Page 9 of Bound by Them (Rose and Dagger #1)

Danica

J ust when I think I can’t take any more stress and worry of my family breaking apart, something else happens.

It’s the way of the fucking world, I guess.

My mom’s call came in the middle of my shift at Isabelle’s. I could’ve ignored it, but I answered because I was so freaking happy she was breaking our stalemate.

But she wasn’t calling to reconcile. She was calling to inform me that Granddad is at Margaret Chung Medical Center because he had a heart attack.

I thought March was bad, but April isn’t shaping up to be any better. Fuck this whole entire year. I’m done.

I leave the ice cream parlor and speed to the hospital.

Dmitri arrives at the same time I do, so we go in together.

I don’t know what kind of reception we’ll get from the rest of the family.

I guess it doesn’t matter too much, except if we were all on speaking terms, we’d at least get the comfort of hugs and love and knowing that everything else will be okay, even if, God forbid, Granddad isn’t.

Dmitri’s quiet in the elevator. I’m quiet in the elevator.

When it dings to signal our floor, Dmitri follows me out. “So you don’t know anything else?”

I shake my head. We get to the waiting room and find it full of our family. No Patrick. Good, because I don’t have the energy to punch him again.

Although I could find that energy if necessary.

I walk straight to Mom and Dad. Mom’s eyes tear up and she holds out her arms. I hug her, for the first time in over a week.

She’s wearing perfume, like always. She’s obsessed with perfumes, always wearing something different.

This one has a sharp floral scent combined with an earthier spice.

She could probably tell me exactly what the scents are, but I’d forget them in five minutes, anyway.

Dad hugs me next. He looks just as wrecked as Mom, with red-rimmed eyes and pale skin. He looks up to Granddad as his own father and always has, because his dad died when he was young.

Does Dad know about the Aseyevs being a crime family? He must. I have a million questions for him and Mom, but now isn’t the time.

Rachel, my cousin, offers me a hug as well. It means more than I can say, because she’s Patrick’s sister. “I’m sorry I haven’t texted,” she whispers. “Things have been tense.”

“It’s okay, I get it,” I whisper back.

Aunt Milana and Aunt Sylvia—Patrick and Rachel’s moms—don’t offer hugs.

I pull out of Rachel’s hug and face the group at large. “Is there any news?”

“None.” Mom unearths a tissue from her purse and blows her nose. “The doctors are still evaluating him.”

We wait for what feels like forever.

And then Leah shows up.

Seeing my best friend again is a kick to the chest, because I haven’t made things right, and I know it’s on me. It’s my turn to be the bigger person. She’s already said her apologies, and Dmitri has said his. I’m the stubborn-assed hold-out.

Worse, my parents and aunts are being card-carrying dickheads because they ignore Leah. Why the hell am I doing the same?

Leah and Dmitri move off to the side. It looks like they’re passing a flask back and forth. I catch the sharp scent of whiskey.

I scoot closer and overhear Dmitri saying, “I want you here. My family doesn’t matter?—”

“Yes we fucking do,” I interject, marching over and giving them both the finger.

Leah squeaks in surprise, nearly falls, and I catch her.

“Sorry, sorry.” She pulls out of my hold.

Why is she apologizing? I’m the asshole. “No. I’m sorry. I was a dick. You don’t have to apologize anymore. Now give me some of that whiskey.”

She beams and flings her arms around me. In seconds, we’re both tearing up.

“Stop, don’t cry.” I hug her tighter. “I’m already crying. I missed you so fucking much.”

Now that we’ve hugged it out, we take seats. We share snacks and pass around the flask. At one point, Rachel joins us—but Dmitri wisely doesn’t let her drink. I get caught up on everything happening in Leah’s life. It’s enough drama to fill four seasons of a telenovela.

Finally, the doctor shows up to give us the news—Granddad is going to be okay. My mom hugs the doctor.

Aunt Milana lets her tears roll freely down her cheeks. “He’s really going to be all right?”

“We believe so.” The doctor’s smile lights up her rich brown eyes. “Your father is a fighter.”

The relief on everyone’s face shines like a spotlight. The doctor leaves the room, and the family begins to go their separate ways. None of the adults spare Leah, Dmitri, or me a glance. Rachel gives us each a gentle hug.

Dmitri puts on his big brother hat and adopts a stern tone. “Dani, you were drinking. Call a ride.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Bossypants, sir.” I salute him with my phone and pull up my rideshare app.

Leah interrupts my ride search with another hug. “We’ll get together soon.”

“Yes. Absolutely.” I wave goodbye, watching the way the two of them interact with each other. Dmitri seems extra protective and attentive.

I think my brother is in love. And seeing him and Leah like this—the way they care for each other, the easy way they interact? I couldn’t be happier for them.

The earliest ride I can find is fifteen minutes away.

I go ahead and put in the request, then sit back to wait, watching my app and ignoring the exit of my aunts.

My parents wish me a quick goodbye, but it’s colder than usual.

I guess now that Mom isn’t so worried about Granddad, we’re back to our old bullshit.

When my ride is five minutes out, I go to the lobby to wait for it.

But parked in the pick-up lane is a big, black truck I recognize. Standing outside the passenger door is none other than Edmund Layton.

He gestures me forward.

No fucking way. I roll my eyes and fold my arms across my chest. I know I look petulant—I don’t care.

“Danica.”

Damn, the way his voice goes low…it does something between my legs.

But no. Nope. Nopey nope nope. That treacherous twatwaffle in his million-dollar haircut can wait forever. I’m not getting in his car.

Even though my pussy is throbbing at the way his jewel-green eyes stare me down.

* * *

Edmund

“Danica.” I lower my voice. “Get in the car.”

“I don’t get in cars with criminals.” She flips me off. She looks like a 1950s rebel in her jeans and black t-shirt. But her white-blond hair tied back in two braids makes her look like a brat.

I keep my voice even so she can’t hear my impatience. “You have been getting in cars with criminals for your whole life.”

Her gray eyes narrow. She doesn’t like that I mentioned her family. “Fuck you, Daddy Warbucks.”

“ Daddy .” I grin. “You can call me that again.”

She scoffs and gives me yet another eyeroll. “I have a dad, thanks.”

“There’s a big difference between dad and daddy , little girl.”

Her eyebrows go up in surprise, but she otherwise pretends like I didn’t say something scandalous.

While a part of me is frustrated that she isn’t doing what I say, another part is relieved to see that she’s feeling better. Troy told me she was crying when she left her job, then he followed her here to the hospital.

But if she’s rolling her eyes and acting like a brat, things must not be so dire.

“The car, Danica. Now.” I open the door and stand next to it, waiting. I have all the time in the world. But is she going to listen?

From the way she hesitates, I think she won’t. But then she sighs heavily and flounces over to the car. She steps close, closer.

I hold myself still, waiting to see what she’ll do.

She leans against me, pressing close so I can feel her tits against my chest. “What do you have in mind?”

Her sweet breath carries an extra scent.

I grip her upper arms. “What have you been drinking?”

A smirk. A sparkle in her eyes. “Whiskey. Do you have a problem with that, Daddy Dickhead ?”

“Get in the car, brat.”

Troy pats the bench seat next to him. “Right here, Dani.”

She lets out a huff of irritation, but gets into the car. I climb in after her. My little rebel.

She ignores me and beams at Troy as she starts to buckle herself in. Troy quickly takes over with the buckle. Danica frowns, but his overbearing ways are quickly forgotten when her phone buzzes.

“Shit, I have to cancel my ride.” She taps the screen and pays the cancellation fee. With that taken care of, she turns to me. “I’m still pissed at you, you know.”

“That’s fine. How much did you drink?”

“I don’t know. Some. We were sipping from a flask. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Troy clears his throat. “It’s very much our business.”

“Ugh, you too, with the daddy stuff?” Danica gives an exasperated sigh. “I’m not drunk. I’m not even buzzed or tipsy. I’m too mad to be buzzed or tipsy.”

“Mad?” I turn in the seat. “Let’s talk about this.”

“Let me tell you one thing, first.” She straightens up as much as she can in the seat. “I hate you.”

Her absolute conviction is a turn-on. I let her statement hang in the air, the tension stretching between us. In a solemn voice, I say, “Strong words. Say them again.”

Her forehead wrinkles. “I hate you?”

“And again.” I take her hand in mine, holding her firmly, not wanting to let go. She’s so fucking soft.

Her lips curl in a sneer. “I hate you, Edmund Layton.”

“Good. Say it again.”

She shakes her head. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why do you want me to say it over and over?”

I lean in close. She leans back, but it only puts her right up against Troy. They look good together. His giant bulk, her angelic form.

Rubbing my fingertip over her knuckles, I say, “It’s an experiment.”

“What? How the fuck is me saying I hate you an experiment?”

“I need a baseline. If I know what it sounds like now, then I’ll know if it sounds different when my tongue is teasing your clit.”