt in the process.

  ***

  “You cool, man?” Blaise shot Holt a nervous look.

  After guaranteeing Zoraida was safe with Merada, Holt had called him to pick him up from his hotel.

  No, he wasn’t cool. Holt was now functioning on autopilot and trying to keep Katerina out of his mind. There was logic to her words, and they both knew it.

  “I’m fine. You remember what I said to do? You studied Graham’s blueprints?”

  “I know the logistics like the back of my hand. A benefit to having a photographic memory. Are you sure this is the best course of action?”

  “Don’t fucking question me, Blaise. Do your part and keep your damn mouth shut.”

  They rolled up to a black warehouse with a well-dressed line wrapped around it. Club Retrograde was written in white flashing lights above the front door. Two muscular bouncers stood on either side at the front of the line and two more on either side of the double doors. They got out of the Aston, ignoring the envious looks and baleful glares as they strolled up to the doors. Blaise tossed his keys to the bouncer who approached them, and they waltzed through the doors being held respectfully open for them.

  The club was dark, save the purple lighting, crowded, and loud. The deejay booth hung from the ceiling, and he hyped the crowd up by fondling the naked dancers gyrating behind him. The walls thumped with the pulsating bass of Sofi Tukker’s “Best Friend” as Blaise and Holt headed to the guarded private elevator for the second floor VIP section.

  We made a language for us two, we don't need to describe

  Every time you call on me, I drop what I do

  You are my best friend and we've got some shit to shoot

  Along the way, bodies melded and hands groped while desperate tongues tangled. Holt ignored the invitations he received in the form of lustful looks of those trying to catch his gaze. The grabby hands he deterred with a granite stare. Although the club was tastefully designed, the predatory vibe it gave off left a bad taste in Holt’s mouth. The eyes were a telltale sign. Some of the women were glassy-eyed and stumbling around in a daze, only to be aided by men with eyes shining with anticipation. Gallantly, they stepped forward, a prince charming ready to aid when they were actually wolves in sheep clothing. Their lecherous laughs rang with triumph, grating on Holt’s ears as he watched their hands act without permission, a volcanic rage brewed within him.

  Yo, you wanna meet me in the west?

  Yo, you wanna meet me in the east?

  Yo, you wanna meet me in the west?

  Blaise kept going, focused on completing their business. At the elevator, he stepped in while Holt paused to address the security guard with a glare that could have incinerated him to ash.

  “I’ve clocked at least eight incidents between the dance floor and bar that aren’t consensual. Get your security team and sweep the dance floor and every inch of this property that is accessible to the public before I come back downstairs. The inebriated women need to be put in cabs that will take them straight home ASAP.”

  The man swallowed hard, reaching for the taser at his waist. Feeling more confident with it in his hand, he retorted, “Piss off, shithead! Who the fuck are you to give orders around here?”

  The other security guard snickered while Blaise smiled and slipped his hands into his pants pockets, patiently waiting for his cousin’s response.

  Holt’s vicious right cross sent his ass flying backward into the elevator. He landed in a heap at Blaise’s feet. Holt’s eyes were icebergs as he squatted down to the injured security guard’s level and patted his cheek firmly.

  “Forgive my lack of manners. Seein’ people taken advantage of sets off my protective instincts. You were sayin’?”

  The guard tried to speak but had to spit out a mouthful of blood first. Blaise grimaced with distaste, barely managing to sidestep the mess by pressing against the side wall of the elevator.

  “Jesus, Holt! Have a care! This is fucking money!” he complained, checking his suit for blood splatter.

  “I wasn’t saying anything, sir. I’ll go take care of that for you,” he mumbled fearfully.

  “Good man.” Holt helped him to his feet, staring at the other skittish security guard’s reflection behind him. He grimaced, knowing the exact second he made his poor decision. “You gonna stand around and bitch or take care of my lightweight, little cousin?”

  The other security guard finally made his move and lunged for the back of Holt’s neck. Blaise stepped forward and slammed his fist, armed with the brass knuckles he’d slipped on, into the side of the guard’s face and put him to sleep.

  “Nicely done,” Holt praised him.

  Blaise gallantly bowed. “Thanks. Not all of us are built like fucking tanks. Improvising is occasionally needed.”

  Holt straightened as the second elevator glided open and revealed a beautiful woman with brunette waves tumbling down to her elbows, wearing an ivory catsuit with a slit that plunged to her navel and matching stilettos. Her attire emphasized curves that had Blaise coming forward to greet her enthusiastically while Holt remained in place and unaffected. A truth that didn’t go unnoticed, causing the woman’s lips to curl with dislike and longing flashing in her almond-shaped brown eyes that were enhanced by her side-swept bangs.

  Curtly, Holt nodded. “Geneva. Is there somewhere we could speak privately?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Past

  “Holton! I wondered if you were avoiding me!”

  Geneva pulled him into her flat and twined her arms around her longtime lover’s neck, kissing him with unrestrained passion. Holt never let her know when he was coming to town. He just rang her whenever he landed and inquired if Geneva was available. She didn’t care who she was in the middle of fucking. Yes, she was always accessible for Holton Brammer.

  She had fallen in love with him when he lost his virginity to her at the age of fifteen. And even deeper when he was sixteen. It wasn’t about sex. Holt didn’t touch Geneva sexually after that first time for years. Even though he specifically requested Geneva’s company whenever he and his family visited the brothel. He didn’t care for the idea that she got paid to sleep with him. They became friends. Holt treated her better than all of her clients combined. They talked, and he brought her gifts from America that he thought she might like. In return, Geneva told him everything that went on in the brothel.

  “Why do you stay here?” Holt asked her out of the blue.

  “What else could I do?” Geneva gave a listless half-shrug. “Sex is the only thing I’m good at.”<
br />
  “I hope you don’t honestly believe that. You could go back to school and get a normal job.”

  “Yeah, I could do that and struggle! I’d have to worry about how to pay my bills…here, everything is taken care of.” Geneva’s smile didn’t reach her sad eyes. “I have a roof over my head and get three meals a day. I service only three to five clients daily, and I don’t have to work on my rag. I have a nice wardrobe, and my hair and nails are done weekly. I can’t complain.”

  When he was eighteen and his first inheritance installment kicked in, Holt bought her a flat, no strings attached. When Geneva protested his generosity, he insisted she keep it.

  “You’ve never had a chance. I’m givin’ you one. No strings attached. Don’t be a fool and refuse it, Eva.”

  Geneva wanted to tell Holt that she didn’t want a flat. She wanted his heart. Except, Holt had never offered it to her. Therefore, she accepted the flat and became an escort. She called all the shots, running shit on her own terms as a boss in every aspect of her life except where Holton was concerned. He was the one thing she desired most, but Geneva knew she didn’t stand a chance of having him to herself forever. It didn’t stop her from pursuing Holt relentlessly, however. Aware of her feelings for his cousin, Otto always made it a point to text her whenever Holt came to town.

  On his twenty-fourth birthday, Holt finally accepted when she propositioned him for the umpteenth time.

  “If you’re lookin’ for a relationship, I’m not your guy, Eva,” Holt warned as she slid down his naked body.

  “Maybe you haven’t found the right person?” Geneva suggested coyly from between his knees where she fondled him expertly, anxious for him to be wrong.

  Holt cupped her chin, his thumb stroking her jaw lightly while he considered her inquiry and shook his head. A candid admission was all he could offer her.

  “I’ve never lied to you, and I won’t start now. We will always be exactly this, Geneva. Never more. No explanations. No regrets. Don’t say yes if you’re not cool with that.”

  She was confident she could change his mind, given time. Men worshipped her. They loved the way she listened to their problems and focused all of her attention on them, making them feel like the smartest men on the planet. Her bosom doubled as a therapy couch. It’s what made Geneva extremely popular at the brothel. They came bearing gifts for her and fought for her time.

  “Yes.”

  From that point on, whenever he returned to Sweden, they connected. Their routine changed when Holt turned twenty-six. An excellent lover, his sexual appetite turned voracious. He was insatiable and couldn’t get enough of her, which Geneva equated to growing affection. Then the brooding restlessness set in and could not be shaken. Unfailingly polite and charming, Holt abruptly retreated, becoming closed off and moody, giving Geneva his dick instead of answers when she begged to know what was wrong. She scoured the internet and hounded his cousins to find out if he had a love interest. No information could be found. It left Geneva saddened and in limbo and still hopelessly in love with Holton.

  She didn’t even notice that he wasn’t returning her inflamed ardor. Until his hands tugged her wrists down, and Holt stepped away from her with a somber expression as he wiped her lipstick from his mouth. Geneva recoiled from the action as if it were a physical blow. Her voice shook with fear, yet she managed to push the words out.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Holt steeled himself for the impact he knew his response would have on her. “I’m leavin’ town tonight. I came to say goodbye.”

  He couldn’t. Especially when he still felt the faintest brush of Kat’s lips against his like it just happened five minutes ago. Walking away and leaving her alone in Jack and Noelle’s kitchen was the hardest thing Holt had ever done. Now he knew what she tasted like and how she felt in his arms. He’d boarded the jet in a haze, barely paying his parents any attention as he relived those moments with Katerina. When they arrived in Stockholm nine hours later, Holt was still pipe hard. He was also fearful that he’d scared Kat off. All he wanted to do was return home, hopefully to good news. Holt wasn’t such a dick that he couldn’t properly end things with his longtime lover.

  Geneva smiled. Maybe if she kept smiling, Holt would too. Then everything would be okay between them.

  “When will you be back?”

  “I’m not comin’ back here, Geneva. Matty will be contactin’ you on Monday about your finances.” Holt kissed her forehead briefly. “Please take care of yourself.”

  Goodbye?

  Denial became her ally, protecting her and refusing to allow the cruel word entrance into her mind and breaking heart. Geneva kept smiling. Nothing could hurt her if she was able to keep up a happy façade. That is until their eyes met, and Geneva saw the truth residing in Holt’s. Behind the compassion for her pain, there was relief. It made her sick to her stomach.

  Goodbye and good riddance.

  “No! I love you, Holt! Only ever you!” She pushed past him, blocking the door and sinking into hysteria as she pleaded her case. “This isn’t fair! You’ve never allowed yourself to see what we could be! Give us a chance!”

  “I told you from the beginnin’ what we were and what we weren’t. That never changed. I’m sorry for any pain I’ve caused you. You deserve a lifetime of happiness instead of sporadic moments of it. I hope you find a deservin’ person, Geneva. Take care of yourself. Goodbye.”

  ***

  Present

  Geneva stalked toward Holt, engulfing him in her signature perfume, Dior Poison, and kicked the shit out of the felled security guard.

  “Get your ass up! I don’t pay you to sleep on the clock!”

  Putting distance between themselves and the cousins, the men scrambled to their feet.

  Geneva faced Holt and scornfully asked, “Was there something the almighty Holton Brammer wanted? Because I know it’s not me. State your business and get out! I refuse to let you waste a minute more of my time.”

  Holt nodded civilly. “Fair enough. Your office. Lead the way.”

  She spun on her heel and stormed off.

  Holt pointed at Blaise. “Make sure this entire club is thoroughly swept. Text me when it’s complete.”

  Upstairs, Geneva’s office was dim-lit and looked like an after-hours lounge. She sat on the edge of her desk, arms and legs crossed, waiting for him impatiently. Holt was equally anxious to have this reunion over and done with. He got straight to the point.

  “Are you aware of Matty’s attack?”

  Geneva softened momentarily. Like the rest of them, she had a soft spot for him. After Holt left, Matty had reached out to her. The bastard had written her a check for two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars. Holt’s stipulation was that Geneva would have access to the money as long as she went legitimate. Matty was the one to meet up with her and discuss her options. He also helped her select a real estate agent and shopped with them for the perfect warehouse location.

  “I’d heard. I reached out to Otto to express my condolences,” she confessed, her eyes drinking Holt up. Geneva hated that he was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen. The virility he recklessly emanated had her heart racing and her fingers were fisted to keep from reaching out for him.

  He was never yours was the mantra Geneva had tortured herself with for months after his departure as she wondered where and what he was doing.

  She’d found out when the Swedish media exploded with an Instagram photo of him and Katerina Romankov, the exquisite beauty from his hometown. As everything the Falks did was newsworthy, it wasn’t hard to find out about her. Like Holt, she came from a wealthy, powerful family. They caused quite a furor and were even compared to Prince Harry and his bi-racial actress girlfriend, Meghan Markle. Geneva studied those pictures with a sickening fixation. The way Holt stared at the curly-headed goddess made a mockery of the moments that Geneva managed to convince herself that he’d looked at her with something like love.

  “I’m trying to get to the
bottom of what happened. The name Liridon Bojku keeps popping up. Word on the street is you have a connection to him.”

  “Perhaps. Jealous?” Geneva mocked, hating the inferiority complex he’d given her.

  “Geneva, do it for Matty’s sake, please,” Holt spoke with a calmness that he hoped masked his impatience.

  She slid off the desk and approached him, invading his space. Her fingers ran through his beard. “I’ll do it on one condition. Tell me everything about the five-year-old princess that you fell for, after insisting to me that such a thing wasn’t possible. Is she the one? You can tell me. I want to know if she’s the one who thawed the ice around your cold heart?”

  Holt knocked her hands away, her touch a betrayal to Kat. “You’re makin’ this personal. She has nothin’ to do with Matty. Help me to help him.”

  “What’s she like in bed?”

  “Matty means that little to you?”

  “Does she suck your dick just the way you like?”

  “Tell me about Liridon Bojku.”

  “Tell me about Katerina Romankov.”

  “Last chance to stop making things personal, Geneva.”

  “Fuck you, Holton.”

  He received a text from Blaise.

  Done.

  Holt grabbed her by the arm, holding firm when she would have wrestled away. He took the emergency stairs, and she tried to grasp the rail and not fall as Holt dragged her down to the emergency exit. They left the building, and Geneva wrapped her arms around her body, freezing in her jumpsuit. She whirled around with surprise, noticing the outside of the club had been cleared out and the music was off inside. It was only her and Holt left. Security was gone and even Blaise had taken off.

  “What’s going on, Holton?”

  “Why did you videotape us, Geneva?”