Page 14 of Mastered by Them (Rose and Dagger #2)

Troy

“H ey, I’m home.” I step into the apartment and immediately search for Dani. She was asleep when I left this morning. Tired out from yesterday, probably. She slept all the way home from Mirarosa, and I carried her to her bed.

Edmund is still down in the lobby. He wanted to go over plans with the building manager to gut the first floor conference rooms and replace them with a high-end restaurant. Knowing I was eager to get home to Dani, he sent me upstairs ahead of him.

He seems to have relaxed his jealous hold on Dani. At least a little bit. Something changed yesterday in Mirarosa. I’m not sure what—other than he seemed troubled by Amber reaching out.

Join the club, asshole.

Dani isn’t in the living room, so I head down the hall to her open bedroom door. “Hey, you in here?”

She stands at the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the city. Her laptop is open on the bed. Cackle twines around my legs, insistent for attention as I make my way toward Dani.

Something feels off—Dani’s posture is too rigid.

I clear my throat in case she hasn’t heard my approach. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Get out, please.” Her voice is thick, emotional.

“What?” I reach for her. “Is something wrong?”

“Fuck you, get the fuck out.” She spins around. Her face is blotchy with tears and twisted in anger as she points to the door.

I can’t move—I can only stare at her, dumbfounded. “What are you talking about?”

“Out!” Her voice rises. “Get out, get out, get out! ”

Cackle retreats beneath the bed.

Putting up my hands in defense, I listen to her. “Okay, I’m going. But Dani, please talk to me?—”

“Out.” It’s a whisper, not a scream.

I leave.

She slams the door behind me.

Only when I’m on the other side of the door do I hear her crying.

Fuck. Fuck . What’s wrong? And when the fuck is Edmund getting home? Maybe she’ll talk to him.

I pace the hallway for an eternity. Then I knock. “Dani?”

“Do not talk to me.”

“What did I do?”

She doesn’t answer. I try her door, but it’s locked.

This came out of nowhere. It makes no fucking sense.

I messed up at some point. I just wish I knew how.

* * *

Danica

I feel horrible for yelling at Troy like that. Maybe…maybe I read everything wrong.

Returning to my bed, I look at the laptop open on my fluffy duvet. Cackle starts chewing on a plastic corner, so I shoo him away.

The sender is unknown—a string of numbers for the email address. The subject line reads Troy Manchester’s Records . The file is still open. The first page looks the same as it did when I opened it—a typed note. Sorry to give you bad news, but your bodyguard is a criminal .

Which, I already knew.

I just didn’t know what he’s done.

Troy has been arrested seventeen times.

Aggravated assault. Criminal intimidation. Evidence tampering. Stalking. Breaking and entering. Conspiracy to commit murder.

And worse—sexual assault and aggravated sexual assault.

There are photos attached. His mug shot, which is bad.

But following that, pictures of bruised skin. Cuts. Blood. A woman’s black eye. A clump of curly red hair torn from someone’s scalp. An X-ray of a broken arm. French-manicured fingernails with blood under them because someone fought back.

It’s a catalog of pain and brutality.

I didn’t read it wrong. I read it exactly right.

More tears stream from my eyes. All of that terror. The anguish the women must have gone through.

There are no full-face images, but the record is clear. Women have been hurt.

No, that’s a passive way of saying it.

He hurt women. Troy hurt women.

I bend over, clutching my stomach. I’m going to be sick.

I’ve been giving my body—my pleasure, my affection, my trust—to a guy who has done far, far worse than what Patrick did?

* * *

Edmund

The apartment is eerily quiet when I step inside. Troy sits on the sofa, his head in his hands, shoulders bunched with tension.

“What’s up?” I throw my jacket over the back of a chair. “Where’s Danica?”

He lifts his head. “She’s in her room. I don’t fucking know what got into her. She screamed at me to get out.”

What? I look over at Troy—really look at him. His dark eyes look tired, confused, and sad.

At Danica’s door, I knock. “It’s me.”

“Come in.” She sounds miserable.

I step into her room. Cackle peers out from beneath the bed. Danica sits on the floor next to him, a bereft expression on her face.

I squat down next to her. “What happened?”

She points to the bed behind her. I stare for a moment, confused, until I see her open laptop.

It’s open to a page filled with text. I pick up the machine for a closer look.

My eyes widen in horror.

It’s a list of every one of Troy’s arrests and the charges associated with them. It goes on and on, providing details, cataloging everything that he ever did or was accused of doing.

Holy fuck.

I rub the back of my neck, trying to relieve immediate tension. No wonder Danica yelled at him. Seeing everything spelled out like this would be really fucking scary to someone who isn’t involved in the business.

“Danica, you know these are just arrests. Half the time, he was never charged. And he was never convicted?—”

She scoffs. “Right. He was perfectly innocent. Just like Patrick. If you think that, then you can get the fuck out, too.”

“It’s not that I think that—I know that. He did some of it, but not all?—”

“Out.” She points to the door.

Jaw tight, I leave, closing the door behind me.

When I return to the living room, Troy is in the same spot on the sofa. He stands and gestures toward Danica’s room. “So, what the hell happened?”

“Amber.”

“Amber…what?” Troy looks aghast. “Did she come here? Did she talk to Dani?”

“I guess I should be honest. I don’t know for sure it was Amber. But I believe it was.” I shake my head. “Someone sent Danica a list of your arrest reports, and I think it was her.”

He’s quiet for a long, drawn-out minute. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. Danica’s making connections to her cousin, probably because of the DA’s sexual abuse allegations.”

“Fuck. Fuck .” He starts down the hall.

“You should really give her some time before trying to talk?—”

He bypasses her room entirely and continues to his.

I follow him. “What are you doing?”

“Packing.” He grabs a duffel from his closet and starts throwing in pants.

“For what? Where are you going?”

“I’m out of here. I’m done.” He empties a drawer of t-shirts and boxers into the bag.

Anger and panic make my gut churn. “What the fuck are you talking about, Troy? What do you mean you’re done? Where are you going?”

“I’m done working for your family. I’m going somewhere else. It’s none of your business anymore. If you’re any kind of friend, you’ll arrange it so your dad and grandfather don’t send anyone after me.”

“Of course I wouldn’t let them do that.”

He zips the duffel and throws it over his shoulder. “Good.”

“But Troy.” I stand in front of the door. “Seriously, this is a rash decision. If it’s about not being with Danica, I’ve been thinking, and I was wrong. If she wants to be with you, then I’m not standing in your way.”

“Generous of you.” His lip curls. “Move, Edmund.”

I don’t budge. “Seriously, you can’t leave. What about everything we have here?”

His voice is blank. “There’s nothing for me here.”