Page 15 of Bound by Them (Rose and Dagger #1)

Danica

I crawl across the console and maneuver myself into Troy’s lap. He wraps his arms around me, shifting to keep me away from the steering wheel.

And then I just…cry. I cry for Patrick and the life he could’ve had. I cry for his stupid-ass behavior. I cry for whatever turned him into the kind of guy who would sexually assault someone. I cry for my aunts, who lost their son, and Rachel, who lost her big brother. If it had been Dmitri?—

I can’t even finish the thought. For a few seconds, when my parents first gave me the news, I thought it was Dmitri who died.

It was the worst feeling in the world. I’m so glad it wasn’t him, that I didn’t lose my brother.

Does that make me a bad person? My sobs keep coming, a torrent of sorrow and rage and confusion.

Troy holds me through it all. He strokes my back with his big hands. He anchors me to the moment, letting me feel everything.

I don’t know how long we sit like that. It feels like a year. When I lift my head from his shoulder, I sniffle. “Sorry. I got your shirt all wet.”

He kisses my temple. “No problem. How are you feeling?”

“Better, I think.” I suck in a deep, shuddering breath. “Yeah. A little better.”

“Do you want me to take you home?”

I shake my head. “No. Not home.”

“My place?”

“Fuck no.” I shake my head again. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said it like that. But I won’t forgive you if you take me to Edmund. He probably sent you, and I can’t look at him right now.”

He doesn’t push me away at the confession. In fact, he holds me tighter. “I won’t take you anywhere you don’t want to go.”

“I don’t know where to go. I guess we could stay here in your truck forever.”

A long moment passes while I listen to his heartbeat, thudding heavily in his chest, right against my ear.

“I have somewhere else.” His voice is a low rumble.

Ten minutes later, we’re pulling up to a dingy apartment complex in the Bellefleur. Troy drives us to a parking lot behind it, which is full of cars that have seen much better days.

“What are we doing here?” I ask.

His mouth twists in an almost-smile. “This is my place.”

“I thought—that apartment with Edmund?—”

“That’s his place. I just sleep there because I work for the Laytons.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” But I don’t, not really. Edmund’s apartment is nice—one of the nicest apartments I’ve ever been inside. And this place is just…

“I know it’s shitty.” Troy watches my silent evaluation. “I just needed a few square feet to call my own. I haven’t been here in months.”

Now I’m curious. And I understand the desire to have my own space. I’ve been dreaming of moving out of my shared rental for years. “I’m grateful you have the place. Should we go in?”

“Yeah.”

The handle on the building’s back door is broken. Someone propped it open with a cinder block. Troy leads the way up a flight of stairs to the second floor. He unlocks a door and swings it open.

Stale air greets us, but no bad smells otherwise.

I step in after him, looking around at the spartan set-up.

It’s a single room with a bed. A kitchenette is off to one side, and another door leads to a separate bathroom.

The carpet is a flat gray, mashed down from years of tenants, and the walls are a generic, dandruff-white.

“This is it.” He shrugs. “Cheapest place I could find. Sheets are clean, if you want to sleep.”

I pause at the foot of the bed. “Only if you’re sleeping with me.”

“Of course, little girl.” His voice is gruff.

I slide off my jeans and take off my shirt and bra. Troy shrugs off his shirt. Wordlessly, I reach for it and he passes it over. I pull it on, inhaling his spicy, clean scent. This is how comfort and safety feel, right here. Troy’s shirt, warm from his body, soft against my bare skin.

I pull back the comforter. It, and the sheets, are a no-nonsense navy blue. Troy shuts off the light and we climb into bed.

Flickering lights from a nearby bar’s sign blink in the window. I gesture to it. “That doesn’t annoy you?”

“I’ve never slept here before.” He chuckles and tugs me toward him so I’m resting my head on his chest. His deep breaths move my head up and down. I feel like a baby being rocked to sleep.

Before I completely lose consciousness, there’s something important I have to tell him.

“I can’t see you after tonight.” I touch his face and lift my head so I can stare into his dark, dark eyes. “The Laytons are dangerous for me, and you and Edmund need to leave me alone.”

He doesn’t blink. “I can’t promise you that, little girl.”

Annoyed and comforted at the same time, I rest my head against his chest, and sleep.

* * *

Edmund

I clench my phone in my hand while Caleb and I monitor the last stack of pallets sliding into place. Inside the warehouse, the whiskey will wait for distribution. The pallet truck gives out a series of shrill beeps as the driver backs it up before zooming away.

My phone screen is blank. Where the fuck are they? I’ve been texting Troy—and Danica—for the past eight hours. No response.

They’re probably fucking, and I can’t believe I’m pissed about it, but I am.

I’ve been stuck here for hours. But now the shipment is in, the pallets of whiskey pristine and untouched. About fucking time.

Caleb and I leave the warehouse. In the faint orange-light of the parking lot, I watch Caleb slide the large door shut.

He points to the two security guards standing on either side of the door, then jams his hands into his pockets. “Happy?”

He hasn’t turned off the snark since I arrived.

“Yes, I’m fucking happy. You know I’m not here willingly.” I stare hard. “You want to be mad at someone, be mad at Ed.”

He sighs and scrubs at his whiskers. Dude needs a shave—he isn’t one of those people who can grow a good beard. “You’re right. You’re right. Sorry, man. Just, if Troy hadn’t said that shit about how I run things…”

“Your guys fucked up. Own it.”

A flash of hurt passes over Caleb’s face before he nods. “You’re right. Sorry. I should be glad I still have a job.”

I nod, because it’s the truth. I’m surprised my father didn’t fire his ass. Then again, my father’s current mistress is Caleb’s mom, so that might explain a few things around here.

I clap Caleb on the shoulder, promise him drinks at Finch next time he’s in SE, and make my way to the car.

After I get in, Jon makes eye contact with me through the rearview. “I’ve made arrangements with the housekeeper at Crescent Moon?—”

“No.” I’m not staying in Grandfather’s stuffy beach mansion. “We’re going back to San Esteban.”

Jon’s mouth turns down in the barest of frowns. “Perhaps a good night’s rest?—”

“I’m sleeping in my own bed, whatever time we get back to San Esteban.” I put a note of finality in my tone. My father and his men don’t want to treat me like an adult, but they’ll have no choice if I start acting the part.

“Very well.” Jon starts the car and aims us toward the highway.

A two-hour drive brings me home a little after five a.m. I stride into the apartment, calling out for Troy.

No answer.

Where the fuck is he? Did he stay over at Danica’s?

Jealousy strikes, fierce and hot.

I won’t be able to sleep. I text Jon. Take me to Rendsell. Leaving in ten .

* * *

Troy

I wake up in the middle of the night. I’m on my side with my hand underneath Dani’s shirt, cupping her breast. Her ass is pressed against my crotch and we’re both rubbing against each other. I don’t know who started it.

Her sweet shampoo fills my senses and I drag in a long, deep breath.

“Troy.” Her voice is a whisper. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah. Unless this is a dream.”

She laughs softly. “Not a dream. Or if it is, it’s the best kind. I’m so wet. Fuck me?”

“I don’t have condoms, but I can get you off in other ways.”

“My bag. I have some.” She laughs again and presses back, her plump ass pushing insistently on my dick. “Whether they’ll fit you or not is another question.”

In the fluorescent pink light from the bar next door, I spot her handbag near the window. I clamber out of bed and grab it for her, returning right back to where I was—hand on her tit, cock nestled in the crease between her ass cheeks. Dani plucks a condom from her bag and passes it back to me.

I squint to see the brand name and size. Recognizing them, I say, “It’ll do.”

I shove down my boxers and roll on the rubber while Dani shifts around in front of me, easing off her panties. “You’re awake, yeah? You want this, little girl?”

“Yeah. Fuck, I love it when you call me little girl . Is that wrong?”

“Not to me.” I lift her top leg and slide partway into her heat.

“Mmmf.” She groans and tenses. “So big.”

“You can handle it. You took me before.” I smooth her hair away to kiss the soft place below her ear. “Just relax, little girl. Easy. I’ll go slow.”

I work my way in while Dani gasps and reaches back to clutch at my arm, my hip, whatever she can reach. A light touch to her clit has her cunt flexing around me. With each shuddering pulse, I can push in a little farther.

Soon, I’m all the way in, feeling the press of her all around my dick, squeezing, hugging.

“So full—yes.” She arches back, gripping me with her leg.

I roll us over so she’s on her stomach and I’m on top, blanketing her back. Her legs are spread for me and I watch the way her ass moves with each of my thrusts. I want to bite her there, lick her everywhere, make big sucking bruises on her perfect skin.

She grips the sheets in her fists. “Troy—yes?—”

Reaching beneath her, I find her clit, slippery and swollen. “Going to come for me, little girl? You’re so good, so perfect. Can’t hold back for long.”

“Yes—please, I’m so close.” She can’t move much, pinned beneath me like this, but she flexes around me just the same.

“You’re trying so hard, what a good effort. I’ll reward you with a good orgasm, little Dani. Are you ready?”

She whimpers. “Yes, please.”

I rub tighter circles on her clit until she cries out, her voice muffled against the mattress. Her rhythmic pulsing sends me over the edge and I slow my thrusts but push in harder, as far as I can go, seeking more and more of her as I grunt out my release.

It’s perfect. She’s perfect.

So I don’t crush her, I roll us to our sides while we catch our breath. “Is that what you needed?”

She sighs. “It really was. Thank you.”

I kiss the back of her head before easing out of her and dealing with the condom. When I return to the bed, she’s already half-asleep again. I wrap my arm around her.

As I fall back asleep, our bodies pressed together, I feel like the fucking luckiest bastard in the world.

Another, less welcome thought enters my mind: Edmund’s going to be jealous.

When I next wake up, light is already streaming through my windows. I overslept. I reach for Dani automatically, my body remembering before my brain does.

The other side of the bed is empty. I sit up. My apartment is eerily quiet.

She left.

What’s surprising is I didn’t wake up when she took off. She must’ve been stealthy.

No note. Nothing.

I remember what she said, before we had sex. She said Edmund and I need to leave her alone.

And I remember exactly what I said in response. I can’t promise you that, little girl.

Because as much as I don’t want her to have control over me, she has my heart in a stranglehold.

* * *

Edmund

It’s a little before six when I reach Rendsell. Arky goes wild in the kitchen, rushing me as I step inside. I grab a dog biscuit from the cook’s bottomless supply on the counter and give it to him.

While Arky’s busy with his treat, I storm upstairs, expecting my father to be awake. Sure enough, he’s sitting in his office, coffee in front of him while he stares at his computer. He flicks gaze toward me before returning to the screen, dismissive.

“Did you do it?” I lean against his desk, much like I did when I was a little kid and hoping to distract him, hoping for just one moment where he noticed and paid attention to me. “Did you kill Patrick Aseyev?”

My father closes his eyes briefly. It’s his version of an eyeroll, I guess. “Why the fuck would we care about that guy?”

Only about a thousand reasons. I say the first one that pops into my head. “Revenge. For the last whiskey shipment.”

“Patrick Aseyev was meaningless.” My father waves a hand like he’s shooing off a gnat. “Even the rest of the Aseyevs were mad at him. He was a loose cannon.”

Loose cannon . My father has called me that before—more so when I was in my twenties and not following every one of his instructions to the letter.

He goes on, “ If we had killed that little punk, we’d have been doing the Aseyevs a favor.”

Ouch. I continue with the parallel I drew in my head. Patrick was a loose cannon. I was a loose cannon. If Patrick’s death is a favor to the Aseyevs, then my death would be…

“Do you have any other useless questions for me at”—my father checks his watch theatrically—“five-fifty-two in the morning?”

I slowly turn on my heel and leave without another word.