The Vanity of Roses

by Lily White

  A smile curled my lips as the door to the warehouse slid open, my stare meeting the guard’s for only a moment as I passed. Lisbeth crept behind me on quiet feet, but her thoughts screamed within the silence.

  Fear of this place.

  Fear as to why I’d brought her here.

  Fear of me.

  It was as it should be. So, while she surveyed the warehouse around us, most likely misinterpreting how the large machines and empty conveyor belts were simply a front for the truth of its purpose, I allowed her to find momentary comfort that her family’s business was really just that.

  When she finally stepped up to the door where I waited, I held my breath to slide it open and reveal the truth of the Rose estate.

  The door crunched along its track, my eyes glued to her face as the room on the other side was exposed to her gaze.

  I knew the exact moment confusion flooded her veins, my heart beating to taste it.

  Stepping close but refusing to brush against her, I whispered, “Welcome to the pit, Lisbeth Rose. This is where men bleed and die so that you can remain on your precious pedestal.”

  She stepped forward, head turning as she studied the rows of leather seats, the center ring dug deep into the ground with dirt covered floors and a few men sparring.

  “What is this place?”

  “This is the pit,” I answered as I stepped up beside her.

  “My father made his money running a sporting event?”

  I chuckled at her willful blindness.

  “Something like that. You’ll see in a few days. But for now, take a seat and enjoy a few hours of doing nothing. I’ll be sure to make up for the momentary reprieve tonight.”

  I led her to a seat, but grabbed her hip before she could sit down. Tugging her against me, I reached to tilt her chin toward Benny where he stood with forearms braced over the high walls of the ring near the door we’d entered.

  “Do you see that man?”

  Lisbeth nodded, her skin warm against my fingers.

  “He’s guarding the exit. If you attempt to leave, he has my permission to stop you. And if he has to stop you, he has my permission to do whatever he wants to you.”

  Her muscles locked, but not so much that I couldn’t turn her head the opposite way.

  “The same goes for the man on the other end of the stadium. Two doors. Two guards. Both as brutal as they come with no respect for women. It’s your choice what you want to do while I’m distracted, but I thought I’d at least give you the warning.”

  Sweeping my hand from her chin down along the length of her neck and over her shoulder, I gently shoved her into a seat.

  She neither spoke nor looked up at me for the few seconds I remained standing near her.

  Lisbeth’s prideful mask was back in place, her spine straight, shoulders squared and rigid, and her head held up as if she were the queen of this fucking place and everybody around her the subjects.

  It made my cock jump to see it. Though whether I was excited to strip it away, or because I had a thing for bitchy women, I wasn’t sure.

  In the end, it couldn’t matter. I had to prepare for the upcoming fight, and Franklin had been right in his concern that Lisbeth was a terrible distraction.

  Leaving her where she sat, I crossed the distance of the arena, nodding once at Mason where he stood near the exit to the stairs leading down into the hidden depths of the pit.

  Every fighter in the Rose employ was also a guard in the mansion or this place, their practice sessions rotated between their work schedules. While many of them often stayed in the guest rooms of the upper and lower floors of the mansion, they were experts at keeping out of the sight for the most part.

  Except for one who Franklin had bitched about several times in the past few months, the same one that stood waiting for me after I’d changed into athletic shorts and taped my hands to walk out into the dirt ring.

  If I could call any man a friend, it was Jacob. The same age as me, and damn near as strong, he grinned like a cat staring at a canary while I grabbed two strike pads and strolled over.

  “Callan,” he greeted me, a mischievous twinkle behind his green eyes, the length of his brown hair brushing his shoulders. “You look like you’re ready to crush in my face. Has Franklin told you what I’ve been up to?”

  Pulling the elastic over my hands to hold the strike pads in place, I set my feet to hold my body still while Jacob began raining blow after blow in my direction.

  “He may have mentioned it.”

  I couldn’t find it in me to be angry at the asshole. We’d been friends since I was twenty, and whenever I’d done something stupid and found myself in trouble, it was always this jackass by my side.

  Rarely did I drink or smoke cigars, but Jacob had a habit of luring me into the sweet temptation of poisoning my body with both before leading me away from the mansion to start fights in bars and race around the streets using the family’s extensive collection of cars, almost getting our asses arrested several times if Franklin hadn’t stepped up to buy us out of the trouble we’d caused.

  Although we’d calmed down in the last few years since I’d taken over the Rose family, our bond hadn’t been severed.

  But people often made the mistake of misjudging Jacob. He had a wicked grin and glittering eyes, a sense of humor that would double you over, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a lethal son of a bitch.

  His hands had killed countless men in the ring already, and he enjoyed it as much as me.

  “I’m going to steal her from you, Callan.” His fist hit the pad and knocked me back a step. “She’s mine already, and you know it.” Another punch, the force of it vibrating up my forearm. “And when I do, I’m going to marry her and have lots and lots of babies.” Three more blows, one after the other.

  I grinned. “You know it’s against the rules to fall in love with a slave. They belong to us.”

  Another punch, this one forcing me to reset my feet from the power behind it.

  “Too late for that. Franklin can suck my dick if he thinks I won’t strip Haley away from you. I’ve already mastered sneaking her up from the lower floors to spend the night in my room.”

  Which was why Franklin was always so pissed off.

  However, I didn’t hold it against Jacob. I would let Franklin’s complaints enter one ear and exit the other. I had every intention of retiring Haley soon and handing her over. Jacob deserved a happy ending.

  His heart hadn’t been crushed when he was young. He didn’t carry the scars of a beautiful monster who knew only how to tell lies. He still had the ability inside him to love with a warm, beating heart.

  I wanted that for him because I could never have it.

  He threw one last punch, sweat dripping from his skin before his eyes met mine.

  “I hear you’re fighting this week.”

  Nodding my head, I slipped the pads from my hands to toss to him.

  “I am.”

  Jacob pulled them in place and set his body to take the blows I gave him.

  Eyes flicking up to the audience seats, he stared at Lisbeth before returning his attention to me.

  “And is a certain someone the reason for that?”

  I glanced up to where Lisbeth sat, her body held with such regal grace while she watched the men beneath her.

  There was no use lying to Jacob. He knew the truth of my past.

  “It might have something to do with the aggression I’m feeling.”

  Grinning, he shook the pads at me to remind me to keep going. Voice strained as he absorbed blow after blow, my body moving with increasing speed and building strength, he laughed and shouted over the grunts pouring out of my throat.

  “Just fuck her and get it over with. You know you want to.”

  The taunt worked exactly as he’d intended, my biceps and shoulders moving with every punch, my teeth clenched together.

  He was still laughing even as I rained down a small taste of the violence boiling inside me.
<
br />   Just fuck her.

  Franklin had said the same thing.

  But as I continued shoving Jacob back with punches that transitioned into kicks, I worried that if I allowed myself to do what I’ve always wanted, I wouldn’t be able to walk away at the end of it.

  I’d never let her go.

  Even if she begged.

  Fucking her would destroy us both in the end.

  Lisbeth

  A fighting ring.

  Never in my years growing up had I known my father was involved in sports. I’d always assumed from his expensive suits and the perfectly put together appearance of everyone around him that my family was involved in the usual businesses, something boring like financial holdings, marketing or accounting.

  But fighting?

  Scrolling through my memories like a film reel in reverse, I searched the past for images of the same broad shoulders and bloodthirsty expressions of the men who filled the Rose mansion now. I didn’t find one face that made me think of the thud of a powerful punch or the split of skin with a burst of blood. I couldn’t understand how a business such as this had been invisible to me.

  But still, that didn’t explain why this place was so bad that Holly had visibly trembled to think of it. Many people were into sports. Even with the violence of this particular one, it wasn’t anything unusual.

  It also didn’t offer a reason for the dungeon I’d viewed on the night Callan dragged me through the halls. The tears of those naked women. The welts across their bodies that must have come from thick leather straps.

  None of this was making sense.

  Casting my eyes between one exit and the other, I noticed how both men Callan had pointed out watched me in their peripheral vision while pretending to be focused on the fighting below.

  Regardless of the truth of my father’s business coming to light - the shock that this had been what made our money - I took a moment to study a place that was undeniably impressive.

  In a way, I felt like I’d been dragged back to the days of Rome, the sunken ring in the center reminding me of the gladiator arenas. And while there were no lions hunting the men down, no sharp metallic strikes of swords against shields, I still felt fear to look down into a place with insanely high walls and a large double gate at one end with a ramp leading down to the dirt floor beneath.

  I could hear cheering in the back of my head, could see the rows of seats filled with spectators, insanity burning behind their eyes while they shouted and jeered for one man to win while the other suffered the misery of defeat. From my vantage point, I could see the light and shadow dance in the muscles of the men fighting, could see the sweat dripping down their skin like beads of diamonds beneath the bright lights in the rafters above my head.

  Four men had grouped off, two separate matches filled with hard punches and dizzying kicks, while another man stood off to the side, his eyes focused on the wall closest to me, a mischievous grin stretching his lips a few seconds later.

  My breath caught when another man approached him and I recognized the power of his broad shoulders, the seductive stride of his long legs, the strength of his thick, muscular thighs and the faint scars that ran down his back on ladder rungs ending at the waistband of his black shorts.

  It wasn’t that I was surprised to see Callan marching out there to enter into a fight. He certainly had the temperament for violence. It was that he always drew my attention, his presence larger than ever, a black shadow that surrounded me like a heavy blanket with the threat of devouring me whole.

  Even from up here, I would have sensed him if I hadn’t been watching the ring. I would have known he was near, his energy an ever-present ghost whispering against my ear, a shameful cloak I’ve worn for years - a boy I’d once thought dead who not only returned to my life, but stole it.

  I couldn’t help but stare. He was a force of nature, a predator who moved with feline grace, his body a wall against the punches of his opponent. Just one of those hits and I would have been destroyed, but Callan took them one after the other, his muscles flexing with every blow, shadow and light dancing across his skin.

  The seat where he’d left me wasn’t close enough to see every detail of his body. Refusing to admit it to myself, I wanted a better view. I pushed to my feet to inch down the rows of leather chairs, my eyes flicking right when one of the guards took notice.

  Although he didn’t move from his place by the far wall, his dark gaze tracked me.

  Ignoring him, I scooted down the line of seats until I was in the center.

  By the time I was relaxing down into my seat, Callan had stripped off the pads on his hands to toss them to his opponent.

  I almost fucking died when Callan threw his punches next, my heart hammering in my throat while my mouth went dry. He was a blur of motion, each hard hit knocking his opponent back a step, the power of those blows highlighting every muscle in his arms, his broad shoulders and his back.

  My mouth fell open without my realization, my body leaning forward all on its own. I was captivated. There was no other word for it, utterly absorbed in watching a man move with such exquisite force that my thighs tightened together, and my stomach flopped like a fish in my stomach.

  How was this the same boy who had dropped to the ground every time I demanded it?

  Sweat glimmered on Callan’s skin, every muscle defined beneath the shine of it. I was dizzy from the surge of conflicting feelings: fear, shock, lust.

  I didn’t want to acknowledge it was there, but it warmed me regardless, a shiver crawling down my spine with ghostly fingers as my insides turned to ash beneath its force.

  I craved his danger.

  His desire.

  His touch.

  Especially now as I watched him break free of the chains of civility to become an animal that only knew how to kill. He was undeniable, almost unrecognizable, but a fury of movement that stole my thoughts as if snatching them from my head with greedy fingers.

  I knew his brand of violence, but not all forms of it, and to crave what he could deliver only made me sick in the head.

  Still, he was purely masculine, inherently savage - a man so intoxicating that he pulled at something primal inside me, that ancient genetic trait that made me want to be purely female, to be soft and supple where he was hard, to be submissive beneath his will and dominance.

  Watching him made me feel that I could so easily give my life up and breathe easy with him at the reins.

  How any woman could trust a man like that between her legs was beyond my understanding, but I still wanted to feel his power - to learn to satisfy him.

  What the hell was wrong with me? I should hate him for everything he’d done and still planned to do, for those women crying in his basement dungeon. But the body didn’t always agree with the mind, and while one whispered cryptic warnings, the other only wanted to experience his violence.

  Callan moved like liquid, every second becoming faster, more aggressive, more barbaric. My breath caught in my lungs to realize that I would be sleeping at the foot of his bed tonight, and there wasn’t a single person on this planet that could protect me if his rage ignited.

  I knew he could snap me as easily as a twig, the knowledge of that a cold wash against my skin as my pulse continued to hammer. If he lost control in this cruel game he was playing, there would be nothing I could do to stop him.

  And yet, I still felt pulled toward a man who was so openly raw and carnal, to a soul that was darker than the lowest depths of the ocean, to a beast that lingered beneath the ridged muscle and tempting flesh of a body and face too beautiful for words.

  It was like fate was kicking back on a throne next to Callan and laughing its ass off at the plot twist my life had taken. I’d abused a boy because he was weaker, and now he held all the power.

  I’d written my own future on expensive parchment and signed my life away with rancid blood.

  Everything he did to me now was my fault. And while he did those things, I’d both hate him
and want him.

  How the fuck was that even close to fair?

  A loud bang sounded at my right, it dragged me from my thoughts and tore my eyes from Callan. I turned to see the man guarding the door spin in place, his head turning just enough to cast Callan a quick glance before he approached the door where the banging happened again.

  It was a brutal sound, angry, the beat of it driving the rate of my pulse higher. I looked for Callan in the ring, but he had disappeared in the few seconds of my inattention, my head spinning again to watch the guard push the door open, his expression darkening at whoever stood on the other side.

  I knew Callan was stalking toward me before I felt the flutter of air move past. He hadn’t slowed down to acknowledge me, hadn’t turned his head to catch my stare, yet he still trapped me in place with a commanding presence and lethal strength.

  There was stark purpose in his powerful gait as he approached the open door. And just like the guard, Callan’s expression darkened, rage a shimmer of heat over his broad shoulders, the drops of sweat dripping down his body practically simmering into steam in response to what he saw.

  My stomach was doing somersaults as Callan approached that door, his shoulders tense, steps slow. He said something to the guard, but then turned his body to face whoever stood out of view. A conversation occurred, but I couldn’t hear what they said.

  For some reason, my nerves were sliced along a knife’s edge, my muscles locking over my bones as the air in the arena changed. I wanted to run off, to hide. But I knew damn well to stay in place. With the energy rolling off Callan like a black cloud full of snapping lightning, I didn’t want to draw his attention to me.

  Callan remained at the door for a few minutes, his expression angry, his words clipped, but then he stepped back and allowed four men to step inside, one dressed in clothes that screamed money, the three at his back the type of men you hoped never to run into in a dark alley.