Page 16 of Bound by Them (Rose and Dagger #1)

Danica

I haven’t heard from Troy since I left his tiny apartment. It’s been days. I tell myself that this is better, this is what I wanted. I want them to leave me alone. They aren’t safe.

Since when have you ever gone for the safe option, Dani? Was fucking Troy safe ?

But maybe the safe option is good. Maybe it’s healthier.

Maybe Patrick would still be alive if he’d opted for the safe option.

Ten days after his death, we now have a body to bury.

It seems too soon. Forensics moved fast, I guess, or the evidence was straightforward enough.

I’m not sure. All I know is my aunts want to put him to rest immediately and they’ve been planning, all week, how to get as much of the family together as possible.

I don’t even know half the people gathered around his gravesite. I bet Patrick didn’t know them, either. What would he say, if he could see this crowd of family, friends, and strangers? He would make some kind of self-deprecating joke, laughing about it all.

The cemetery’s grass is springy under my heels. I have to walk carefully so I don’t fall over. Dmitri sticks close to my side, but Leah isn’t here. While she would love to be here with us, things are still tense with my aunts and how they supported Patrick even after he hurt Leah.

Eventually, Aunt Milana and Aunt Sylvia will be ready to work things out with Leah. But Patrick’s funeral isn’t the place for that.

As the service goes on, I don’t cry like I expected to. Instead, I feel a dull, roaring emptiness. Echoes of waves crash in my head, drowning out the priest’s droning monologue.

Aunt Sylvia wobbles up in her traditional black dress and heels, Milana at her side. Sylvia throws the first clump of dirt on Patrick’s grave. Then it’s Milana’s turn. Rachel goes next, followed by Granddad. Then my parents, Dmitri, and finally me.

I keep my head down, afraid that if I meet the eyes of the crowd, I’ll start crying again. Tears are contagious. Like a yawn. Or vomit.

As my clod of dirt thuds against the surface of Patrick’s coffin, I wonder again what Patrick would think of all this. Is he mad that I never forgave him? Sad? Maybe he didn’t give a shit about my forgiveness and he was only trying to make up so he could come back to San Esteban.

He’s gone. He’ll never come home. He’ll never be able to make reparations—if that was even possible. He’ll never be able to try .

My heart cracks. I might have forgiven him. Given enough time, and enough effort on his part, it could’ve happened.

Now it never will.

The priest says another prayer and it’s over.

I accept hugs from what feels like the entirety of San Esteban.

All I really want to do is go home, wrap myself in four different blankets, and binge-watch Academy of Ghosts .

Instead, I allow near-strangers to press their perfumed bodies against mine, remarking on how I’ve grown up into a beautiful young woman, etcetera etcetera.

Someone kill me and send me to the ghost academy, please.

People move off to their cars, parked on the little lane closest to Patrick’s grave. Dmitri walks with my parents and I trudge behind, teetering in my heels because of the stupid, uneven grass.

I stop short when I see a black truck parked at the rear of the line of cars. Two guys are sitting in it, watching my family mourn. I know that truck, I know those guys.

What are those two fuck-nuggets doing at my cousin’s funeral?

“Dmitri,” I call after my brother, “I’ll catch you later. I have another ride.”

After he waves a hand in acknowledgment, I march over to the truck to give Troy and Edmund a piece of my mind.

* * *

Troy

Instead of needing to be coaxed to join us, Dani yanks open the door and hauls herself inside my truck. She climbs over Edmund and perches in the middle seat like a queen. “What do you want?”

I angle my body toward Dani’s. “Dani. I’m sorry about your cousin.”

“Yes. Well.” She shrugs a single shoulder. Her dark gray dress is simple, but she looks elegant all the same. “My feelings about him are complicated.”

Edmund reaches for her hand, but she yanks it out of his reach. “If you want to talk, Danica, we’ll listen.”

“No. I’ve told you several times to leave me alone.” Her chin juts out and she folds her arms across her chest. She looks about two seconds away from tears.

I want to hold her again, like I did that night at my apartment. I want to comfort her in whatever way she needs. This distance between us is painful.

“Right, but listen.” Edmund’s gaze zeroes in on her. “The Laytons didn’t kill Patrick.”

“Sure.” She closes her eyes and wipes away a tear. “Whatever you say. It doesn’t matter one way or the other.”

“It does .” Edmund frowns at the way she tucks her hands back, folding her arms and closing herself off from us. “It matters because we didn’t do it. I didn’t do it. And you can’t keep hating us for something we didn’t do. It…it hurts me and Troy. I think it hurts you, too.”

“Would you know if someone in your family killed him?” Danica’s voice is quiet. “Or could you have ordered someone to kill Patrick, even if you didn’t do it yourself?”

Edmund looks like he’s taking a deep breath, searching for patience.

“We wouldn’t do it ourselves,” I say. “We might hear of it happening. But Dani…we don’t kill people. Rough them up, sure. Maybe follow them. Scare them a little. But more than that, no.”

She turns her head to look at me with those gray eyes. Now that I’m sitting this close to her in the light, I see a darker circle of blue-gray surrounding them. “So then if your family didn’t kill Patrick, who did, huh?”

It’s a good question.

“No idea,” Edmund says. “But I promise you, Danica. It wasn’t us. Nobody in my family. I’m certain of it.”

“Okay.” She nods to herself. “Okay. Then I have to ask you both—please. Let me be. Our families have some kind of weird…dynamic. They don’t get along.

My first guess was your family killed my cousin.

I shouldn’t have to wonder if the guys I’m seeing are killing my family, you know?

I don’t think that this will work.” She gestures between us.

“Whatever this is. You get it, right? Am I crazy?”

“We get it.” I meet Edmund’s eyes over her head.

His jaw tenses. He wants to argue, but what kind of argument could he have? Dani’s right, as much as it hurts.

Falling asleep with her at my apartment felt…it felt incredible. Her head against my chest, her soft body curled against mine. Waking up, making love to her. It felt right.

And then there was the night before that, at Edmund’s. Having her between us in bed, sweet and small and so ours . If she’s hurt because of us, I’d never forgive myself.

Does Edmund remember his father telling him to use Dani? If we spend more time with her, we risk Ed Senior finding out, and using Dani through us.

“Yeah.” Edmund nods shortly. “You’re right. It won’t work.”

We take Dani home. Edmund climbs out so she can get out of my truck.

“Danica, wait.” Edmund clears his throat. “There’s been a lot of back and forth between us?—”

“Don’t worry, this is a real goodbye.” She twists her lips in an almost-smile.

“Please listen for a second.” He reins in his exasperation, but I can see it simmering in the way he holds his shoulders. “I won’t contact you. I’ll leave you alone so you can be safe.”

“Good.” She stands straighter.

“But.” He reaches forward and smooths a strand of hair back from her face. “But…you can always call us. You need something, little angel, and we’ll be there. All you have to do is ask.”

“I won’t.”

Stubborn little girl. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and walks away.

Edmund climbs back in my truck. We watch in silence until Dani is safely inside her house.

Is my chest caving in on itself? Feels like it. I avoid looking at Edmund and pull away from the curb in front of Dani’s house. “So that’s the end.”

“That’s the end.”

* * *

Danica

It’s been four days since Patrick’s funeral, four days since Edmund, Troy, and I decided to stay apart.

And I feel…empty. Untethered. I’ve filled up pages of my math journal.

No matter how complicated I make my equations and proofs, I can never lose myself for long.

My thoughts keep returning to the gentle giant and the wicked king.

I shouldn’t feel this messed up over it. Because “it” was a series of hook-ups with two guys who are totally not right for me. Doomed to fail. Better to get out now.

That’s what I keep telling myself as Elias paces back and forth in front of the couch. Cackle, my cat, follows a loose thread dangling from the end of Elias’s sweatpants. Any second now, Cackle’s gonna pounce.

“Come on, you know it has to be bad.” He jabs a finger at our television screen, tuned to the local news. “ No one is talking about it.”

Wallace calls from the kitchen, “No one can talk about it if the TV’s on mute.”

“It’s the weather . They aren’t going to talk about it now.” He puts on a mocking voice. “Oh, it looks like rain next week, maybe it’ll wash away the blood from the Caro Boulevard murder that the police are trying to cover up .”

When he turns to scowl at the screen, Rita raises her eyebrows at me. I don’t know what she expects me to do—I can’t control Elias’s obsessions about murder.

Cackle takes a swipe at the thread on Elias’s next pass in front of us.

“I think this is the beginning of a serial killer on the loose,” Elias proclaims.

“And I think that’s my cue to head out.” I stand up. “I promised to keep my granddad company tonight.”

Lies. I was planning on staying in and sulking. But I can’t listen to Elias’s conspiracy theories or watch Rita stroke the beautiful Baciarvita bag. Now that I know I won’t be seeing Edmund or Troy again, I regret giving the bag away.

I feed Cackle, who loses interest in Elias’s sweatpants to investigate his food dish. He takes a sniff, then turns up his nose. He gives me an outraged expression. Unfortunately for him, I’m immune to his outrage.

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in Granddad’s kitchen, mugs of tea next to us because he’s cutting back on coffee. He can’t stand it black—needs lots of sugar—and the cardiologist made him promise to limit sweets.

“So, everything is good?” He studies me carefully. “You are happy with your job?”

“Yes, Granddad.”

“You seem unhappy.”

I blow on my tea to avoid looking in his bright blue eyes. “I’m okay.”

“You could do the books at Silver Street, you know.”

“I like what I’m doing now, I like the ice cream parlor.” I also like that it isn’t the kind of job given to me by family. My family is close, and I’ve always loved that, but I also crave independence. Working for Isabelle makes that possible.

And now that I know what the Aseyevs really get up to, well, I vastly prefer working for Isabelle.

I want to ask Granddad about Patrick, about our family and its connections to crime, about the Laytons. But I don’t know how. My stomach swoops with anxiety every time I open my mouth.

“How are you feeling?” I blurt.

His bushy eyebrows pull together in a frown. “You are worried about me, Danica?”

“Well, yeah. The past couple of weeks, they’ve been hard, and just…yes. I’m worried.”

“I am well.” He clears his throat. “I’m full of sorrow because of Patrick. And anger. But my heart continues to beat even when I think it would rather break. I have you, Dmitri, Rachel. My daughters. My friends and extended family. I have plenty reason to fight.”

I swallow, throat aching with emotion. “Good.”

“Now, I believe we have a game of chess to finish.” He grins at me, all hopeful.

I stand up, beaming back. “This will be the time I beat you.”

Granddad’s phone rings, shrill in the quiet kitchen. He plucks it from the counter. It’s amazing how fast his voice switches from endearing to all-business as he practically barks, “What is it, Carter?”

“Your other granddaughter is here. She’s upset. I thought you’d want to meet her.”

Granddad’s already hanging up and hurrying down the hall. I follow him to the front door.

Rachel’s car comes to a sudden halt, inches from my own. She swings open her door. Granddad and I rush to her and she practically falls into our waiting arms. She twists around to look behind her. “They’re gone? They didn’t follow me in?”

“No, Carter made sure the gate was closed after you.” Granddad hugs her tightly. “You’re safe here, Rachel. Come inside.”

He leads her through the front door while I follow behind. A skittering of nerves prick over the back of my neck. It’s dark out there. Driving at night can be scary. I can’t imagine how terrified Rachel must have been, if she was being followed.

Once inside, I find Rachel sitting on the low bench in the entryway, like she couldn’t take another step. In her 1950s style dress, with her blond bob, she looks like she stepped out of another time and into Granddad’s austere, stuffy house.

Granddad crouches next to her. “Darling Rachel. Tell me what happened.”

“Two guys in another car. I couldn’t see them very good, but there were at least two.

They were—they were following me.” She gasps and dabs at her eyes.

Smudges of mascara mar her cheeks. “It didn’t matter which way I went.

I didn’t want to go home, didn’t want them to know where I live.

You told me I should come here if I was in trouble, Granddad—was that wrong? ”

“You did the exact right thing, little Rachel.”

She sniffles and nods. “Okay. I don’t want them to come here, either, though. Will they come here?”

“I have plenty of protections in place. You’re safe here. And I’ll ensure your house is protected, too.” Granddad’s voice is gruff with resolution. “Danica, please take your cousin to the kitchen and pour her a cup of tea. I will call in some favors.”

“Yes, of course.” I wrap my arm around Rachel’s shoulders and lead her to the kitchen. There, I pour her tea, which she isn’t interested in drinking, and pile a plate with treats left for us by Granddad’s cook.

“Thanks,” Rachel whispers.

“Do you want to stay here tonight? I’ll stay in the guest room with you if you want.”

“Yes. Yes, please. Thanks, Dani.”

Once Rachel is set up in the guest room, I make my way down the hall toward Granddad’s office. I want to know if Carter got a good look at the car following Rachel.

Granddad’s still on the phone, so I wait outside. I’m not trying to eavesdrop, but Granddad’s voice echoes clearly from the room.

“It’s the Laytons again.” He pauses, likely listening to someone on the other end of the line. “I will purge them from our city.”