Page 44 of Bound By Them
I nod, uncaring. In the end, Patrick is still dead. My aunts are inconsolable. Rachel’s still in shock.
Dmitri gets up to talk to our mom. Someone brings me a cup. It’s full of bitter tea, but I drink it for something to do. There are cookies and little tea cakes—Granddad’s cook is going all out with the comfort food—but I’m not hungry.
The men in suits—Granddad’s friends—are the only ones eating. There seem to be fewer of the guys, though. Curious, I watch as their group slowly thins out. Every guy who leaves goes left down the hall, instead of right toward the front door. I would think they’re going to find a bathroom, but none of them returns to the living room.
Weird.
After the next one leaves, I follow him, hanging back just far enough to seem like I’m going to the bathroom.
Sure enough, he bypasses the bathroom and goes straight to the library at the back of the house. I continue to follow him, but I stop outside the library.
Several men are inside, from the sound of the many voices. Some of their voices are raised in anger. I peer around the door. Granddad isn’t in here, just lots of his friends. Some are older, some are younger. I recognize about half of them from various family barbecues—I’ve grown up with these men in the background of my life.
“It’s the Laytons,” one of them says in a heavy Russian accent. He’s younger than the others, my age. Maybe he’s a relative of one of Granddad’s older friends. “We know it’s them.”
The Laytons? Edmund wouldn’t kill my cousin, I’m sure of it. Neither would Troy.
But is Edmund in charge? And what do I really know about them, anyway? Nothing.
An older man says, “We must strike back lest they think we’re weak and take advantage.”
A hand on my shoulder causes me to jump. I spin around to see Granddad. His blue eyes are rimmed in red, pulled down by sorrow.
“You shouldn’t be listening at doors, little one,” he says in Russian.
I answer him in Russian, with one of my maybe half-dozen phrases. “I’m sorry, Grandfather.”
He wraps his arms around me in a warm hug. His voice is kind, but firm. “You should go home, get some rest. My friends and I have business to discuss.”
Troy
She wasn’t at home—her roommates told me as much while giving me a huge side-eye. And the lights were all off at her parents’ house.
It’s when I get to Sergey’s that I see activity. So many cars, the long driveway is full. Looks like Sergey’s calling in the troops. I bet Dani’s here, too.
I park down the street and walk to the drive. The gate is open, probably because of all the visitors. Sergey’s guards are distracted, but I decide not to slip through. Emotions are high in that house. They probably blame the Laytons for Patrick’s death. No sense tempting a retaliation on their own property.
So I wait and watch. I can see the front door from where I stand. Several people leave, climbing into cars before rumbling down the drive. Their headlights flash past the bushes that I step back into, Homer Simpson-style.
If people are leaving, I bet Dani’s going to be leaving soon, too.
I text her a single word. Outside.
She doesn’t come out right away. I watch the door. A couple others leave—someone who looks like she could be Dani’s mom. Dmitri exits the house next, his shoulders slumped. I feel bad for him.
When the driveway is quiet again, Dani steps outside. She looks one way, then the other. I whistle and flash my phone’s light, waiting until she zeroes in on my hiding place.
She strides down the driveway to me, arms tightly at her sides, fists clenched. Once she’s out of sight of the security guards, she hisses, “You have some nerve. Is Edmund here, too?”
“Just me.” I step toward her and open my arms. “Hey. I’m sorry about your cousin.”
She rocks forward like she’ll move into my offered hug, but then she stops short. “Did you do it?”
It takes me a few seconds to realize what she’s asking. “No! Fuck, no. Dani, what the hell. I don’t kill people. Fuck. Are you afraid of me?”
“No.” Her chin wobbles like she’s trying not to cry. “For some reason, I’m not.”
Well, that’s something, I guess. While I debate what to say next, a large group of men pour out the front of Sergey’s house. I can’t be caught out here with her.
