Page 14 of Bound by Them (Rose and Dagger #1)

Edmund

I t’s far too late in the evening to be listening to my father’s bullshit.

And yet, here I am.

It’s all about how the Aseyevs are trash, how they ruined our shipment and they’ve messed with our restaurants and that’s why they’re operating in the red. Old Sergey this, old Sergey that.

Well, I met old Sergey, and he seems like a good guy. Nicer than my father, at any rate.

We’re nearing the hour mark of our “little chat,” and I’m starting to lose it. Deep breaths .

My father leans forward in his chair, an untouched tumbler of whiskey at the desk in front of him. “You’ll go to Mirarosa yourself and watch over the dock when the new shipment comes in tonight.”

“You have Caleb Morraine for that?—”

“And Manchester was right. Morraine’s security detail dropped the ball. I want to know why. You’ll be my eyes and ears.”

I shake my head. “We can get another guy for this.”

“I want you to do it, and you’ll do it. You have something better going on? Chasing women at Salt? Finding your way under the Aseyev brat’s skirt?”

Deep breaths. Deep fucking breaths.

“Well?” My father’s eyes are the blue of the hottest flame.

“Yeah. I’ll go to Mirarosa.” I try to paste a bland smile on my face, but I’m sure it looks forced.

“Good. You’re dismissed. Jon will drive.”

I’m thirty-four years old and I’m tired of being treated like an impulsive teenager.

I leave my father’s office, unable to see straight, I’m so pissed.

Troy and Arky are waiting outside. My heart rate goes down a notch. Family. This is my real family, right here. Not that hateful old bastard in the office.

But Troy frowns. “Have you checked your phone?”

“What? No.”

He holds out his phone so I can see a group text from Caleb. Our friend at the station told me one of the Aseyevs got taken out. Bullet to the back of the head.

Arky whines as blind panic douses my earlier anger. The hallway and its tastefully boring decor disappear from around me. All I can see is Danica’s body crumpled face-down on the ground outside her house, her white-blond hair stained with blood.

“It isn’t Dani,” Troy whispers.

“How do you fucking know? He doesn’t say who it is.”

Troy switches to another conversation—one that doesn’t include my father and grandfather. One of the grandsons. Will share more info when I have it .

Thank fuck. But whether it was Patrick or Dmitri, they were part of Danica’s family. She’ll be devastated. And I can’t fucking be here.

“I have to go to Mirarosa.” I walk away from my father’s office. “I can’t get out of it.”

Troy is silent. He wants to go to Danica, just like I do.

“I can’t get out of it,” I repeat. “But you don’t have to go to Mirarosa.”

He raises his dark eyebrows in surprise.

“Yeah.” I nod. “You know what to do.”

* * *

Danica

Everyone is at Granddad’s. Mom and Dad drove me here, straight from my house. “Give your aunts extra space,” Dad cautioned on the way, while Mom continued to sob in the passenger seat.

We haven’t had a death in the family since Grandma passed away. I was a baby then, so I don’t remember. But is it normal to have all of Granddad’s friends here, as well as all of our family? Lots of people are crying, but others just look mad as they stalk around the living room.

I don’t know what I’m feeling. Confused, I guess. What was Patrick even doing back in San Esteban? He’s supposed to be in Vegas. And he was texting me, wanting forgiveness.

Then someone killed him. That’s all I know.

Shit. A sob breaks loose and I’m crying again. I wipe the tears as soon as they fill my eyes. But they’re nonstop. I fit right in with Mom and my aunts. And Rachel—my God, my poor cousin. She’s going to spend the rest of her life without a brother.

I think about going to her, but she’s sitting with my dad and Granddad, wordlessly sipping from a coffee mug. I’ll talk to her later.

Some of Granddad’s friends are having a serious discussion off to the side. I get closer, partly for a distraction from Aunt Milana’s heartwrenching sobs. Every time I walk past, though, the men clam up.

“…to kill him in the dark like that. He couldn’t have seen it…”

I pause and try to listen for more. My brain is buzzing with muted static. There was the alley, outside the movie theater. Someone was killed tonight. Was that—was that Patrick ? Was I sitting in a movie theater less than a hundred yards from where my cousin was being murdered?

My legs go weak. I fall to the sofa.

“Dani.” Dmitri rushes over to me and wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Hey. What are you thinking?”

“I was by the movie theater. Someone died there. What if that was Patrick? Was I that close?”

“The theater near The Corbin?”

I nod, wiping my eyes.

Dmitri puts his hand on my arm. “He was in the Bellefleur. Nowhere near that theater.”

I exhale. It’s a small comfort. “What was he even doing back in the city? He was supposed to be in Las Vegas.”

“No idea. Aleksandr sent some guys here to help Granddad figure it out, because Patrick was supposed to be Aleksandr’s responsibility.”

I nod, uncaring. In the end, Patrick is still dead. My aunts are inconsolable. Rachel’s still in shock.

Dmitri gets up to talk to our mom. Someone brings me a cup. It’s full of bitter tea, but I drink it for something to do. There are cookies and little tea cakes—Granddad’s cook is going all out with the comfort food—but I’m not hungry.

The men in suits—Granddad’s friends—are the only ones eating.

There seem to be fewer of the guys, though.

Curious, I watch as their group slowly thins out.

Every guy who leaves goes left down the hall, instead of right toward the front door.

I would think they’re going to find a bathroom, but none of them returns to the living room.

Weird.

After the next one leaves, I follow him, hanging back just far enough to seem like I’m going to the bathroom.

Sure enough, he bypasses the bathroom and goes straight to the library at the back of the house. I continue to follow him, but I stop outside the library.

Several men are inside, from the sound of the many voices.

Some of their voices are raised in anger.

I peer around the door. Granddad isn’t in here, just lots of his friends.

Some are older, some are younger. I recognize about half of them from various family barbecues—I’ve grown up with these men in the background of my life.

“It’s the Laytons,” one of them says in a heavy Russian accent. He’s younger than the others, my age. Maybe he’s a relative of one of Granddad’s older friends. “We know it’s them.”

The Laytons? Edmund wouldn’t kill my cousin, I’m sure of it. Neither would Troy.

But is Edmund in charge? And what do I really know about them, anyway? Nothing.

An older man says, “We must strike back lest they think we’re weak and take advantage.”

A hand on my shoulder causes me to jump. I spin around to see Granddad. His blue eyes are rimmed in red, pulled down by sorrow.

“You shouldn’t be listening at doors, little one,” he says in Russian.

I answer him in Russian, with one of my maybe half-dozen phrases. “I’m sorry, Grandfather.”

He wraps his arms around me in a warm hug. His voice is kind, but firm. “You should go home, get some rest. My friends and I have business to discuss.”

* * *

Troy

She wasn’t at home—her roommates told me as much while giving me a huge side-eye. And the lights were all off at her parents’ house.

It’s when I get to Sergey’s that I see activity. So many cars, the long driveway is full. Looks like Sergey’s calling in the troops. I bet Dani’s here, too.

I park down the street and walk to the drive.

The gate is open, probably because of all the visitors.

Sergey’s guards are distracted, but I decide not to slip through.

Emotions are high in that house. They probably blame the Laytons for Patrick’s death.

No sense tempting a retaliation on their own property.

So I wait and watch. I can see the front door from where I stand. Several people leave, climbing into cars before rumbling down the drive. Their headlights flash past the bushes that I step back into, Homer Simpson-style.

If people are leaving, I bet Dani’s going to be leaving soon, too.

I text her a single word. Outside .

She doesn’t come out right away. I watch the door. A couple others leave—someone who looks like she could be Dani’s mom. Dmitri exits the house next, his shoulders slumped. I feel bad for him.

When the driveway is quiet again, Dani steps outside. She looks one way, then the other. I whistle and flash my phone’s light, waiting until she zeroes in on my hiding place.

She strides down the driveway to me, arms tightly at her sides, fists clenched. Once she’s out of sight of the security guards, she hisses, “You have some nerve. Is Edmund here, too?”

“Just me.” I step toward her and open my arms. “Hey. I’m sorry about your cousin.”

She rocks forward like she’ll move into my offered hug, but then she stops short. “Did you do it?”

It takes me a few seconds to realize what she’s asking. “No! Fuck, no. Dani, what the hell. I don’t kill people. Fuck. Are you afraid of me?”

“No.” Her chin wobbles like she’s trying not to cry. “For some reason, I’m not.”

Well, that’s something, I guess. While I debate what to say next, a large group of men pour out the front of Sergey’s house. I can’t be caught out here with her.

“Come on.” I gesture toward the street.

When I hold out my hand, she takes it. I lead her to my truck and open the door for her, giving her a boost so she can climb in. When I get behind the wheel, I don’t start the ignition. Because Dani, this precious woman, is full-on crying in the passenger seat.

Her pain is my pain, cutting me to the core. “Dani, what can I do?”

“Nothing. I just want to go home.”

“I can’t do that. I can’t take you home to cry by yourself.”

She rubs the tears from her face and turns an angry, gray-eyed gaze on me. “You can, and you will, because I don’t want to look at you or Edmund or anyone associated with the Laytons until I see you all in hell.”

Oooh, little spitfire. But her words are coming from a place of pain and hurt and sadness.

“Get over here.” My words surprise me.

She stares right back, challenging even as her eyes fill with tears. “Make me.”

“You really want me to? I will, little girl.”

With a shake of her head, she says. “I don’t want to fuck you.”

“I don’t want to fuck. I want to comfort.” I pat my thigh. “Get over here and sit on my lap.”

She smiles, even though her eyes are watery with tears. “You want me to sit on your lap and take your cuddles like a good girl?”

I laugh and lean over to brush a stray tear off her cheek. “Now, Dani.”