Adored By Them (Rose and Dagger #4)

Chapter 1

Troy

I don’t need to hear the conversation in the aisle—I can see it. Edmund’s rigid stance, Leah’s slumped shoulders. The parents waving their arms, pointing at each other with blame.

They think Dani ran off. Even Edmund thinks so, but only because the rest of them do.

I shoulder into the group. They immediately make room for me. Not because they want to, but because they have to. “She didn’t run.”

“How do you know?” Ed Senior sneers. “She made no secret about hating our family.”

“I just know. If you clear everyone out, I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

He doesn’t believe me, I can tell he doesn’t. But he nods. There’s no other choice, really. Does he want a church full of onlookers to this humiliation?

“Edmund.” I don’t try to catch his eye—he won’t look at anyone. “Come on.”

He follows me out of the sanctuary and into a hallway. “Take me home, okay? I don’t want to deal with this bullshit.”

“We aren’t going home. We’re going to find Dani.”

“Fuck, Troy. She doesn’t want to be found.”

“Yes, she does.”

“You don’t understand. That last night we spent with her, you fell asleep. I asked if she’d marry me if she had a choice. Troy.” He takes a deep breath. “She said no.”

“Of course she said no. The whole time she’s been with us, it’s been a battle.” I can see why it hurt him, but he isn’t seeing past the pain. “But she agreed to this, and she showed up here at the church. She put on the dress. She was ready to go. Something happened.”

“She got cold feet.” He doesn’t sound as convinced as he was at first, though.

We leave through the front door and make our way to the parking lot.

It’s a sunny, beautiful day. I look around at the parked cars, the noisy street separated by nothing more than knee-high bushes and a narrow sidewalk.

Plenty of pedestrian and auto traffic. If someone took Dani, they wouldn’t do it here—the street is too busy. Too many witnesses.

The guests inside finally start to leave. Took them long enough. No doubt they were soaking up the drama. Even now, there’s an excited, scandalized note to their quiet chatter.

I take big strides to the side of the church.

Edmund snaps out of his feelings and follows me. “Where are you going?”

Ignoring the question, I make a call to Caleb Morraine. “Who’s guarding the east side of the church?”

“Match and Torkin. Why?”

“Because—never mind. Found ’em.” I gesture Edmund over and point to two sets of legs—the bodies are hidden behind a hedge, but it was a rush job. Their killer didn’t have time to properly hide them.

Morraine’s voice sounds tinny in my ear. “What do you mean—”

I hang up on Morraine and turn to look at Edmund. “Still think she ran?”

He rubs his hands over his face. “Fuck. Fuck.”

* * *

Edmund

I can’t speak. If I do, I’ll explode. Dully, I listen to Troy explain everything to the families. My grandfather makes a call for someone to take care of Match’s and Torkin’s bodies. I watch Danica’s mother crumple in panic. I want to do the same.

You feel too much.

It’s true. I feel way too goddamn much. I’m fucking furious. I shouldn’t have fallen for her. None of this should have happened. The first time I even looked at her, at that party all those months ago, I should have thought about what would come. Nothing good.

“It was a mistake to trust the Laytons with security.” Sergey’s tone is cold, clinical. “We’ll find my granddaughter, and the wedding is off.”

“You were welcome to bring your own security,” my father says. Does his face have any expression other than disdain, ever? I don’t think it does. It’s a wonder Caleb’s mother can stand looking at that curled lip, those angry eyes.

“Why should we, when you said you had it handled?” Sergey doesn’t wait for a response. He strides away, making a call. No doubt, he’s gathering allies to help him find Danica.

“This entire arrangement was ill-conceived.” My father speaks to no one and to the group at large.

My grandfather stares at Sergey’s back. “Perhaps you are correct, son.”

So it’s back to that, I guess. The two families bickering, fighting, maybe even killing each other.

“I’ll follow up with the guards.” Troy’s tone is neutral, but I know him too well. I can hear the panic underneath.

“No need.” Father waves a hand in dismissal. “The Aseyevs can take care of their own. The alliance is over.”

“That’s what Vorsong Circle wants.” Those are the first words I’ve spoken in several minutes.

Everyone turns to look at me. I clear my throat and consciously unclench my fists.

“Vorsong Circle took her because it would cause us to fight with each other. If we want to lose San Esteban, we’re on the right track. ”

My father scoffs. “We aren’t in danger of losing anything. Go home, Edmund. Let the Aseyevs deal with their own problems.”

Taking a step forward, I get ready to tell my father exactly what I think about his carelessness, his cruelty, the way his lack of feelings borders on psychopathy—but Troy’s phone goes off.

The Backstreet Boys. “I Want It That Way.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Troy rushes to say, sounding embarrassed.

He isn’t embarrassed. He did it on purpose, again.

I squash down my feelings of rage and fear, then turn on my heel and nod at Troy. “Let’s go. And turn off that fucking music.”

We climb into his truck, still wearing our tuxes. I tear off the jacket and loosen everything that can be loosened. Troy starts the truck and pulls onto the street.

“We aren’t going home, are we?” I ask.

He takes a right on Washburne. “I told Caleb to meet us at his.”

Only now do I see the panic in his eyes. He feels just like I do—he’s just better at hiding it.

“We’ll get her back.” I stare hard at the road ahead. “I know she’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah.” His voice is gruff. “I know.”

But the truth of it is, neither of us really knows.

* * *

Danica

The trunk opens, letting in light. I wince at the brightness and open my mouth to scream.

A rough hand connects with my face, brutal in the hit, then immediately covers my mouth.

The pain in my jaw is blunt and begins to throb. I blink several times, trying to clear the stars from my vision.

My attacker has sandy brown hair, cruel blue eyes, and a disconcerting smile on his face.

“Danica Montrose.” He stares as I struggle beneath the weight of his hand on my mouth. “I didn’t expect you to wake so soon. Up you go. You can try to scream, but it won’t do any good. In fact, it will probably annoy me.”

He lifts me out of the trunk and carries me like I’m an infant or—I realize with a pang of hysteria—a bride. I’m in my wedding gown and everything. I want to laugh and I want to cry and I want to scream. I do none of these things. Instead, I bow my back, going rigid and straight.

He loses his grip and drops me. Down I go, catching myself on my forearm and hip. The impact of the concrete floor jars my bones. But I don’t have time to feel shocked—I have to scramble.

At some point my shoes came off. My bare toes push against the cool floor, shoving me forward as I crawl. I don’t know where I’ll go, and I don’t care. I just know I have to get away.

I scramble to the side. The stupid dress keeps tripping me. How can I trip when I’m crawling? It isn’t right. Satin tears. A hand clamps on my ankle. He drags me back. I kick at him with my other leg, but he dodges.

“Now, now.” He holds my ankles in a vise-like grip. “You haven’t yet seen the beautiful room I’ve set up for you, Danica Montrose.”

Instead of picking me up, he drags me over the concrete floor. There’s nothing to grip for purchase. Two of my nails tear when I try to hold the floor. The sharp pain only gives me renewed energy.

It doesn’t make me strong enough to fight against him and win, though.

Soon, he pulls me into another room. I don’t have any sense of what kind of building this is.

I thought we were in a garage, but now I think…

warehouse? The ceilings are higher than I initially thought, and that first room was a lot bigger than a typical garage.

If that’s a warehouse, then this room would be an office.

Or, it normally would be. Instead, he turned it into some kind of nightmare. Black candles, unlit, line a wall shelf. Framed Renaissance prints of demons and torture hang on the walls. Crosses and pentagrams are arranged artfully around them.

“Into the chair, Danica Montrose.” He lifts me.

I hit, scratch, flail. I kick him good in the stomach and he grunts before slapping me across the face.

My ears ring, and the throbbing in my jaw from the earlier hit increases tenfold.

Before I know it, I’m forced into the chair and my arms are wrenched behind me.

He wraps something around my wrists, tying them together.

My bare feet, he leaves unbound. I hold still, not wanting to call attention to them.

“There.” He gets up close, peering into my face.

Now that I can see better, I realize his eyes aren’t cruel. They’re dead. A flat blue that lets in no light whatsoever, a flat blue that swallows me, makes me small. I shudder.

“My, you are a pretty one.” He clucks his tongue. “I’ll let you get settled. Scream all you want—nobody’s around to hear you.”

With that, he turns around and leaves the room.