Page 4 of Bound by Them (Rose and Dagger #1)

Edmund

I wake up late, to several missed calls from my father. I get out of bed and go down the hall to knock on Troy’s door.

“Yeah?”

“We leave for Rendsell in ten.”

“Fuck.” He opens his door and faces me, his eyebrows bunched together. “Ed or Francis?”

“Ed.” My father, not my grandfather.

He mutters another curse and grabs a black button-up shirt and black pants. Lucky for Troy, he gets to wear the same casual outfit each day. I’m expected to be in a suit, or at the very least, a button-down shirt and slacks.

Twenty-five minutes later, we pull up to Rendsell, a mansion on the outskirts of San Esteban. It’s at the far end of the Salding District where the homes are monstrous, tacky, and expensive as hell.

We go in through the kitchen because the ostentatious front door is manned by my grandfather’s butler, Roy, and we hate each other’s guts. He’ll have already seen us driving up, but at least this way we don’t have to talk to each other.

Troy takes his station outside my father’s office door. I walk in. A large wind-up clock sits on the shelf at the window behind my dad, ticking away. The sunlight coming through the curtains is weak. It might even rain later today.

My dad stands to greet me with a handshake. His gray hair matches the clouds outside. His cool blue eyes look me over, searching me for weakness. No doubt he’s already catalogued a dozen things wrong with my appearance. He opens a cigar case and offers it to me.

I fight to keep my lip from curling in disgust. “No, thanks.”

He selects one for himself, cuts it, lights it. “How was Patrick Aseyev’s party?”

“A shitshow.” I affect a casual tone. “Cops were called. The family turned on each other. Looks like Patrick’s going down for sexual assault. Sergey’s furious.”

“I see.”

He already knows all of this. Jon probably reported, last night or early this morning.

Which makes me wonder why I’m here.

Like usual, I feel about three inches tall when standing in front of my dad. He’s actually an inch shorter than me, but he’s stockier. He has presence.

He puffs on his cigar. Fuck, that stinks. “And your interlude with their daughter after?”

I jolt. A mistake. “How the fuck do you know about that?”

Another puff. He closes his eyes, savoring it. “Jon.”

Of course. I should’ve guessed Jon would tell him that, too. Jon is loyal to my dad and only my dad.

I clench my fists. Why did I fucking react? I wish I could be more like Troy. Calm. Unflappable.

Dad probably wishes I could be more like Troy, too.

Never gonna happen. I feel too much .

Fuck.

Nails clicking fast against hardwood alert me to the incoming eighty-plus pounds of clingy Doberman barreling toward me.

Dad snorts in disgust as Arky puts his paws all over my pants and whines for attention. I let my hand curl around the back of his head, scratching behind his mercifully uncut ears.

Arky is two years old. He was meant to be a guard dog, kept out in the yard, but he didn’t get as big as his brothers. My father wanted to drop him at the animal shelter, but my mother convinced him to let the dog stay.

My parents have fucked things up many times over. But letting Arky live in the house might make up for the rest of their faults. They even let me name him after one of my favorite Pokémon characters.

Dad clears his throat, pointedly looking away from the dog. “Tell me about Danica Aseyev.”

“Her last name is Montrose.” I continue scratching Arky’s ears. His tongue lolls and he looks up at me with worshipful brown eyes.

Dad waves a hand. “She’s an Aseyev, we all know it.”

“She isn’t even aware of her grandfather’s business interests, as far as I can tell.” I channel Troy for the next bit. Calm. Uncaring. Placid. “She’s useless to us.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Sure.” I pretend I don’t care. I pretend I don’t feel.

“Nurture whatever you have going on with her.” Dad walks back behind his desk and sits down in a silent dismissal.

I hesitate.

“What?” Dad’s eyes flash dangerously.

“ Nurture …can you be more specific?”

“Fuck her, befriend her, I don’t care. Keep her close. We have an in with the family and we need to use it.”

“Got it.”

I’ve wanted out of the family business before. But never as much as I want out now.

I wait, stock-still, until Dad says, “Get out. Take the runt with you.”

I spin and bolt from the room. “Arky, let’s go.”

He scrambles to obey, following me out of Dad’s office and nearly tripping me in the process. Troy joins us on the way out. I know better than to talk to him about anything important here. If my dad sees how loyal Troy is, how much I trust him, he’ll use Troy against me.

Just like he wants to use Danica.

I give Arky a treat in the kitchen, then say goodbye to him at the door.

It breaks my heart to leave the dog behind. Then again, it always does.

Because I fucking feel too much .

* * *

Danica

The morning after my crazy interlude with Edmund and Troy, and the implosion of my family, I find myself at Dmitri’s house, fighting off new tears of rage.

My talk with Dmitri has been, in a word, a shitshow. And talking with Leah is even worse. They lied about their relationship, going behind my back so they could hook up.

If they have each other, why the freaking fuck would they ever need me?

Leah sits in Dmitri’s bed, wearing one of his old t-shirts, looking small and sad.

I feel for her, truly. I want to cry and rage because of everything she’s gone through in the past twelve hours.

But I also feel like I don’t know her anymore. She’s with Gage Hawthorne, too? He’s a freaking movie star. So she’s with him and with my brother.

She never said a word. It’s like we’re not even friends. Friends tell each other important things, and I think that dating both a celebrity and my brother—two guys at once—constitutes an important thing.

“I just don’t understand why you couldn’t talk to me,” I tell her.

Leah pauses, briefly closing her blue eyes. “I was afraid you wouldn’t approve. I was afraid you’d be mad at me. I was being stupid, I guess. If I could go back, I’d do things differently.”

I speak before thinking, because the words are right the fuck there, waiting to be said.

“I know I’m judgmental sometimes. Okay, all the time.

But I try not to judge you. If you want to be with Dmitri, well, great.

Yeah, it could mess up our group dynamic.

And speaking of group dynamics , Leah. Dmitri and Gage? ”

Leah’s face twists.

“Sorry. That was judgy.” Way too judgy. Especially after what I did last night with Edmund and Troy. “I’ll stop. If you’re happy, I’ll be happy, too. But that said…I’m really hurt that you didn’t talk to me. I need some time.”

We say a few more words. She asks about my hand, bruised from where I punched Patrick last night. Then we say goodbye.

I blink back my tears and hurry from Dmitri’s room.

Gage kindly doesn’t try to talk to me when I pass him to leave Dmitri’s house. His sympathetic look is nearly my undoing. I don’t want to cry. Not here. Not until I’m completely alone.

Except…alone isn’t what I really want.

I could use a hug.

Instead, I spend the rest of the day at Isabelle’s Creamery, soothing myself with spreadsheets and payroll forms. The numbers keep me grounded. They remind me that even the biggest, worst problems will have solutions if I’m patient enough.

In fact, I almost reach a point where I’m feeling okay…until I get a phone call from my mother. I of course let the call go to voicemail, because that’s what a girl does when her mom is on the warpath.

Only when I’m home do I listen to her message.

“Come over for a chat with your father and me. Dmitri’s coming, too.”

I’d rather suck Satan’s balls, but I get ready to leave again.

* * *

Edmund

Hours later, I’m sitting in the private dining room at Finch and Fox, conferring with the manager. It’s eleven o’clock, the kitchen is closed, and now all the Finch offers is drinks. Strains of conversation and faint music reach us from the main dining room.

The manager, Gary, eyes me warily.

“Your numbers are down.” I point to the notes in my phone. “Explain.”

“Yes, sir.” A bead of sweat dots Gary’s upper lip. He takes a large, gulping sip from his water glass.

I wait. I’m not going to ask again. Troy watches, stoic. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it. Every shard of my attention is fixed on the manager.

“We lost two of our best bartenders.”

“Lost?” I steeple my fingers next to my untouched glass of scotch. “Lost, how? You’ll need to be more specific.”

“They quit two weeks ago. We’ve been scrambling to fill their positions, but as you know, skilled bartenders like them are difficult to find.”

“Poach new ones from one of Aseyev’s bars.”

Gary pales. “That’s, uh…that’s where ours went.”

My phone buzzes again. Fucking hell, if my father would stop trying to micromanage me for two fucking seconds, I might be able to do the jobs he wants me to do.

I narrow my gaze on Gary again. “Losing two bartenders two weeks ago can’t be the reason behind your dwindling profits over the past three months.”

His mouth opens and closes. No excuses. Nothing. How incompetent is this guy?

I have things to do, better things than babysitting Gary. “I want to see everything—all your numbers, what you’re buying, what you’re selling, who you’re paying and how much. I want it all sent to our accountant. Tonight.”

“Tonight? But, sir, it’s nearly midnight?—”

“And you want to keep your job into tomorrow, don’t you?

I don’t want to fire you.” I take a measured breath.

“I don’t want to close this restaurant. It has so much potential.

But if you can’t pull your thumbs from your ass and act like a real manager, I’ll drop the axe.

We don’t run businesses in the red. Fix your shit. ”

“Yes, sir. I will, sir.” He takes another shaky sip of water.

My phone buzzes a third time. Fuck’s sake.

I drain my glass of scotch and stand, then leave the room. A server approaches, her tray of drinks balanced on one hand. “Did you get everything you need, Mr. Layton?”

I struggle to remember her name. “Annie. Yes, thank you.”

“If you need anything else, you know where to find me.” She smiles and flips her red ponytail behind her.

Flirting? I briefly entertain the notion of taking her behind the building and working out some of the tension building in my body. Not half a second into the thought, I realize it doesn’t appeal. Maybe I’m not in the mood to fuck tonight. Not in the mood? There’s a first for everything, I guess.

As we leave the restaurant, I catch Troy smirking at me.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He schools his features. “Just, her name is Cammie.”

“Why didn’t she correct me?”

“And tell a Layton that he was wrong about something? No one has the balls for that.”

“Except for you, asshole.” I pull my phone from my pocket.

Three messages from Danica. I gave her my number last night before we dropped her off. Glad to see she’s making use of it already.

I’m downtown. Do you want to meet up?

If you aren’t busy.

I guess you’re busy.

Well, well, well…looks like the Aseyev princess wants to play.

And it seems I’m in the mood to fuck around, after all.