The Vanity of Roses

by Lily White

  It went on like this for a while, Callan barely getting hit while the other guy took a hard beating.

  I covered my mouth to suppress a gasp when Callan took a blow to the stomach, but rather than buckling over, he rolled his head over his shoulders and returned the attack by swinging his body around to catch the man’s head with his foot.

  His opponent went down with another crunch, blood dripping from his nose and mouth as he fought to push himself up.

  Had this been a normal fight, it would have been called at this point, but the crowd began chanting kill him, their eyes wild and voices eager, their feet stomping in time with the demand for an execution.

  My gorge rose as Callan approached the man who couldn’t push up to more than his knees. The chanting grew louder. The audience bloodthirsty.

  I shook my head and tried to back away, but Connor stepped into me and trapped me against the wall with his hands on either side of me.

  “I can’t watch,” I said, attempting to turn away.

  He wouldn’t let me move. “Why not? This is the best part.”

  Callan towered over the man, his hair slicked back and wet, blood dripping down his body to mix with sweat. His chest and shoulders beat with labored breath, and he stared up at the audience, a dark gaze sweeping over the rows of seating.

  Every member in the audience raised their hands in the air to tip their thumbs down, a silent demand that a life be taken.

  When his eyes met mine, he grimaced before wrapping his arms around the man’s neck to twist.

  I swear I could hear that crack despite the audience, my heart stopping with a painful thud as Callan released the man’s body to slump lifeless to the ground.

  Everybody stood from their seat, the boom of their voices so loud, it hurt my ears.

  “I’m done. Let me go.”

  I fought against Connor in an attempt to escape what I’d seen, but he held me in place even tighter, his deep voice piercing through the roaring crowd to speak against my ear. “It’s not over yet.”

  “He’s dead,” I shouted. “What more can there be?”

  He grinned against my cheek. “Just watch.”

  What could he possibly do now? Rip the body apart and eat it?

  More bile coated my tongue. Please, God, no.

  Callan stood with his feet at shoulder width, his arms flexing at his sides. Lips parting, his head fell back, and he closed his eyes while the crowd continued chanting his name and demanding the prize.

  What the fuck was the prize?

  The large gates began to swing open, and my attention snapped to the movement. Callan turned to face the ramp at the same time.

  From the shadows, I saw three people moving forward, two large men on either side and...

  No.

  Between them, they dragged a bound woman, her mouth gagged, a blindfold covering her eyes. She was dressed in white lingerie that barely covered her body, her bare feet tripping over the ground as they moved her forward against her will.

  Her shoulders shook like she was crying, her legs trembling with terror.

  I couldn’t see Callan’s face, but he stormed toward the ramp on long legged steps, closing the distance with a hungry stride.

  The two men shoved the woman out onto the dirt floor of the ring where she stumbled and fell forward.

  My breath caught, rage flooding me because it was apparent to anybody that she was what was given to whoever won the fight.

  I felt sick for different reasons.

  Angry for the way she was treated.

  Betrayed that Callan would use her.

  Disgusted that this was part of the show my family put on to pay for my pampered life.

  But it was the betrayal that cut deepest, my heart fracturing into a million pieces when Callan grabbed the woman by the length of her dark hair and pulled her to her feet.

  One hand locked over her cheeks while another grabbed her side to turn her toward the audience like some piece of meat being auctioned.

  The crowd roared.

  Callan tossed her over his shoulder to carry her up the ramp.

  And I made a decision right then and fucking there that I would escape this nightmare, one way or another.

  Spinning around to finally break Connor’s hold, I bent forward and vomited on his shoes.

  He laughed above me, not caring about the mess. And when I lifted my head and wiped my mouth, I saw Holly staring right at me.

  Callan

  The Rose family was now several million dollars richer, the body left in the ring the cost of increasing our revenue with the high dollar bets I knew Franklin would have played. There was a lot of money in fights such as these, the boredom and vast resources of the elite making it easy to strip them of small increments of wealth.

  The chaos of cheering was muted as I walked through a set of doors into the locker rooms. Jacob, as usual, was waiting for me, his expression carefully controlled as I stepped past him to set Isabelle on a bench.

  He didn’t wait for me to untie her before grabbing my shoulder to turn me toward him. After conducting a thorough search for any injuries that would have caused internal damage, he nodded his head, satisfied that I had none.

  “He barely touched me,” I growled, shoving him aside more in play than disrespect.

  His green eyes locked to mine.

  “A gut punch? That’s what you decided to allow? I almost stormed down there to beat your ass myself. Internal organs, Callan. Watch them.”

  Laughter shook my shoulders, the adrenaline coursing through my veins making it feel like I was floating. The fight was exactly what I’d needed to soothe the beast inside me, my body no longer heavy or in pain.

  To our backs, Isabelle mumbled behind her gag. I turned to remove the blindfold, her eyes lifting to mine with a submissive promise that I wouldn’t have hesitated to accept if this had been another night.

  How many times had I drained the adrenaline from my body by taking hers?

  Pulling the gag from her mouth, I tossed it to the ground while Jacob worked to free her hands of the restraints.

  She stretched her jaw to ease the sting of her skin from the gag, a smile curling her lips to run eyes up my body, her gaze tracing the lines of blood mixed with sweat.

  “You’re the most beautiful this way,” she purred.

  And she was dedicated to pleasing the fighters, but would spend the evening disappointed. Despite the temptation she embodied, there was only one woman I was interested in controlling tonight, one who had met my eyes just before I ended the life of my opponent in the ring.

  Jacob leaned a shoulder against a wall.

  “Moritze looked like he was going to shit himself when you snapped that asshole’s neck. Fucker must have had big money riding on the fight. I watched the color drain from his face before coming down here to meet you. I’ve never seen him that upset.”

  “He’ll be more disappointed in the coming weeks when we kill the rest of the assholes he pulled from the streets.”

  Jacob laughed. “Yeah. I’ve got the next fight, and then it’s Connor’s turn to do some damage.”

  Speaking of which...

  “Where’s Lisbeth?”

  “Exactly where she’s supposed to be. Connor kept her close and away from the audience once the fight began. I kept an eye on her from across the ring. She got sick, last I saw. All over Connor’s shoes.”

  He grinned and shook his head. “I bet he’s pissed.”

  I wouldn’t doubt it. As far as Lisbeth could see, I’d taken a slave girl to do with as I pleased. And while the women had been unwilling during the time her father ran the dungeon and fights, I’d made changes in the years since.

  Raised with delicate sensibilities, Lisbeth was just introduced to the ugly truth of her family’s fortune, the degradation and lives they’d bought and sold in order to build their wealth.

  Now the slaves were well paid and well trained, experts at playing the part for the purpose of the shows, whil
e also available for other services to the fighters in the mansion. Colton always ensured they were cycled and kept busy, except for Haley and Jacob. I’d allowed that situation despite Franklin’s complaints.

  I couldn’t walk out there while the crowd still filled the seats and the money was being exchanged, but I needed to get to Lisbeth. Or have her brought here.

  “Go get her and bring her down. You know I can’t go out there right now.”

  Jacob nodded his head and pushed away from the wall.

  Once he was gone, I turned to Isabelle.

  “Colton should be here soon to pick you up.”

  She reached for my hand, her gaze examining the busted knuckles and blood that smeared the tape. “You hurt yourself.”

  I pulled my hand away, shook away some of the blood and stretched my fingers.

  “It’s mostly the other guy’s blood.”

  Isabelle’s eyes lifted to me, rejection swirling behind them. “I haven’t seen you in a few days. Not since the gym.”

  “Something came up.”

  “You mean Lisbeth Rose came up,” she snapped. “Don’t lie. Everyone in the mansion knows she’s been staying in your room. Unwillingly, I might add. I thought you were better than that.”

  In too good a mood to allow Isabelle’s comment to annoy me, I leaned my head against the wall of lockers at my back.

  “It’s none of your business.”

  Her voice dropped to a whisper and shook as if she could barely contain whatever she felt. “I thought you and I-“

  “You’re a slave,” I reminded her. One I’d used often, but still just that. Isabelle has never been in the running to become something more.

  It wasn’t that I’d led her on. I was always honest that sex was just sex. But I’d known she hoped for more.

  She should have known better. Such things would never be tolerated in the Rose family, even if I was technically in charge of it. Franklin would have her knocked off before allowing such a thing to happen.

  Not that it mattered. It was never her that held me in that place. Never once.

  Jacob returned before she could answer.

  “Lisbeth was taken back to the mansion.”

  My shoulders tensed, the first hint of it since walking out of that ring. “Why?”

  He shifted his weight between two feet. “She had a panic attack from what Franklin said. He had Connor take her before she caused a scene.”

  Fucking hell. I should have warned her about what she’d see tonight. But I didn’t feel I owed it to her. Not yet. Not until she’d proven she really had changed when it came to me.

  Colton stepped into the room, his eyes dancing between Jacob and me before settling on Isabelle. No doubt he could sense the growing tension.

  “We should go,” he said to the woman eyeing me with anger behind her eyes.

  Isabelle stood and walked to him, casting me one last scathing look before they left the room without another word.

  Jacob kept his eyes on them, the green shifting to me once they were out of sight. “She’s pissed.”

  “I don’t care.”

  I scrubbed a palm down my face. It would take another hour for the crowds to clear out, and for that amount of time, I was trapped back here. We had a show to put on, a ruse to lead people to believe nothing had changed in a family everyone considered ruthless.

  “I’m going to shower and get dressed. We’ll head back to the mansion after the parking lot clears. Maybe it’ll give Lisbeth time to calm down.”

  . . .

  It took two hours to return to the mansion, the typical chaos of noise and activity that happened after a fight welcoming me in. These nights were the only ones Franklin allowed the fighters to let loose, for them to open the doors of the lower floor and bring the women up to celebrate another win.

  The night staff, as always, was quietly going about with their work, ignoring the open displays of sex and drugs, alcohol and debauchery.

  Hands patted my shoulders, voices calling out in congratulations for having taken another life. But it was all background noise, my focus on one person I didn’t see among the crowd, on the one woman who’d somehow mattered to me since the moment we first met.

  Franklin strode toward me when I had almost crossed through the foyer, his suit jacket off, hair frazzled. Lifting a brow at the oddity of his disheveled state, I allowed him to grab my arm and lead me up the stairs to the third floor.

  “She’s in your room.”

  “Okay.” One word, carefully spoken. A question in its tone.

  “It’s not good.”

  Turning the corner into the hallway that led to my suites, I heard the crash of glass, the thud of something heavy, the pounding of a door.

  We walked through the doorway into the main room and I locked eyes with Connor who stood guard at the doors of my bedroom, his shirt torn at the collar, three long scratches stretching from ear to chin.

  “Are you going to kill her?” he asked. “Or can I do it?”

  Something crashed again, and my eyes widened.

  Connor shrugged. “She’s destroying your room. My advice is to duck when you walk in there.”

  I almost laughed at the look on his face, part shock, part exhaustion. “Have you tried to stop her? What the fuck happened?”

  He glared at me, and it was comical to see a man as large as Connor actually look panicked over the rage of a small woman. He was trained to kill, but he flinched each time another thud hit the wall.

  “She was fine all through the fight. I was behind her the entire time. She tried to look away when you snapped the asshole’s neck, but even then she wasn’t freaking out. But when she saw Isabelle brought out and you grabbed her, it was panic time. She puked all over my shoes, fought like a hellcat to get away from me, and then Franklin told me to get her the fuck out of there.”

  Unable to help my grin, I asked, “She did that to you?” I nudged my chin at the ripped shirt and scratches. “To you? A man trained to fight and kill? Maybe I should rethink letting you into the ring.”

  He narrowed his eyes on me, his lips thinning until razor sharp. “I’m not allowed to hurt her, remember? Your fucking orders. So here the fuck I am. Keeping her contained, but in one piece.”

  Three more thuds came in quick succession, and I groaned. I had to go deal with her before she ripped the entire place apart.

  I exhaled, thankful that I wasn’t on edge now that I’d bled most of my violence out with the fight.

  “Move. I’m going in.”

  “Godspeed,” Connor joked as he stepped aside.

  Our eyes locked and he shrugged. “Remember to duck. Hate to see you get your ass handed to you by a girl after winning in the ring.”

  Asshole.

  Lisbeth could throw all the shit at me she wanted, she’d never be able to hurt me.

  Slamming my hand on the door handle, I shoved the door open and stepped inside expecting either a vase to be lobbed at my head or Lisbeth charging me, but what I saw stopped me in place, my brows tugging together.

  The brat wasn’t in a full-blown temper tantrum as I’d expected she would be. She wasn’t glaring at me with searing rage, wasn’t screaming or doing anything that would indicate emotional weakness.

  The door clicked quietly behind me as I watched her walk calmly through the room, her hand grasping whatever stupidly expensive item she could find before she tossed it at a wall, only to grab another.

  Glass shards littered my floor, broken roses that must have been brought in fresh this morning after I left. Ceramic chunks and dust mixed in with the water from shattered vases to create rivulets of mud over the white marble.

  Blue eyes met mine from over her shoulder and I recognized her immediately.

  The petulant bitch.

  The spoiled brat.

  The evil, bored teenager who shoved me to my knees just for the fucking fun of it.

  The Rose vanity was beaming behind Lisbeth’s eyes, turning the blue into liquid
flame, tempting me in ways I thought I’d never feel again.

  Her fucking pride is what made her so damn desirable. Made me hate her so fucking much.

  Made me love her.

  Connor was right to warn me about walking in. But not for the reason he thought.

  This was Lisbeth at her most dangerous. When she breaks free of proper morals and reveals the wicked bitch within.

  This is who I wanted to tear apart my entire life.

  This is who I always wanted to fight.

  The adrenaline from the match resurged within me, my pulse pounding harder, my tongue pressing against the inside of my cheek.

  I met her bitchy stare and narrowed my eyes on her...fucking daring her to try her shit with me again.

  Leaning back against the door, I trailed my gaze up the line of her bare legs, over the ridiculously short skirt of the server uniform, over her heart shaped ass I still planned to bite, and along the straight eloquent set of her spine and shoulders.

  Here she was.

  My Lisbeth Rebel Rose.

  I’ve been waiting for you...

  I crossed my arms over my chest, a grin tugging at my lips, and she fingered a crystal ashtray that I’d never used.

  Her head snapped around to stare at me from over her shoulder, her legs stilling in place.

  “Is there a reason you’re breaking all my things?”

  A single blink of her eyes, dark lashes dropping and lifting again to reveal menace behind liquid blue.

  “Like you care about any of this shit.” She lifted the ashtray, wiggled it. “Do you even know who the designer is? How much it cost?”

  I shrugged a negligent shoulder. Fuck if I knew. I wasn’t the one who’d decorated the room.

  Lisbeth scoffed. “Exactly.” She tossed it over her shoulder to let it smash against the ground.

  My voice was gravel. “I hope you know you’ll be cleaning this up. I’ll have someone fetch you a feather duster and your maid uniform.”

  “No need,” she grinned, “I much prefer dressing like a cheap slut. It’s so much fun entertaining wealthy men.”

  My lips curled. “You’re entertaining me at the moment.”

  “Just like your slave did?”