Chapter 9
Danica
The space beyond the office is shrouded in shadows.
To my immediate right is the tiny bathroom Uriel had me use.
Beyond is the great, big warehouse. Small windows very high on the walls allow in a tiny bit of light.
I can make out large shapes—trucks or machinery, maybe some crates.
Nobody rushes out to stop me, so I hurry forward.
The floor is cool against my bare feet, chilling me all the way through.
I wish I had the utility knife, but no going back for it now.
Except—Kellen. Shit. I should’ve checked his pulse. What if he’s alive in there, stuck with Uriel?
Except Uriel is dead—or nearly dead. He has to be.
But if he isn’t, and if Kellen is alive…I would be an absolute asshole to leave him behind.
Putting off the decision for now, I take another look at my surroundings. There are large, garage-style doors that probably need a button or lever to open. I have zero hope of finding that in this dark room. Next to one of them is a smaller door. I’ll try that.
But…Kellen.
He risked his life—maybe lost it—to help me escape.
I can’t leave without at least making sure.
Hesitating is stupid. I should leave, get out of here while I can. I know this. But could I live with myself if I escape without checking?
No, I couldn’t. I would want Kellen to check on me. I kept telling him there’s always hope, he shouldn’t resign himself to death. And here I am, running away without even making sure? I can’t do this to him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I turn around. Keeping low and sticking to the shadows, I creep back toward the office.
The door is half-closed. Light spills from the room at a slant, making a trapezoid of dull yellow on the warehouse floor in front of it.
Slowly, with my head down, I peer around the doorframe.
A large figure grabs me by the shoulders before I even see him. Uriel. I scream as he swings me back into the office. I slam against the side of the desk. More of his stupid religious icons clatter as they fall over. A painted saint, a carved Egyptian god with a dog face, all those fucking candles.
Pain blooms over my hip where I hit the desk.
“Slicing my neck wasn’t very nice.” Uriel’s voice is a hiss. “But it wasn’t very effective, either. If you’re going to kill me, you’d best do it right the first time.”
He keeps me pinned, the weight of his torso holding me in place. Blood drips onto the desk past my head, falling from his neck. I jab back with my elbow. He grunts, but doesn’t budge.
The Egyptian god statue is just within my reach. I stretch out, grasp it, and swing it back over my head. I feel the impact all the way up my arm—I hit him hard.
Uriel groans and his grip loosens. But he doesn’t let me go. I elbow him again and swing the statue. I refuse to die here. I won’t let him put me in that chair again. No more ropes, no more being trapped. I’m fucking done.
He grabs me by the throat. Instant panic. I strike him again and again, but half the time I miss, and when I do make contact, I must not be hitting him hard enough. My vision goes hazy and gray at the edges.
I hit him as hard as I can, the statue heavy in my hand, thudding into whatever part of Uriel I can reach.
Suddenly, his weight disappears. I’m lighter than air, floating, as I continue swinging behind me. My arm aches with the effort, but I refuse to stop.
A new weight settles over me. A comforting, familiar scent penetrates my panic and I go still.
“Danica, it’s me—Danica, baby. It’s Edmund.”
* * *
Troy
I don’t spare a glance for the dead man on the floor. Killing him was easy—I jammed my knife into the side of his neck while our girl smacked the shit out of him.
Blood pools over the cement floor, soaking into the hem of Dani’s wedding gown.
She struggles against Edmund until his arms band around her and he speaks. “Danica, it’s me—Danica, baby. It’s Edmund.”
“Edmund?” She turns around, her shoulders and arms shaking, her gray eyes wide with leftover terror.
“Let me hold you, princess.” He keeps his arms loose around her. “Please.”
She throws her arms around him, squeezing.
I don’t care that the doorway is crowded with Sergey’s men, and Dmitri is shoving his way through them. I step forward and hold her, too.
“Troy. Edmund.” She sobs in our arms. “You’re here.”
Finally. The world isn’t so dark anymore. We found her, we have her back in our arms.
“Uriel Vorsong,” Sergey’s man mutters, kicking the dead guy.
I’ve never heard of him.
“And who’s the other dead guy?” someone else asks.
Dani raises her head. Tears streak down her cheeks. “That’s…that’s Kellen.”
She shares a few details of what happened as we shepherd her out of the warehouse.
Mostly, though, she’s quiet while we wait for the police to arrive.
One of Sergey’s men volunteers to take the fall for knifing Uriel Vorsong in the neck.
He cites the Aseyevs’ debt to the Laytons because Edmund saved Sergey’s life.
I accept the offer. I don’t want any more involvement with the police than necessary.
When the police and two ambulances arrive, they herd us toward the center of the parking lot, away from the building.
Dani covers her mouth with her hands when two stretchers leave the building.
Two detectives approach.
“Miss Montrose.” The male detective raises his eyebrows. “You again?”
I want to step forward and knock some compassion into him, but Dani just smiles. “Trust me, I’ll happily let you have a turn with the next murderer terrorizing the city.”
He has the sense to look embarrassed. “Sorry, Miss Montrose. Let’s talk about what happened.”
Edmund and I hover nearby while Dani gives her statement.
“Please keep it short.” Edmund steps in after a few minutes. “As you can see, Danica is exhausted. She’s been through quite an ordeal and I’d like to bring her home soon.”
“Understood,” the first detective says.
“This part is important.” Danica is pale, with dark circles under her eyes. But her voice is clear and strong. “The Vorsongs are bringing in a shipment of heroin this Friday. It’s coming into Mirarosa.”
“Mirarosa?” A detective with short, blond hair raises her eyebrows. “That’s unusual.”
Dani lifts a single shoulder. “I told you everything I know.”
“Our family has docks in Mirarosa.” Edmund steps forward. “It’s likely the Vorsongs will bring things through there.”
“Any reason why they would choose your docks?” the blond detective asks.
I raise my eyebrows. He and I both know Caleb Morraine was probably giving the Vorsongs an in. Edmund better tread carefully. Morraine’s body will disappear, but it would be best if nobody knows he’s missing for a while.
“They might think they can get away with it, without us knowing.” Edmund gives the detective a bland smile. “They’re aware of my family’s business and operations.”
“If you want to stop them, you need people there on Friday.” Dani returns the conversation to where we want it—away from Morraine and the Laytons, and back to the Vorsongs. “This is what Kellen told me, and it was important that you know.”
Her voice catches on Kellen’s name. He meant something to her—the two probably bonded while in that room. She’s taking his death hard.
I catch Edmund’s eye and tilt my head toward my truck.
He understands right away. Clasping his hands together, he says, “If you have everything you need, we should be going. Danica is tired and needs to rest. Here’s my number if you need to ask follow-up questions.”
I half-expect Dani to protest the way he’s strong-arming her out of the interview, but she leans into him for support.
Edmund kisses her forehead. “Let’s go, princess.”
* * *
Edmund
She’s finally in my arms again. We ride the elevator up to our apartment, Troy and I on either side of her. I can’t stop touching her.
She stands straight and strong, her expression determined. An EMT blanket covers her top half, worn like a shawl. Below, her wedding gown. It’s filthy—covered in dirt and blood, the fabric ripped in places.
And still she holds herself like a queen.
Our queen.
We didn’t ask where she wanted to go, though. The past four days, her decisions and choices were limited, torn away while she was held captive. And here we are, whisking her along to our own place.
“Danica.” I wait until she turns her head to face me. “Do you want to be here, with us? Is there somewhere else you’d rather go?”
“Of course I want to be here.”
When I open the apartment door, Cackle races forward. Danica kneels to greet him. He bumps his head against her hands, purring.
“It’s just…” I pause, trying to come up with the correct words. “It’s just that you don’t have to be here anymore. Nobody’s making you, and while I want you here—”
“We want you here,” Troy interjects.
“While we want you here, more than fucking anything, it needs to be your choice.” I force myself to say the next bit, even though I don’t want to. “The Vorsongs are as good as gone. The marriage doesn’t need to happen.”
“So I’m free to go.” She stands, lifting Cackle. The emergency blanket falls from her shoulders. Cackle paws at Danica’s ornate diamond necklace.
“Yeah. You’re free to go.” I choke out the words. Please don’t go.
She marches down the hall and into her room. Cackle struggles out of her arms so she lets him down. He follows her, chasing the dirty train of her wedding gown.
I follow her, too. “Are you leaving?”
Her movements are wooden, mechanical, as she struggles with the buttons on the back of her dress. “I need to get out of this thing.”
Troy beats me to it.
While he works at the buttons, she removes her necklace and sets it on the dresser. The diamonds sparkle in the light spilling in from the large window overlooking the Salding District.
“I’m not leaving.” She points to the bed behind her. “I’m taking a shower and going to sleep.”
My breath leaves in a whoosh. Thank fuck. “When’s the last time you ate?”
She frowns. “I don’t know, but I’m not hungry.”
“You probably haven’t eaten in days.” The EMTs gave her a bottle of water, but nobody thought to feed her. “I’ll be right back.”
“Edmund, I’m not hungry—”
“I don’t care—you need to eat something.”
She flips me off before I turn to leave the room. I smile. If she’s flipping me off, it means she’s okay.
I fix her some oatmeal—her go-to breakfast. Something warm and homey. While I wait for it to cook, I hear the shower running. Troy is there to help if she needs it, so I’m not worried. Once the oatmeal is done, I dump in extra brown sugar, then carry it to her room.
She’s in bed already, leaning against Troy. Her hair is wet and he combs it while she rests. She has on a pale blue tank top and soft-looking pajama pants. Cackle sits at her feet, already curling up for a nap.
“I made you some oatmeal.” I get into bed on the other side of her.
She wrinkles her nose.
“Just try to eat a little.” I hold out the spoon. “I put extra brown sugar in it for you.”
“Well, if there’s sugar…” She takes the spoon and swallows a bite, but her eyes tear up. “Stop being nice to me, it makes me want to cry.”
“You want us to be mean to you?” Troy asks.
“Maybe?” She takes another bite, swallows. “I’m just tired of crying and you guys taking care of me makes it worse for some reason.”
“Maybe you need to cry.” I wrap an arm around her. “You’ve been through quite a lot, angel.”
Her eyes shut, tight. Tears trail from the corners. “Kellen thought I was an angel when he first saw me.”
“So did I. That night, at your cousin’s party—you were in a white dress. I thought you looked like an avenging angel as you yelled at your family. You’re so strong, Danica. I bet Kellen saw that about you, too. Do you want to talk about him?”
“He saved me, but I couldn’t save him.” She breaks down, and Troy and I let her cry. It seems to be what she needs.
Two bites of oatmeal aren’t nearly enough for her, but when her eyes droop closed and she sleeps, I don’t want to wake her. She can eat when she wakes up. A cry and sleep seem to be more pressing.
Troy and I are squeezed in her bed on either side of her. I don’t care how uncomfortable it is—neither of us is budging.
Once her eyes are closed and her breathing is even, Troy looks over at me. “You regret killing Morraine?”
“Yes and no.” I want to say no, unequivocally.
Because him dying was probably the only way things could go.
Even if I hadn’t done it, someone else probably would have.
Killing him saved Danica’s grandfather. She already lost her cousin this year, and she’s been through so much. Besides, I like the old man.
But Caleb was my friend for a long time. It doesn’t feel right that he’s gone all of a sudden, and I was the one who had to do it.
“Does that make me a shitty member of the Layton family?” I ask. “That a part of me regrets killing him?”
“Not in the slightest. If you’d been a second slower, I’d have done it instead. But I wouldn’t have liked it.”
That’s some comfort, at least.
“Do you regret killing that Vorsong guy?” I ask in a quiet voice.
His gaze slides over Danica, over her raw wrists held protectively up to her chin. “Fuck no. I’d do it again if I could.”