Page 12 of Bound by Them (Rose and Dagger #1)

Edmund

T roy storms past my room and goes into his. I throw on some shorts and follow him.

“I don’t want to fucking talk to you right now.” He yanks open his dresser and grabs a shirt and sweatpants.

I lean against the doorframe and fold my arms over my chest. “She’s an Aseyev. We never should’ve invited her here.”

“Fuck you. You knew what we were doing. You were on board.”

“Yeah, I know. I know .” But I never thought she was that involved in the family. Not involved enough to get their symbol tattooed on her body. That shit’s permanent.

Like this arrangement was ever permanent? It wasn’t. It can’t be. I don’t know where I thought it was going. All I thought was—she’s sexy. She’s a challenge. This is fun. Also, my father wants me to keep her close. Hooking up with Danica is a no-brainer.

But taking care of her after her panic attack made everything even more real. It made me care.

Who am I fucking kidding. Watching her face off against her family after Patrick attacked her friend—that’s when I started falling for the Aseyev princess.

The Aseyev angel.

Troy won’t even look at me. He’ll get over it, I guess.

I return to my room and fall back onto my bed. My sheets smell like Danica, like sweet waffle cones and vanilla.

She told us to lose her number. We probably should. This could never work.

My phone buzzes insistently from somewhere nearby. I haul myself up to hunt for it, and find it in the living room in the pile of Troy’s and my clothes that I brought in when we came inside last night. I dig through everything until I find my phone.

Several missed calls, followed by a text from my father. Have you invited Rosalind May to the gala?

Shit.

* * *

Troy

Rosalind May is a perfectly nice, perfectly respectable young woman. She holds herself with poise. Her honey-blond hair rests obediently in a demure updo, and her shimmery black dress is tasteful. She fits in with everyone else at Olivia Santiago’s gala.

But she isn’t Dani.

Edmund and I are polite to her. Luckily, I don’t have to do much with her at all—she’s Edmund’s date, and I’m the hired bodyguard.

My job is to hang back. Easy enough at a gig like this.

Nobody expects trouble. Just a bunch of rich assholes who need somewhere to throw their money, getting dressed up to chat with other rich assholes. Boring.

But when Edmund finds Dmitri Montrose, shit gets tense.

“Edmund.” I breathe out a warning.

“What?” Edmund’s smile is falsely innocent. “I just want to give him a friendly hello.”

With a puzzled look on her picture-perfect face, Rosalind follows Edmund over to where Dmitri stands with his date, Leah.

She’s the woman from that first party, Danica’s friend.

Patrick Aseyev assaulted her. I’m glad to see she looks like she’s feeling better, although her eyes flash with irritation at something Dmitri says.

Edmund reaches them. “Dmitri Aseyev. What are you doing in the Salding district?”

“It’s Montrose, not Aseyev. And I’m here for the benefit.” Dmitri’s stance is stiff and annoyed. “Obviously.”

“We’d prefer if you spoke to us before wandering into our neighborhood.

” Edmund messes with his sleeve, trying to appear unconcerned.

But like me, he has to feel the heightened tension, the way this “friendly hello” can easily devolve into a fistfight.

“It could be dangerous for you here if the wrong people catch you.”

Dmitri doesn’t respond. Edmund waits, eyebrows raised.

Finally, Rosalind taps Edmund’s shoulder. “Eddie, let’s go.”

“Leah.” Edmund smiles again, and this time it seems genuine. “Tell Danica that Troy and I say hello.”

Dmitri lunges at Edmund. “You fucking bastard .”

I get in front of Edmund, ready to take a hit. Not that Edmund deserves my protection.

But Leah steps forward as well, and Dmitri stops short.

“Hey.” Leah holds out her hands, placating. “We’re here for the benefit, not for…whatever this is. We’ll keep to one side of the room, you keep to the other. Does that sound fair?”

“Of course.” Edmund’s tone is completely reasonable, like he didn’t come over here just to fuck with Dmitri. “Leah, it was a pleasure.”

Rosalind takes Edmund’s arm, subtly telling him not to cause more of a scene than he already has. Dmitri scowls after us as we go.

Once Rosalind is busy talking to someone with better manners, I mutter to Edmund, “You just had to stir shit up.”

“Well, yeah. Fucking with Dmitri Montrose is hilarious. Pissing him off actually makes me more inclined to pursue his sister.”

I keep my eye on Rosalind to make sure she’s adequately distracted by the senator’s son. “I don’t think that’s the right reason to pursue Dani.”

“I don’t think there’s a wrong reason. She’s the enemy.”

I can’t believe he’s still sulking about her tattoo. “You know she isn’t the enemy. It’s just her family.”

“One and the same.” He scans the ballroom, probably searching for a distraction. Any excuse to get away from me.

“Hey.” I wait until he’s looking at me. “Don’t play mind games, E.”

He snags a flute of champagne from a server’s tray and brings it to his lips. “I’m not. Fucking hell. You think I’m like Amber?”

I rock back on my heels. Amber. I do my best to never think about her, never think her name, even. “I don’t want you to be. That’s all I’m saying.”

This is the closest we’ve come to talking about my ex since I returned to the Layton family.

Three years I spent by her side, and at the end of them, I came back to the Laytons as a shell of my former self.

Edmund knows it’s a sore topic. He shouldn’t have brought her up now, especially not here. Maybe that’s precisely why he did.

He drains his champagne glass. “How soon can we leave?”

* * *

Danica

Sleepy Sunday morning traffic rumbles past me. I wait in front of Isabelle’s Creamery, where we’re supposed to have a meeting. I could go inside, but the sun feels nice on my face.

Isabelle calls to tell me she’s running late. Not a big deal. I pull up PhotoGram and get ready to scroll until she arrives.

But the first set of images is organized by “local interest.” There was some big benefit yesterday, and a grinning face in the background of one grabs my attention. Edmund Freaking Layton.

Damn, he looks good in a tux. He looks good naked, too, but I slam my brain’s door shut on that particular thought. I scroll through the pics, hoping for another glimpse even though I know this is a bad idea.

“I don’t care about you,” I mutter when I find him again.

Then I find him tagged in another photo—this one with his arm around an attractive blond woman in a glittering black gown.

So three days after Troy, Edmund, and I fucked around on their balcony, he’s taking someone else to a fancy party. I guess I know where I stand in their hierarchy…somewhere at the bottom.

I turn off my phone so I’m staring at a blank, black screen. Then I tuck the device in my bag. I don’t care what those two infected dicktwists are up to.

Isabelle strides toward me, waving and apologizing for being late. She squints. “You’re frowning. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, totally.” I force a smile. “I had some time to think about mistakes I’ve made, and how I’ll never make them again.”

* * *

Edmund

As the sole heir to the Layton organization, I think it’s pretty fucking unfair how much time I spend running errands. Which is why I’m scowling as Troy and I march up to Sergey Aseyev’s front door with a get-well basket—a gift from my grandfather.

Is it kindness driving this errand? Hell fucking no. My father cleared that up right away. He said, “They need to know that we know they’re weak. Vulnerable. Let Sergey sit with that for a bit.”

Which is fucked up because Sergey just had a heart attack, but that’s my old man for you.

Since I’m holding the big-ass basket full of fruit and snacks, Troy knocks on the giant front door.

I take a good look at the house while I wait for someone to answer.

It’s one of the first places built on the edge of the Old Thirty-Three district.

Like the others nearby, it sits on probably two or three acres.

Although it’s a mansion, it has a rustic cabin vibe.

The driveway is gated, but after a guard searched us for weapons, he let us through. Sergey isn’t that worried about outright attacks—our families don’t work that way.

The front door swings open. None other than my bestest friend Dmitri Montrose opens the door. He’s even wearing his trademark frown.

“Montrose, good to see you.” I can’t fucking believe my luck. I get to run an errand for my family and ruffle Dmitri’s feathers.

His dark blond eyebrows meet in a scowl. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

I lift the gift basket, which should speak for itself. “We heard Sergey was under the weather. We’re here with a get-well gift.”

Troy and I never talked to Danica about why she was at the hospital last week, but my family has people with an eye on the Aseyev leader. Just like I’m sure he has people checking in on my father and grandfather from time to time.

“Nope.” Dmitri starts to swing the door closed.

“Please.” I don’t want to beg, but I can’t go back to Rendsell with this basket. “It’s a gift from my grandfather to yours. It’s a gesture of goodwill.”

Dmitri looks like he’s about to slam the door shut anyway.

“Let them in,” Sergey says from behind Dmitri.

I didn’t think it was possible for Dmitri to scowl any harder, but he’s smashing through my preconceived notions. What a treat.

We step into a small foyer. I stop short—is that—?

Well, fuck me. She’s in faded jeans and a dark blue top.

The barest hint of a purple bra strap shows at the neckline of her shirt.

Her light blond hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and her face is bare of make-up.

Danica Montrose is the epitome of girl-next-door.

I’ve never wanted to corrupt someone as badly as I do now.

Unfortunately, she looks just as happy to see us as her brother does.

“Edmund, right?” Sergey pulls my attention back to him. “Ed Senior’s boy?”

“That’s right.” I grin like the wholesome boy scout I never was. “And this is my best friend, Troy Manchester.”

Sergey shakes our hands. “Would you two boys like some coffee?”

If Danica weren’t here, I’d say no. But she is, and I can’t resist. “Yes, sir, we’d love some coffee. If it isn’t too much trouble.”

“Of course not. And none of that sir business. Call me Sergey.”

We follow Sergey down the hall and into a large kitchen.

“What the hell .” Danica jabs a finger in my direction. Then she looks at Troy and quickly lowers her hand.

“Don’t be rude to our guests, Dani.” Sergey’s voice is full of censure, but at the same time, affection.

I saw the worst of their interactions after Patrick’s party, but it seems they’ve reconciled. Whatever this family’s faults, at least Sergey Aseyev genuinely loves his grandchildren.

Sergey gives Dmitri a tray laden with coffee. Troy falls into step beside Sergey. I hang back with Danica, following behind Dmitri.

Danica shoots me a look of pure vitriol. “Seriously, asshole, you have some nerve.”

“What? Your grandfather had a hospital stay. My grandfather wanted me to send his respects.”

“With a motherfucking fruit basket?”

Fuck, she is way too much fun. “You have such a filthy mouth.”

At my words, Dmitri almost drops the tray of coffee. Ha. He turns around and glares at us.

Danica looks guilty. I have to fight not to smile.

Soon after he ferries the coffee tray into a sitting room, Dmitri makes up some shitty excuse and takes off. That leaves Danica, Troy, Sergey, and me.

Sergey is quick to smooth over the awkwardness of Dmitri’s quick retreat. He pours coffee for us. “Tell me, Edmund, how’s business?”

Danica’s gray eyes widen in surprise. Maybe she thinks we’re going to start chatting about crime.

“The restaurants are doing well. Finch and Fox had some setbacks in Q1, but it’s already getting back on track.” I go on about some of our other restaurants and clubs. Salt, of course, isn’t mentioned. While I’m sure Sergey is aware of the sex club, he won’t bring it up, and neither will I.

He talks about a couple of the Aseyev restaurants. It’s all limited to legit business talk. Nothing about their underground gambling, or the designer drugs they import. Nothing about my family’s gambling rings, either, or our own less-than-legal imports.

But then he drops a bomb. “I heard there was trouble with your shipment coming in at Mirarosa.”

I freeze. Troy freezes. Sergey’s just going to casually bring up how his people lost us half a million dollars?

“What just happened? What are you talking about?” Danica looks between the three of us.

“Yes, we had some trouble.” A whole fucking barge exploded. If that isn’t trouble, I don’t know what is. I clear my throat and meet Sergey’s gaze. “You might know more about that than I do.”

His clear blue eyes widen a fraction. “No. I found out only recently.”

Interesting.

“What happened?” Danica refuses to be ignored.

I meet her gaze. “A shipment exploded. We lost several pallets of whiskey.”

“You don’t know who was behind it?” Sergey takes a sip from his own coffee cup, frowning to himself.

“No.” I don’t want to come right out and accuse the Aseyevs.

Also, I don’t think he would’ve brought it up if the Aseyevs were behind it.

This is throwing everything into question.

I need to get back to Rendsell and talk to my grandfather.

“Thank you for the visit, and the coffee. We’ll be on our way. ”

But I want to talk to Danica before we leave.

“Here, let me get the tray for you.” I stand and pick it up.

“Thanks.” Sergey smiles, but I can’t tell if it’s genuine or not. “And please pass along my thanks to your grandfather for the gift. Danica, would you show Edmund back to the kitchen?”

He doesn’t want a Layton wandering unsupervised through his house. Understandable. But he’s just given me more access to his granddaughter.

Danica stomps down the hall, her ponytail swinging behind her like an angry metronome.

As soon as we’re alone in the kitchen, she rounds on me. “What the fuck are you doing here at my granddad’s house?”

“I thought that was clear.” I set the coffee tray on the counter next to the gift basket. “This was a get-well visit.”

“He’s getting on just fine without you. And so am I.”

I stride toward her until we’re toe to toe. “You being here was an unanticipated side benefit.”

“Right.” She breathes out a bitter laugh. “A benefit. Unanticipated. Are you done now? Can you leave? I don’t want to see you.”

“Oh. Do you… hate me?”

“Get fucked, balls-for-brains.” She shoves past me before I can pin her against the counter.

“I could. But I want you.” Wrong as it is, dangerous as it is for us both, I want her.

She flips me off.

“You’re such a brat.” I can only smile at the way her gray eyes flash with anger. “I want to punish you.”

She leans against the kitchen island, arms crossed over her chest, all attitude. “Go ahead and try.”