All We Ever Needed

by D. A. Young

Holt raised an eyebrow at the older man’s state.

  “Everything is locked up,” she informed Holt coolly, offering no explanation on Jan’s present condition.

  “And the women?”

  “Blaise is holding them at their house.” Gesturing with her gun, she ordered, “Up against that wall!”

  Tension swelled within the kitchen. The sons carried Jan over and set him down against the wall. According to Holt’s reports, they were fishermen who decided to make a go of selling whatever they caught. Their catch-to-table success had made the Zannick family popular in Gothenburg. They’d been featured on the local news stations and newspapers and won culinary awards for their recipes. They gave back to their community and donated their time and money to charities. Jan even played Julmoten (Father Christmas) every Christmas Eve, handing out toys while his wife handed out treats. It would be hard-pressed to find a more loving and caring family than the Zannicks. They were a hardworking and God-fearing group.

  They also happened to be bomb-makers for hire.

  Jan Zannick had taught his sons, Michael, Gerard, and Peter everything he’d learned from his father and grandfather before him. They were mercenaries who sold their product around the world for the right price, regardless of country, women and children, or religious loyalties. Mosques, churches, clinics, schools, businesses, and orphanages were a few of the targets those bombs had destroyed. Holt had spent hours studying the carnage they’d inflicted. It made today’s choice a no-fucking-brainer.

  “Who built the bomb?”

  The men jumped as if Holt had screamed the point-blank question at them through a megaphone. They wished he had instead of uttering it in that eerily calm, smooth manner. They wished he had offered a greeting and a little bit of false joviality. They understood bullshit for they could shoot the shit with the best of them. It was how they’d managed to stay under the radar for generations. This was not a good sign. The giant was looking for answers. Someone had to be held accountable.

  “What bomb?!” The patriarch was breathing heavily and in excruciating pain. “We know nothing about a bomb! Take what you want and get out!”

  “Who built the bomb?”

  Silence descended again.

  Peter, the youngest dared to speak. “We have no idea what you are talking about, sir. We’re simple fishermen.”

  The others nodded their agreement.

  Then the little shit smiled.

  And not just any smile.

  It was a big ol’ shit-eating-whatchu-gone-do-about-it-motherfucker smirk.

  Big mistake.

  Holt snatched him by the top of his hair and dragged him to the now sink. His family shouted but were held at bay by Thea who fired more shots above their heads. Peter’s protest was cut off when Holt shoved his head underwater and held it there.

  The Zannicks screamed their objections to such treatment, trying to persuade Holt by filling his ears with trivial reasoning. He didn’t react, only stared at them impassively while Peter’s struggles grew weaker. Holt’s silence spoke octaves louder than their fuckery. It let them know he could commit atrocities they’d yet to have nightmares about. Gerard tried to rush him and Thea shot him in the ankle. They shut up. Only when Peter’s body went limp, did Holt withdraw his head and tossed him to the ground.

  His family was incapable of speech as lifeless eyes stared up at them.

  “Noooooo!” Jan screamed, dragging himself over to cover Peter’s body with his own.

  “Who built the bomb?”

  “Go to hell!” Michael shouted, gripping his hair and pacing back and forth. He glared at Holt as if he wanted to come for him.

  Gerard was rocking and holding onto his ankle, biting his lips as tears streamed down his face.

  Holt motioned to Thea, and she lowered the Uzi. Michael charged him, catching Holt around his middle. He brought his elbow down on the younger man’s spine, and Michael buckled, releasing his grip. This allowed Holt to pull him up by his ponytail. He didn’t look scared like his younger brother had been. Michael spat in his captor’s face and punched at his arms and chest and kicked at him. The blows were ineffectual.

  Holt swiped the spit away with his jacket sleeve and grabbed him by the back of his neck and shoved him forward. “Alright. In you go.”

  “I wish you’d been in that van too!” Michael snarled, admitting his family’s guilt and completely unrepentant. He tried to break free, but Holt’s grip was made of steel. “We should have blown your entire family up!”

  “Shut up, Michael!” Jan yelled.

  Holt dragged him past the sink and straight to the fryer and shoved his face into the popping grease. The acrid smell of burning flesh filled the room.

  “You’re now down to one son, Zannick,” Holt mildly informed the grief-stricken man. He turned off the fryer, leaving Michael’s body slumped over it. “Who built the bomb?”

  “It was me!” Gerard screamed. “I built the bomb!”

  With a smile, Holt reached behind him and withdrew his axe. “Now, we’re gettin’ somewhere.”

  ***

  “Please,” Jan whimpered. “I’ve given you a name. Leave my wife and sister out of this!”

  Holt set the bin in front of him that contained Gerard’s body parts. The old man sobbed tiredly while Thea watched with a merciless smile. It was the same smile she’d held on to throughout this entire process. Witnessing this moment was the only thing that had kept her sane since Matty and Otto’s murders. Holton had kept his word. He’d promised she and Blaise vengeance and had more than delivered. The old bastard had come unglued all over again with the Holt’s first hack, which severed Gerard’s arm from his body.

  There was a knock on the door. Thea’s Uzi was trained on it until Magnus poked his head in. “Is this a good time?”

  “No time like the present, Magnus,” Holt replied while Thea rolled her eyes and lowered her weapon.

  “Right. Got it. Hello, Thea. It’s great to see ya, lass.” He was staring at her so hard that he’d stopped walking to hover in front of her.

  “Hello, Magnus.”

  “Call me Mags. All my friends do.”

  Thea frowned at Holt and he shrugged. “Mmm, not going to happen, Magnus. Holt, if you need me, I’ll be at our designated spot. Jan Zannick, I hope you and your family rot in hell for all eternity.”

  “Her fire and sass are quite an aphrodisiac,” Magnus sighed like the lovesick fool he’d turned into since meeting Thea two months ago. “Not sure she’s not really my type, though.”

  “Might not really be by your choice either,” Holt muttered under his breath, staring at the shockingly pale Scot with frizzy red hair and bifocal glasses.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothin’.” Holt arched an eyebrow. “Can we get this damn show started?”

  “Sure. Where do you want me to put it?”

  Holt pointed at the plastic bin. “You’re gonna love the irony of this, Zannick.”

  “What is it?”

  Magnus carefully set the box down and carefully lifted the lid, revealing the bomb underneath it.

  “Recognize it? You should. We ordered it from you.”

  Jan’s eyes flew to Holt’s face. “But I gave you a name!”

  “Bojku,” Holt calmly repeated it to him. “I heard you the first time it was screamed. As for your request, you’re not in a position to make demands. Therefore, I’m not forced into the position of havin’ to listen or honor them. Your wife and sister have already been handled. Your bloodline dies with you today.”

  The two men lifted the bin carefully and moved it to the middle of the dining room, far out of the injured Zannick’s reach. Ignoring the man’s screams for mercy, the two men locked the restaurant up and walked out, heading down the road. Holt placed a call to Graham.

  “Cameras in ten minutes. Digital footprint?”

  “Try and find one,” Graham challenged. “It’s like y’all motherfuckers were floating. I’m that damn good! They give you a
name?”

  “Still the same.”

  “Bojku?”

  “Yup.”

  “Don’t worry. On everything, we’ll find that bitch. Hey, did Casey call you?”

  Holt pulled the phone away from his ear and checked. “Sure did. Is it time?”

  “Man, it’s goin’ dooown as we speak! I got fifty on her askin’ for every drug known to mankind. Max has fifty on her wanting horse tranquilizers.”

  “I want in on that. Also, that she cusses Case out.”

  “That’s a given, my brotha. I’m wiping all evidence away as we speak. Tell Magnus to circle me.”

  Graham and Magnus had formed an allied bond. They were an unstoppable combination with their technological prowess.

  “Graham wants you to sweep behind him, Magnus,” Holt repeated, as Thea’s Jaguar came into view. “Thanks for everything, man.”

  He hung up and noticed Magnus staring at him. “What?”

  “Since when do ya murder women?” the Scot bravely ventured to ask.

  “My father said this to me once, and I should have listened. “Always kill them all: The targets, their children…everyone! If you don’t, it will come back to haunt you.”.”

  “Since “The Wolf” didn’t tie up his loose ends, and they came back to chomp on his ass,” Holt bluntly answered. “Zannick’s wife and sister were the negotiator and accountant for their business, making them just as guilty.”

  Magnus let that fact marinate before nodding reluctantly. “Seems fair, I guess. I’d like to revisit the subject of yer cousin. She’s got everything. What do you get the woman who has everything? How do ya keep it spicy with Kat? Give me the scoop on it all! Except for the part where ya lost her. That part seems like it’s still kicking yer arse.”

  Holt glared at him and Magnus shuffled away uneasily. “Too soon?”

  “The fuck you think?” Holt exhaled roughly, trying to force Kat’s image back into the teeny-tiny compartment he’d tried unsuccessfully to place her in. “Look, fucker, I shouldn’t even help you after that crack, but if you’re serious about impressin’ Thea? Make a grand gesture. Hopefully, it’ll come from your heart instead of your dick. Her car was a birthday gift from some Sultan’s son. You feel me? Now, are you pressin’ that thing or what? I’d like to get the fuck out of here and meet my new niece.”

  That the only reason you’re in a hurry?

  Perfect. His conscience had jokes.

  They’d reached Thea’s car. Magnus gulped loudly under her withering stare.

  “Can we go already?” she snapped, sitting on the hood swinging her legs. “I’d really like to go home and check on everyone.”

  Since the car bombing, she’d developed separation anxiety and now preferred being at home with family than anywhere else.

  Magnus presented the small remote control to her with a gallant bow. “Would you like to do the honors, mademoiselle?”

  She went from stone to putty in zero seconds at the gesture.

  “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, Mags,” she breathed, snatching it out his hand.

  Her cousin gagged but reached his hand out to her for support. She took it, exhaled, and pressed the button.

  This time, Holt and Thea were ready for the explosion.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Whiskey Row, TN

  Hours earlier

  What she wouldn’t give to be sleeping peacefully right now, Sidra thought, standing over her snoring husband, and trying to ignore Moira’s enthusiastic step show production on her bladder. Usually looking at the love of her life made Sidra forget about everything else.

  Casey lay on his back with one arm crossed over his stomach and the other over his head. The smooth expanse of muscled flesh shuddered with every deep breath he took. Sidra sighed lustily. Even with the shadows and stubble, he was too adorable. With long lashes sweeping his cheeks and that glorious mane of dirty blonde hair falling over his forehead, Casey’s face had a bad-boy youthful quality. Staring down at him, Sidra frowned slightly at the shadows underneath his eyes and the thicker than normal stubble covering his sleek jaw.

  Casey was just as exhausted as she had been during the last nine months. Poor baby. From massaging her body, which always led to steamy sessions of lovemaking, and making sure Sidra’s every craving was satisfied, to allowing her and Moira to practically smother him while they slept practically on top of him, Casey had issued no complaints. And that was exactly why Sidra really hated to disturb the deep sleep he was in.

  “Baby…I need you to wake up…”

  Casey groaned his protest. Turning on his side, he cradled his crotch area and mumbled, “Woman, I think you broke him! Raincheck, okay? Big Daddy needs some rest…and so do I.”

  Sidra giggled at his arrogant assumption. “Jerk! I don’t need that right now…but I sure as hell plan on cashing that raincheck in as soon as it’s convenient.”

  Casey snorted before opening one bleary eye. Rubbing it tiredly, he peered up at her. “I know you will, sugar. If it’s not that, then why are you up? We couldn’t have run out of anythin’ you might be cravin’. The fridge is well-stocked with all your favorite combinations: jalapeños and blueberry yogurt; pickles and strawberry jelly; and Gouda and Nutella. Noelle sent over a fresh batch of those chorizo and smoked cheddar biscuits you devoured last week at brunch.”

  His handsome face twisted in disgust when he added, “She even made you another batch of choco-fudge-mallow-hog-cracklin’ ice cream. What gives?”

  Sidra held up the empty pint-sized container and spoon proudly. “I might have set a new Guinness World Record! Crushed it in forty-five seconds flat, despite the brain freeze.”

  Casey grinned and applauded, to which she curtsied gracefully. Well, as gracefully as she could thirty-six weeks into her pregnancy.

  “I’m impressed darlin’. Did you even chew the cracklin’ this time???”

  Sidra sat down on the edge of the bed next to him, and Casey scooted over to make room. “Yup. I’m wounded you slept through it, buddy. The concerto of crunches was pretty epic.”

  He sat up and leaned over to give her a lingering kiss on the lips and the tip of her nose before settling back against the tufted leather headboard. Silently, Casey congratulated himself on managing not to gag when the blended flavors of marshmallow, chocolate, pork, and salt touched his taste buds. Give him plain old Neapolitan any day.

  Lord help him.

  The things he did in the name of love.

  “I bet it was, Sid. What’s the matter? You can’t sleep? Lemme give you a full-body massage,” he suggested.

  She caught his hand and bent her head to kiss his head knuckles. “I’m good, hubs. Besides, we both know that your massages are never just massages.”

  Sidra leaned across his stomach, shifting her back until it was comfortably positioned, and she was looking up at him. “Our relationship has been quite an adventure, huh? We went from being mortal enemies to married with a kid on the way! You’re going to be a kick-ass daddy, babe.”

  Chuckling quietly, Casey cupped her cheek, his soul-stirring as he gazed into his wife’s gorgeous face that now held a soft roundness. Sidra bemoaned the physical changes the pregnancy had created, but Casey was just the opposite and tremendously vocal in expressing his praise. Aside from Sidra’s ever-expanding belly, her satiny chocolate skin was radiant. Breasts that were once barely handfuls had doubled in size and so had her ass. There was even more of her for Casey to revere. He even found his wife’s puffy, swollen ankles and feet adorable.

  If he stroked Sidra’s soles just right, she melted like butter, purring and moaning some of the most erotic shit he’d ever heard outside of their bedroom. Those sessions usually resulted in Sidra lying on top of him, back to chest, with Casey fucking her from underneath. His hands massaged her belly and stroked her clit while she writhed deliriously, praising him to high heaven.

  “Thank you for choosin’ to share your world with me, Sidra Jane. Li
fe is crazy unpredictable, and you’ve turned my damn world upside down in the best ways possible. I, for damn sure, wouldn’t want to experience one minute of it without you or Bean,” he declared tenderly, brushing his nose alongside hers. “Thank you for bein’ brave enough to love me.”

  Sidra pulled back to brush the lock of hair from his forehead. “How could I not when everything is all about you? I know I’ve been a complete pain in your ass and hell, everyone else’s too, but you’ve been so patient with me. Loving me when I’m being completely unlovable. I love us and this life we’re building together, Casey! Every day, I think that I can’t possibly love you any more than I do at that moment. Then a new day dawns and proves me wrong all over again in a million different ways. It’s the only reason I can’t wait to go to sleep at night.”

  She sniffled and fanned at her face, trying not to become overly emotional. “I love our honesty and friendship. That we can be real with each other. That we chose to see past our insecurities and refused to be defined by them. Fuck what anyone else thinks. We’ve paid for troubled pasts that we never should have born witness to. I adore you— mind, heart, and soul, husband.”

  Shit. Now Casey’s own eyes were blurred at her impassioned speech. He’d always thought he’d remain in the dark, tainted with guilt, loss, and untethered, refusing to permit himself to live a whole life. But alas, this sassy troublemaker, his Sidra, came along. She was a fierce, brave, beautiful flame, burning bright enough to show him the way to the end of that lonely tunnel of despair. Every day together brought a new adventure, for Sidra would always be wild for him, and Casey would never stop chasing her.

  “Most people won’t understand us, but it’s not for them to get us. You’re selfless and lovin’, and your generous spirit amazes me daily. With you by my side, I’m forever winnin’, wife.”

  He kissed her, sweetly, yet firmly, to make her understand that he was on the same wavelength and always would be. Reluctantly, they broke apart for air, and Casey grinned mischievously at her as he tugged off her head wrap. Quickly, he caught her slap-happy hands and brought them to his chest while Sidra scowled at him.