The Vanity of Roses

by Lily White

  While I waited, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out to see Franklin’s name flash across the screen, my thumb hitting answer as I brought it to my ear.

  He didn’t wait for me to speak before running his mouth about Lisbeth.

  “She’s refusing to do anything she’s told...”

  I wasn’t surprised.

  “The little bitch said if you had a problem with her, you could walk your ass in there and talk to her about it...”

  My brow arched, a tug at the corner of my lips almost stretching into a scowl.

  “She hasn’t bothered to clean the glass out of her feet even though I gave her supplies...”

  I let out a breath.

  “You’ll have to deal with her, Callan. There’s nothing more I can do.”

  Franklin continued his complaints while my eyes lifted to where Benny led Moritze and three men inside.

  Even from a distance, Moritze looked as slimy as usual with a suit that had far too much shine to the fabric, polished leather shoes and enough jewelry that he sparkled like a fucking disco ball with every step. He wanted to give the illusion of having unlimited money when, in fact, he was still new to the circuit and a loser on top of that.

  Still running drugs and guns, I’m sure he had a decent flow of cash, but it wouldn’t buy him the respect he craved when it came to fights. Only finding monsters as dangerous as the ones we kept would earn him a name.

  Judging by the dickless pricks that walked behind him now, he couldn’t even manage that.

  Voice a deep growl, I told Franklin I’d deal with Lisbeth when I got back, quickly ended the call and slipped the phone into my pocket as the men approaching me drew near.

  Moritze slithered up, and I swore he left a slug trail behind him.

  “Callan Rose.”

  I gave him my best bored expression while inwardly ripping his throat out for the way he always used my full name when seeing me again. Not that it was disrespectful, just fucking pointless. I had better things to do than listen to his voice.

  “Moritze.”

  His eyes narrowed just a fraction because, unlike him, I only gave respect to those who deserved it, and this son of a bitch was not someone I addressed on a first name basis.

  Recovering from the subtle reminder that he wasn’t on a high enough level to lick my shoes, Moritze stepped aside to give me a full view of the supposed fighters behind him.

  If anything, they were dead men walking, breathing corpses that didn’t know their day was coming.

  One look at these punks and I could tell they weren’t hardened fighters. Not one of them showed any scars, their eyes scanning the pit like they’d stepped into a nightmare. My men would eat them alive before the first bell rang, but it was entertainment for the masses and money in my pocket. I restrained myself from telling every one of them to make final arrangements for family they may have.

  Meeting Mortize’s dark gaze, I noticed the yellow tinge of his sclera and wondered if he’d been testing his own product so much that he was killing himself slowly.

  “Are you fighting all three in the coming weeks?”

  Moritze grinned like the question meant I was worried.

  “They’ll give your people a run for their money. I promised them their choice of a slave after the fight is won.”

  The three assholes laughed, their eyes sliding my direction with the lecherous desire to bend a woman to their will.

  Even if they did survive the pit, Isabelle would destroy these bastards before they had a chance to pull out their cocks.

  The girls were well trained, but their bodies were reserved for true warriors, not for the type of arrogant pricks that stared across at me now.

  Fucking idiots. Every one of them.

  “I was hoping I could show them around. Let them get acquainted with the pit.”

  Sliding my gaze between all three, I returned my attention to Moritze.

  “Do they know the rules?”

  He smiled wider, his expression like a rabid hyena.

  “I’ve explained.”

  Somehow, I didn’t think whatever he told them was the absolute truth. Taking it upon myself, I eyed them again.

  “Once you go in the pit and those gates close, there’s no getting out again unless you’ve killed your opponent or you’re dead. Do you understand that?”

  Fucking stooges chuckled like it was all a game. They may as well have picked up a pen and signed their own death warrants.

  Whatever. It was their funeral and not my first concern. My sights were set on another annoying problem, a tiny brat that had volleyed off a demand that she knew would grate on my last nerve.

  Franklin may not have understood the underlying taunt in Lisbeth’s request that I show up to talk, but the intended insult couldn’t have been clearer.

  Talk, like I hadn’t been permitted to do when we were younger.

  Talk, as if I had anything to say to the little bitch.

  I’d said all I needed to say when I’d dragged her through the halls kicking and screaming. If she didn’t get the hint already that she would do as she was told, then I had no problem raising the stakes a bit higher.

  Pushing away from the wall, I clapped Benny on the shoulder.

  “I’m needed at the mansion. Show these guys around, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Moritze stepped out of my way, his slimy slug crawl halting in place when I barreled past him to steal his space because he wasn’t man enough to claim it.

  “I’m surprised you’re running off so fast. Was it my men that scared you?”

  The asshole spoke at my back, voice pompous and full of pride he hadn’t earned. I heard the three punching bags he’d dragged in with him laughing as if they actually stood a chance.

  Ignoring them, I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Colton.

  “Callan,” he answered with such sleaze in his voice that I felt a sudden need for a shower.

  “Have the new girls started yet?”

  He paused, most likely in shock that I gave a damn what went on down there. The lower levels were his domain, and I rarely made an appearance.

  Tonight, however, I had a reason.

  “Just today, in fact. I’m starting them off slow. Why? Will you actually deign to grace us with your presence?”

  My eyes rolled as I hit the button of my key fob and climbed into the leather seat of the Bentley Bentayga I’d driven to the warehouse.

  “Cut the shit, Colton. I need to come down there tonight, and I don’t have time for twenty questions. Level up the new recruits before I get there. I want tears by the time I arrive.”

  Another shocked pause. In the background, I could hear a woman moaning, whether in pleasure or pain, I wasn’t sure. There was no telling when Colton got his hands on them.

  “It’s their first day,” he reminded me. “We don’t generally push them to the point of tears so quickly.”

  “They know what they signed up for,” I snapped, not giving much of fuck about anything other than proving a point.

  “I’ll be there in a few hours. Make sure to put on your best show. I’m expecting an Oscar-worthy performance.”

  He laughed, and I could picture his eyes scraping the room with utter delight. It wasn’t often that I let him have free rein to do what he liked. Colton had a habit of breaking his toys, which made them useless for the fighters walking out of the pit.

  “Anything you say. We’ll see you later.”

  The line went silent, and I relaxed against my seat.

  The little brat didn’t want to be a maid? That was fine. One hour with Colton and I knew she’d be begging for a fucking toothbrush to clean the entire mansion without daring to complain.

  I hated to admit I was looking forward to watching Lisbeth’s reaction.

  The best part was, I wouldn’t have to speak a word to her to get my point across.

  She could talk all she wanted, but she would never be good enough for my voice.

>   Lisbeth

  My feet still ached a few hours after Franklin left. It took some digging, but I was able to remove all the small shards that had taken up residence beneath my skin. I’d bandaged the cuts so well that they were padded against the floor, which gave me a small bit of relief.

  Physically, at least. Emotionally, I was a different story.

  My pride - or at least what little I had left of it after finding myself penniless and running back home - that was still shredded and in tatters, sore and bruised after the exhibition that was made of me this morning for anybody to see.

  I was hungry and thirsty, still dressed in my nightgown and robe, my hair a mess and my eyes swollen from crying. Not once had I let those bastards see my tears, but they’d fallen regardless while I was alone.

  Several times, Gretchen had waltzed in expecting me to be dressed and ready for work, and each time, I’d sent that old bitch running when I screamed that she’d have to drag me from the room if she wanted me to leave.

  Gretchen had simply stared at me like I was no more important than a piece of lint stuck to her pressed uniform. She’d leave without a word, click the lock into place, and then try again an hour later.

  She could come in as many times as she liked. I’d rather starve than do anything she ordered.

  Demanding to speak to Franklin hadn’t helped my situation. It was Callan I needed to convince, and the probability of that was slim to none. Not with the wedge I’d driven between us when we were kids. Not after the way I’d treated him.

  There was a price to be paid. Franklin made that clear, but I didn’t understand why Callan had allowed me back into the mansion in the first place.

  Wouldn’t a better price have been leaving me on the streets? I was penniless. They knew that. Franklin must have told him. Why allow me to return when leaving me homeless would have been crueler?

  The only reason I could think was that Callan wanted to watch me crumble and fracture apart. He wanted a front row seat, as if I were some form of entertainment, the once pampered daughter being forced to crawl.

  The thought only made me more certain that I wouldn’t do as I was told.

  Still, the small comfort of my resolve to refuse only lasted an hour. My heart cracked open, the bravery bleeding out, as a deep voice rumbled outside my door, like the boom of rolling thunder.

  I couldn’t make out what exactly was being said, but I recognized the voice responding to that thunder, a strict crack of lightning on the authoritarian tongue of a woman who had prodded me all day to do my job. I’m sure Gretchen was grinning inside to inform Callan of my refusal. Not on the outside, though. I highly doubted the lips of that evil crone had ever tilted at the corners.

  It wasn’t surprising when the voices approached my door. Within seconds, the lock clicked, the door pushed open and I lowered my chin down to my chest, allowing my hair to fall forward to hide my face. I had every intention of ignoring their presence, but found it was difficult.

  Something dark forced my eyes to lift even with my head still angled down. I hated myself for it, but then understood that it would be impossible for anybody to ignore Callan’s presence. He was a predator in every sense of the word, an energy that seeped beneath the skin, whispering warnings that any intelligent person wouldn’t ignore.

  His voice was every bit as dark as his whiskey colored gaze...and every bit as dangerous. A stern tone with deep resonance, it crawled up my spine with tempting fingers, wrapping around my neck until I could barely breathe.

  I glared at the man who spoke so easily to Gretchen, the same man who never spoke to me.

  “She hasn’t moved from that spot all day?”

  Gretchen’s heels clicked over the floors, stopping just feet from where I sat against the wall.

  “No, Mr. Rose. She’s been given plenty of warnings, but insisted we should drag her by the hair if we wanted her to lift a finger.”

  They grew quiet for a moment, and it wasn’t lost on me how they spoke like I wasn’t sitting there listening. Like I was some object.

  My skin felt a little too sticky with sweat when Callan turned his head my direction, the curve of his mouth promising unimaginable things. But then he spoke again, and those fingers around my neck squeezed, my breath trapped inside my lungs as ice poured through my veins.

  I clasped my fingers tighter around the only weapon I had. Not that a pair of tweezers would stop a man like Callan, but that couldn’t matter. I would fight regardless, even if I knew I’d lose.

  “Is that what she said?”

  “Yes, Mr. Rose. Her footprints are still all over the hallway. I didn’t feel it was fair for another maid to have to clean up after her.”

  The curve of his lips sharpened, the full brunt of his amber stare locked on me where I pushed my back against the wall tighter, my arms wrapping my bent legs with more strength. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t make myself smaller.

  His steps shook the floor beneath me, a slow beat as he moved to tower over me before crouching down.

  Despite the curtain of hair hanging in my face, I couldn’t hide from him. His dark stare caught my gaze in a steely trap, the sides snapping in place with such speed that I flinched at the power of his eye contact.

  How was this the same boy I’d hurt so many times?

  I almost didn’t believe it.

  Callan opened his mouth, and for a split second I thought he would finally speak to me, but his words were directed to Gretchen while his eyes remained on mine.

  “Have someone pour some water over the stains. We’ll see how well Lisbeth cleans them up.”

  “Yes, Mr. Rose.”

  Gretchen walked off, and for the first time, I wished she wouldn’t. I wanted to call out and promise her I’d do anything she asked if she didn’t leave me alone with the man crouched in front of me.

  The sharp point of the tweezers dug into my palm, but they didn’t make me feel any safer.

  There was only silence between us, a lingering stretch of possibility. I could fill it with begging and a few tears, but I doubted it would do anything to soften the harsh lines of his face.

  If anything, it would excite him.

  Still, I took that moment to openly study Callan, my heart thumping like a trapped rabbit, my skin growing far too warm.

  He wasn’t just beautiful in the traditional sense, he was exquisite. As if a sculptor had spent months chiseling marble to create the perfect masculine form, but then a painter came in to sweep deep shadows across him.

  I opened my mouth with the intent to tell him I would behave, but only rebellion poured out.

  “I won’t clean anything,” I promised on a bare whisper of sound.

  His eyes widened just enough to let me know he’d heard me, but that was all.

  Callan didn’t answer me or toss out threats. He simply kept me pinned in place, his body far too still, his stare locked on my face. He was observing me with the same fascination a child would a crawling bug.

  I wasn’t sure how much time passed. It could have been minutes or days. Eventually Gretchen returned, breaking me of Callan’s trance, my entire body shaking.

  “The halls are prepared. Has she agreed to take care of the mess?”

  I won’t clean anything...

  The whisper of my own words charged through me to carve out a path of regret. Especially when Callan grinned, the look so feral that I didn’t have time to scream before he’d struck out with a single hand to grip my wrists in his fingers.

  It all happened at once, so damn fast that the air rushed from my lungs, my body yanked and spun to land on my back, my arms stretched out above me. He was on his feet and dragging my along before I could pretend to fight back, my legs kicking and shoulders sliding over the ground as I was made utterly powerless.

  The sound of metal bounding across the floor didn’t draw anybody’s attention but my own. His grip had been so strong, that my hand opened, and I’d lost my only weapon.

  We passed Gretch
en, who only stepped back like this was completely fucking normal. Her typical scowl was in place, her eyes smiling to see my body tugged along the floor.

  “She has,” he growled as we left the room.

  Body sliding when we turned a corner, my feet slammed against a wall and warm water soaked into my nightgown. My heels screeched across the dry marble, my clothes soaked as Callan led me through halls, his steps a heavy thud while my body slid one direction or the other, a human fucking mop he used to shine and polish.

  I tried to free my wrists from his punishing hold, but he only squeezed his fingers tighter, my bones rubbing together, my skin on fire.

  “Let me go,” I yelled, my voice echoing down the hall he was cleaning with my body, but he didn’t so much as slow down as I was dragged from one hall to the other.

  Only when we reached the stairs did he finally let go.

  My arms fell to the ground with a painful slap, my body curling over itself as if that would protect me. But he wasn’t done, his voice so insanely silent as he gripped my knees to force my body straight, his hand locking over the fabric of my nightgown as he lifted me up with such force, I could hear the seams ripping.

  Tossed over his shoulder, my palms slammed down on his lower back, his arm a steel bar across the backs of my legs.

  I kicked to get away from him, pounded my fists against the locked muscle of his back, but it did nothing to dissuade him. Callan walked me up one hall and down the next, my body bouncing over his shoulder as we descended stairs and burst through doorways, the house around us transitioning from familiar places to the lower levels where I’d never been allowed to go.

  I couldn’t see where he was taking me. Only the floor swept beneath my eyes, the brilliance of polished marble lost to a gritty wood grain that was scuffed and smudged.

  Another door slammed open a minute later, muffled voices catching my attention, and when I lifted my head to chase the sound, I locked eyes with another woman, her arms locked in shackles above her head, mouth gagged, tears streaming and spit dripping from her chin.

  I didn’t have a chance to react before my body was dropped to the floor, a painful oomph bursting from my throat before I curled over myself again.