Page 7 of Bound by Them (Rose and Dagger #1)

Danica

D ear Leah, I’m sorry.

I cross it out and start over.

Dear Leah, I’m so sorry.

I cross it out again.

Dear Leah, I’m so fucking sorry.

I cross it out three times and flip the page of my journal.

Mom and Dad, I’m disgusted with your response to Patrick’s assault on my friend ?—

Ugh. Nope. I already shouted most of this to their faces. Revisiting it in my “unsent letters” journal is only continuing what Dad used to call my “Danica Doom Spiral.” I cross that out, too, and start a new letter below it.

Patrick, you asshole. You’ve ruined everything and everyone. Fuck you and fuck your stupid fucking ?—

I pause. Fuck his…what? I don’t even know. Words are too hard.

I close the journal, slip it into its place on the shelf next to my bed, and take out my math notebook.

I’ve had this book for years. I flip past the first several pages, a bunch of nonsense numbers I started writing when I was a kid.

After that, there are lots of geometry sketches, although I lovingly wrote out the quadratic formula in fluorescent purple, block letters on one of them.

It’s just whatever I feel like, because numbers are calming.

They’re firm, true. Words are messy. Take the word “hot,” for example.

It can mean all kinds of things. Hot food, hot mess, hot days. Hot guys.

Hot guys…like Troy and Edmund.

It’s been two days, and I haven’t heard shit from either of them. Which is fine. I’ll just fill a page with Pascal’s triangle. Numbers and numbers and numbers, as far as I can go. Calm. Easy. One answer.

My tabby cat, Cackle, sits at the end of my bed. Every now and then he attacks my foot, as is his god-given right. I keep my feet safely underneath my blanket, as is my god-given right.

I get all the way to the bottom of the page. 1, 16, 120, 560—all the way to 12,870 and then back again. My emotions are managed. I feel better.

I love my math journal.

Since I seem to be on a journaling tear, I grab my sketching journal next. This is the ugliest of my journals, because I can’t draw for shit.

When I open it, a photo slips out from between the pages. I put the photo in here so I could practice sketching it. It’s a close-up of Dmitri’s tattoo. He has the Aseyev family symbol on his bicep—a dagger and crown.

This is it . This is the solution. Granddad thinks that by calling the cops on Patrick, I betrayed the family. But I’m just as much a family member as Patrick and Dmitri. Both of them have the tattoo.

I’ll get the tattoo. I’ve wanted it for a while, but I never got around to it. Well, it’s finally time. It’ll show Granddad and Mom that I’m just as invested in the family as my brother and Patrick.

Four hours later, I’m walking into San Inksteban. This is the place Leah had her tattoo done, five years ago. It’s clean, comes well-recommended, and even better, they have an opening. Today.

What are you doing, Danica , a voice in my head whispers. This is too impulsive, even for you .

Normally, I’d call Leah and let her talk me down. I can’t do that, though. I’m on my own.

A gruff, red-haired woman stands at the counter when I walk in. She looks to be in her thirties or so. Her hands and arms are covered in tattoos, and her light brown eyes look me up and down.

“Hi.” I give her a little wave. “I called earlier. I have an appointment. Danica.”

“Oh, that’s with me, Grady.” Her lips turn up in a slight smile, like she’s forcing it for the sake of customer service. I like this lady. She nods at the journal in my hand. “So you know your design already?”

“Yeah. Same one as my brother’s. Here.” I open the notebook and pull out the photo.

Grady’s auburn eyebrows shoot up on her forehead. “That’s a gang tat, I can’t give you that.”

“Um, no. It’s part of my family crest. My brother has the same one.”

She laughs. “I hate to tell you this, but it’s an organized crime symbol.”

“I swear to god, I’m not in any gangs.” Why won’t she believe me? Dmitri has it—so does Granddad and Patrick. How did they get theirs done if it’s a gang tat ? “Please. It’s just a family thing.”

Her brown eyes search mine. “You are absolutely certain that this is what you want?”

“If you don’t do it, I’ll keep asking around. Even if I have to leave the city. This is my family’s symbol. If some gang has co-opted it, that’s their business. This is mine .”

“All right.” She sighs as if she can’t believe the youth of today. I can easily picture her sitting on a front porch and yelling at people to get off her lawn. Seriously, this lady is life goals.

She traces the design onto paper and we go over placement. I already know I want it on my leg, just above my ankle. Soon, she’s disinfecting my skin and the tattoo gun is merrily vibing away with its needle and ink.

An hour and a half later, I’m walking out with a printout of instructions for care. Some plastic wrap stuff covers my new ink. Once my tattoo is all healed up, I’ll surprise Granddad with it.

I’m halfway down the block to my car when my phone rings.

I wonder if it’s Edmund, finally getting in touch.

If he doesn’t, I’ll be disappointed. But maybe not that disappointed.

What I did with him and Troy was hot, yeah, but he’s obviously a lot more experienced and adventurous than I am. Better to let it be.

Still, I pull my phone from my bag.

Patrick’s name is on the screen.

Uh, hell no. I decline the call.

He follows immediately with a text. Dani, please talk to me. I need to apologize, cousin.

I delete the message. Fuck that useless piece of trash. He’s not my cousin anymore.

* * *

Troy

Ed Senior keeps muttering the same thing, over and over. “Half a million dollars. Half a million dollars .”

Edmund keeps his mouth shut while his father sulks. He looks as exhausted as I feel. We just got in from Mirarosa so Edmund could report in person.

Even in the dim lights of their home library, Ed’s face appears flushed. I’m half-worried he’s going to give himself a heart attack with how rigidly he stands, fists clenched while he mutters under his breath.

He’s one sarcastic comeback away from turning into a teenager.

“So it’s all gone.” Ed looks up from the floor to face his son.

Edmund leans against the floor-to-ceiling bookcase. “Unless we want to send scuba divers into the bottom of the bay to retrieve it, yes.”

Ed looks for a moment as if that’s a possibility. Then his shoulders fall. “Fuck you, for the sarcasm. Every bottle would’ve been broken, wouldn’t it?”

“From the explosion, yes.”

Someone started a fire on the ship. There were forty pallets, with one hundred forty-four bottles of whiskey per pallet. I imagine the resulting explosion was huge.

“Goddamn it.” Ed turns around so he faces away from us. He seems so lost, I half wonder if he’s crying. What’s the big fucking deal? It’s half a million dollars. The Laytons earn that in a month.

Not this month, I guess.

Let me go cry into my empty wallet.

Ed takes a deep breath. “It’s those fucking Aseyevs.”

My head jerks up. We don’t know it was the Aseyevs. The cameras around the dock were covered. Our guards were incompetent. Sorry to say, but it’s true. Layton’s been slacking on his hiring procedures. A toddler could’ve gotten past the sentient tea cozies he had stationed at the docks.

I hide a smile. “Sentient tea cozies” is something Dani would say.

“We’ll get back at them.” Ed’s voice hardens. He fixes his posture, squaring his shoulders. “Blood answers with blood. Always has, always will.”

Edmund clears his throat. “No blood was spilled.”

Ignoring his son, Ed takes out his phone. “I wonder how Sergey would like to lose a grandson?—”

“Dad, stop .” Edmund strides forward. “There was no blood. We should take the loss, let it be.”

Ed doesn’t get violent when someone contradicts him. It’s not his style. Instead, he gets quiet. He pockets the phone and stares at Edmund. “Take the loss, huh? Let it be?”

“Yeah.” Edmund knows he messed up. But he can’t back down. Maybe because, like me, he doesn’t want Danica’s family hurt. “It’s not worth it.”

“It’s worth half a million dollars.” Ed’s scowl transforms into a cruel smile. “Did you find pussy that’s worth half a million dollars?”

Edmund’s control snaps.

I see the fight coming, so I push the button on my phone to make it ring. The tone is a distressingly loud, obnoxious cover of Backstreet Boys’ “I Want it That Way.” The opening is unmistakable, from the guitar and that first “yeeeahhh.”

I pretend to scramble with my pocket, like I can’t pull my phone out. The song continues, moving into lyrics about fire and desire. “Sorry, sorry, sir. Shit, sorry.”

Ed glares. Not at me, but at Edmund. “I thought you had better control over your guard.”

I silence the phone, pretending to be embarrassed. Inwardly, I’m filled with grim satisfaction. Edmund is staring at me, incredulous, and Ed just looks annoyed.

Five minutes later, Edmund and I are striding out of the library and into the dark hallway of Rendsell.

“‘I Want it That Way’? Fucking really ?” Edmund hisses.

I shrug. “Had to get your attention somehow.”

“Don’t tell me you always have it queued up in case things are going down.”

“Fine. I won’t tell you that.”

“Fucking hell, Manchester.” But he knocks my shoulder with his and adds in a quieter tone, “Thanks.”

I’m his bodyguard. I keep him safe. Even from himself.

* * *

Danica

Five days after I get my tattoo, it still itches like a poison oak rash covered in mosquito bites.

At least it seems to be healing well, otherwise.

I peer at the design while taking my shower.

The crown encircles a long, wicked-looking dagger with a stylized A on the handle.

I want to run my fingers over the ink, but even in the shower I avoid touching it.

“The less you mess with it, the healthier, faster, and cleaner it will heal,” Grady had said at the parlor.

I gently dribble the special soap over it, then watch the water rinse it away. The heat exacerbates the itching and I grit my teeth.

Can a tattoo fix my broken family? Probably not. This was an idiotic move on my part—although I’m not gonna lie, I love my tattoo.

I turn off the water and dry myself, patting my healing skin gently with the towel.

It’s been a little over a week since I saw my parents, since I screamed at my mom.

I haven’t texted or called, and they haven’t texted or called me, either.

I’m still pissed off, but I miss them. Maybe they don’t miss me, though.

Maybe sticking up for Patrick—a guy who sexually assaulted my friend—is more important than me, their daughter?

My roommate Elias’s voice startles me out of my Danica Doom Spiral. “D, your brother’s here!”

“The fuck? You let Dmitri in?” I throw on baggy jeans and a sweatshirt.

Fucking great. I really need my brother here, ruining whatever peace I’m trying to build.

Because he brings a whole different conflict—that of hooking up with my bestie behind my back.

I shout through the bathroom door, “You asshole, Elias. I swear to God, I’m going to sprinkle Cackle’s dirty litter over your bed while you’re sleeping. ”

I wrap my towel around my hair and head to the living room to face my brother. He’s cajoling Cackle into best-friendship. There’s no loyalty in this cat.

Dmitri’s dark blond hair is messy, like he’s been nervously running his hands through it. He keeps his attention on the cat as he says, “Hey, sis.”

“Don’t fucking hey sis me. I’m still mad at you. What do you want?”

Cackle darts under my favorite chair. Dmitri watches Cackle’s retreat like he’s considering joining him.

He stands up and faces me, gray eyes determined. “I want to apologize.”

“Yeah? What for?”

“I’m not sorry for getting together with Leah.”

“But you fucking promised.”

“Yeah, I did.” He looks down as he speaks. “It was a promise I made when I was in my twenties and you were a teenager. I never thought it would come back like this. I never thought I’d catch feelings for Leah.”

Seriously, why do I want to cry all of a sudden? “And then you did, and instead of talking to me like a motherfucking adult , you hid it from me. You and her. You both shut me out.”

Dmitri frowns. “I didn’t want to hide it from you. And I promise to never hide something like that from you again.”

“Because you’re going to fuck another one of my best friends?” Maybe it isn’t fair, but I can’t help but take the dig at him. “Oh, wait, you can’t, because you took the only one I have.”

“Christ, I’m not taking your friend, Danica. She’s still your best friend. She’s waiting for you to call her because you said you needed space.”

“Great, so it’s my fault.” I’m a judgmental idiot, and I deserve the misery of being apart from my best friend.

“It’s not your fault entirely. I should’ve been honest. Leah should have, too, although I have to admit, I didn’t want her to tell you.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Dmitri says, “There’s something else you need to hear.”

“What is it?”

“There’s shit you don’t know about Granddad.”

“Are you trying to distract me from Leah?”

“No. Fuck. I’m trying to explain—I want to tell you everything because I’m fucking worried, okay?” He turns his arm to show me his tattoo, the crown and dagger. The one that matches mine. “This is more than our family symbol—the Aseyevs are a gang.”

“Yeah, no.” I shake my head, grinning. What a fucking joke. First Grady, the tattoo artist, said it. And now Dmitri? No way.

His gray eyes, so much like mine, don’t look away. “We are . I didn’t realize it when Mom allowed me to get the tat. Granddad suggested the design, saying it’s something all the Aseyev men wear. Mom said it was fine.”

“You’re serious.” I put things together, flashes from the past running through my mind. Mom and Dad having a quiet, and chilly, argument. They barely spoke for days. “I remember back then. Dad was pissed after you got the tattoo.”

“Yeah.”

Well, this is just shitastic. Grady was right—it is a gang sign. And now it’s on my leg.

I say, “I was going to surprise Granddad. I’ve wanted it for a while. And then I wanted to make up after the big blow-out, convince him that…I don’t know. Fuck. It was impulsive. I just feel like our family is imploding. I wanted to do something to make it feel like I’m still a part of the family.”

“Dani?” Dmitri clears his throat. “What are you talking about?”

I lift my pant leg.

He gawks at my tattoo.

“So.” I laugh—I can’t fucking believe this. “Guess I’m in the gang now.”