The Vanity of Roses

by Lily White

  The three thugs, all tall with broad shoulders and thick arms, kept their eyes on Callan and the guard, but the fourth man in his three piece suit and polished leather shoes glanced my direction.

  You would have thought his head was attached to Callan’s by some invisible string because the second he noticed me, Callan’s eyes snapped my direction, his mouth moving on words I couldn’t hear.

  The man in the suit only smiled and walked my direction, not giving much of a damn what Callan had to say. And although Callan didn’t physically follow behind him, he kept his eyes on me, a dark warning rolling behind them that I didn’t understand.

  “Lisbeth Rose. I am so happy to see you made it back home. Are you here to reclaim your place as head of the family?”

  My gaze snapped to the suited man, a spark of recognition igniting inside me. I knew him, but from where, I wasn’t sure. Yet, there was a memory trapped beneath years of living, a sickening feeling in my gut. His voice slithered against my skin like something cold and wet sliding up my thigh. I wanted nothing to do with him.

  “Who are you?”

  His expression tightened, the tension bleeding out from eyes that studied me like a possession rather than a human being. But then he smiled, his lips curling while his gaze remained locked tight.

  “It doesn’t surprise me you don’t remember me. I was a contemporary of your father’s, although much younger. My name is Antonio Moritze.”

  Something was wrong with this man. Very wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I shrank against my seat, uncaring that I’d given up the fight of pride swelling inside me. This man didn’t make me want to fight like Callan had the ability to do. He made me want to vomit.

  I studied him as he stared down at me. His black hair was an oil slick racing across his skull, his eyes venomous as a snake. He wasn’t anywhere near Callan’s size, but he wasn’t a small man either.

  His clothes bled money, his watch and necklace flashy beneath the rafter lights, but there was something lingering beneath him that made the air taste rotten.

  It was sad that my gaze sought out another man who had been abusing me over the past few days to seek comfort. Perhaps it was better the devil you know than the one you don’t, but in that moment I was desperate for Callan to storm over and stake his claim.

  Even in that he refused me. Although he kept an eye on the exchange between us, he failed to interrupt it. And it was that refusal that made me feel more vulnerable to the man standing in front of me.

  He grinned, as if knowing my discomfort, enjoying it.

  “We all thought you were stolen the night of your ball. It’s good to see you’re alive and well. Especially after the ugliness of what happened.”

  “I’m fine,” I finally managed to choke out, my heart trapped in my throat, pounding a staccato rhythm that made it impossible to talk.

  He inclined his head, turning to glance at the arena before swiveling that greasy gaze back to me.

  “Are you the prize at the next fight? If so, I might have to test my strength in the ring.”

  Prize?

  I had no idea what he was talking about.

  He reached forward to trap a lock of my hair between his nasty fingers, twisting the strands as his hand outstretched to brush my cheek. I shivered with disgust.

  Apparently, Antonio’s unwanted touch had finally been enough to trigger Callan’s aggression. He stormed over to knock Antonio aside, his presence swallowing the space around us, so much so that even the slickness of Antonio’s presence was burned to ash and brushed away.

  “I warned you about touching,” Callan growled, his narrowed eyes sharpened into finely-honed blades.

  Antonio laughed, but the sound of it was shaky, his false mask of bravery flickering in and out.

  “My apologies. It’s difficult not to sample the wares. Especially one as fine as this.”

  Wares?

  Was I merchandise?

  My eyes shot to Callan, but he didn’t look at me, his lethal stare locked on Antonio.

  “Playtime is over. Get the fuck out of the arena. Your men know their way around. There’s not much left to do but slaughter them at the next fight.”

  Callan’s hand landed on my shoulder to direct me from the chair. Shoving me past Antonio once I was on my feet, he didn’t say a word as he led me to the door guarded by another man and down a set of stairs leading me into the belly of this place.

  Once at the bottom, I refused to go through the next door until he explained what the fuck was going on.

  Spinning to face him, I opened my mouth to demand answers, but he covered my mouth with his hand, shoved me back against a wall and leaned in so close that I burned beneath the heat radiating off his skin.

  “Not a word, Lisbeth. I’m not in the mood for your crap right now. The only reason you’re down here is to stay away from him, but if you make so much as a squeak, I swear I’ll gag you.”

  My eyes widened at the threat, my head spinning with so many questions that both whispered and screamed. I wouldn’t ask them. Not now while Callan was like this.

  Tears burned at my eyes, but I refused to shed them.

  Satisfied that I wouldn’t fight, Callan released my mouth and grabbed my wrist to tug me through the next door. It was a locker room of sorts, a space outfitted with benches and bathrooms, with showers and a gym I could see just around a corner.

  And while Callan toweled off and got dressed, I stood silently watching.

  What the hell had that man been talking about?

  My mother’s voice rang inside my thoughts. The warnings. The reason why she’d somehow removed me from the ballroom that night to take me away and keep me running.

  Was Callan planning on selling me off just like my father had?

  I saw those women in the dungeon again. I imagined my hands bound by the same chains.

  Fear crept in to take its rightful seat, knocking away any lust I’d felt previously.

  Callan was not a good man.

  He certainly wasn’t my savior.

  And there was even more of a desperation in me to escape.

  How much time did I have?

  That was the question.

  Lisbeth

  Several hours later and I found myself in the staff dining room, Gretchen watching from a far door while I made a plate of food to devour before being escorted back to the family suites to serve Callan.

  After the run in with Mr. Mortize at the pit, Callan drove us back, his voice so utterly silent that my fingers had curled against my palms, half-moon circles indenting my skin from my fingernails. I had so many questions about who the man was, what he had been to my father and why he’d referred to me as a ware, but I didn’t ask them, not with the anger rolling off Callan in palpable waves.

  Every time I thought about risking it to demand answers, my mind played me images of what he’d looked like while fighting in the ring, shivers coursing down my spine because I doubted I could withstand one of those punches.

  Callan wasn’t foreign to violence with me as my first few days of technical captivity had proven. My fear of him kept me docile and quiet, the questions unasked as we navigated back to the mansion and walked inside on hurried feet.

  The second we arrived, he left me with a guard and took off, to where I didn’t know, but the instruction was for me to remain in Gretchen’s sight for the rest of the day, at least until he called for me.

  I’d been allowed to shower and use the staff facilities, had been given a few hours in a spare bedroom to myself. I didn’t believe those hours were a kindness. It was more that Gretchen was unsure what to do with me. Apparently, it hadn’t been discussed. Either way, the time spent without anything to do only twisted me tighter, words and warnings racing through my head, memories fluttering around like butterflies beneath a violent sky.

  I was almost happy to see Gretchen when she returned.

  Almost.

  Now, here I was. Waiting. Being watched. Not just by Gretc
hen with her perma-scowl and sensible shoes, but also by the staff members who were eating their dinners. Undoubtedly they were still concerned over my breakfast on the floor this morning.

  I thought I’d eat alone until a brave little bird hopped over, Holly’s blond hair hanging over her shoulders in loose waves now that she was off work for the night and out of uniform.

  “Are you okay?”

  No.

  “Yes. Why?”

  She angled her head to peer at Gretchen from behind the curtain of her golden hair. Eyes returning to me, she smiled, the expression timid. “I know you don’t like him. And while I don’t know why he treats you differently than the rest of us, I know he isn’t kind when it comes to you. So, I just want to make sure you’re fine. That he hasn’t-“

  I placed a hand on her forearm. “I’m fine.”

  Holly nodded before selecting a slice of fish from the buffet and spooned herb butter sauce over the top of it. “Where were you this morning? I saw you leave with him.”

  There was no point in lying, even if the place was technically on the list of things not to be discussed among the staff.

  “The pit.”

  Her eyes snapped my direction, but she did a good job of not moving her body or her head. Voice a bare whisper, she asked, “So you know now? About what happens there.”

  I shrugged, still not understanding what was so scary about a fighting ring. Those types of things were broadcast all over the world. Champions made. Millions of dollars earned or won. Why was she so frightened of it?

  “There wasn’t much to see. The building was impressive. Although, it was odd that the ring was hidden away.”

  Holly shivered, her eyes studying the food in front of us while her hands were unmoving.

  “I worked there one night. Sometimes we’ll take extra shifts for more money. It was during my first week here.”

  Pausing, her body tightened at my side, so tense I thought she might snap or shatter. “The violence was bad enough, but what was given to the winner at the end-“

  Unable to finish the thought, she scooped some steamed vegetables on her plate.

  I wasn’t as careful as her, my head snapping her direction at the words she wouldn’t say. “What happens at the end? What are you talking about?”

  Holly’s eyes met mine, pure fear dancing behind them. She opened her mouth to answer but Gretchen’s voice was a whip crack across the room.

  “Lisbeth! I’ve given you a certain amount of time to eat. It’s best not to waste it on chitchat.”

  The color drained from Holly’s face, her shoulders hunching forward as she stepped away from the food to walk to a nearby table.

  Not wanting to risk getting her in trouble, I chose a seat on the other side of the room, my stomach twisting so hard that it was almost impossible to chew and swallow.

  The food refused to settle in the churning acid of my gut, every second ticking by, filling me with more questions, more fears, more dread. From here, I’d return to the family suites, and I wasn’t ready to face a man who hated me, who was cruel to me, who had plans for me he wouldn’t share no matter how I begged.

  Callan Rose didn’t owe me a damn thing. And why should he? He’d climbed up from nothing to be where he stood, while I’d done everything in my power to knock him back down.

  And remembering what I’d done, I knew I hadn’t yet seen the worst of it.

  His patience in taking revenge was the worst of all, because I knew what was coming.

  “All finished?”

  I’d been so lost in thought that I missed the telltale click of sensible shoes stalking up behind me. Half of my food remained untouched on my plate, but it didn’t matter. Already, I was fighting the urge to vomit, every bite I’d managed to force down sitting like a boulder in my stomach.

  I began to turn so that I could push to my feet, but Gretchen placed her hand on my shoulder to keep me in my seat.

  Our eyes met as she rounded the table to take the chair opposite me. It was only the two of us in the dining room, the rest of the staff having already finished their meals to run off to whatever it was that occupied them at night.

  She glanced at my food pointedly, her gaze drifting back to mine with disapproval.

  “I’m not sure what is going on between you and Mr. Rose, and I won’t begin to guess. But, what I will do is remind you that allowing your strength to wane only tips the situation in his favor. As a woman, you can’t allow that to happen.”

  Utterly shocked by her words, my mouth parted slightly, brows locking together to see Gretchen’s resilient expression, stunned to be part of a conversation where she was actually attempting to what? Help me? Inspire me to do better?

  Interpreting my shock, she rolled her eyes and glanced about the room, eventually pinning me in a stare that spoke volumes.

  “You’re in a poor position. I know that, and while I can’t help you, I can remind you that this is the plight of every woman since the beginning of time. We’re a kept gender, Lisbeth, although the methods of keeping us are different. For some, we’re nothing more than a pretty flower, pampered and cared for, as I’m sure you know from your past. But for others, we’re given the illusion of control while assigned meaningless titles. Meanwhile, men still believe they hold all the power due to a chunk of flesh hanging between their legs.”

  I cleared my throat. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I hate to see any woman relinquish the power she does have regardless of whether men know it or not.”

  “What power is that?”

  “To continue valuing herself regardless of whether we’re valued by anyone else.” She paused, clicked her tongue and looked at my plate again.

  “Eating like a bird and sitting over your plate sulking won’t solve any of your problems. I don’t know what dangers you’re facing or what the end result will be when all is said and done, but I do know that you’re giving up your power over yourself by allowing your circumstances to destroy you. Everybody in this mansion is well aware of what goes on here, but we each suck it up and tend to ourselves with the strength we refuse to let go. I suggest you do the same.”

  Although I was grateful for her attempt to rouse my spirits, it still angered me that she didn’t appreciate the position I’d been put in by Callan. I knew nothing of my future here except to expect retribution for the past.

  “And what if he destroys me regardless of how well I take care of myself?”

  Gretchen laughed. “Learn the fine art of manipulation, dear. Women have also been doing that since the beginning of time. Callan isn’t a one-sided monster. His attitude toward the staff is proof of that. Learn to manipulate all sides of him.”

  “How?”

  Standing from her seat, Gretchen planted her palms against the table and stared down at me.

  “I don’t know the answer to that question. That’s for you to figure out. My only advice is that you do so quickly.”

  Silence fell between us, my body tense against whatever message she was trying to give me. If this was her best effort at making me feel better, she’d failed miserably.

  If anything, I felt worse.

  “Why quickly?” I asked. “What do you know?”

  A shake of her head.

  “It’s not what I know. I know nothing. Just like everyone else in this house.”

  Silence and then, “Let’s go. You should already be back there.”

  I shoved away from the table, the legs of my chair scraping dramatically over the marble floors. It didn’t matter if I scarred them in the process. I hoped I did. It was a testament to how much I’d grown to loathe a mansion that was nothing more than a prison.

  Gretchen was right to think I’d experienced both ways of being a kept woman. A pampered pet to my father. An abused dog to Callan. Both had stripped me of any means to fight. Both kept me chained to the expectations of my betters.

  While anger flooded my veins, I walked behind her remembering the pride I
wouldn’t allow anybody to wrench from me. Gretchen had been right about that as well. I’d forgotten my place, this battle, the ultimate prize Callan hoped to gain by kicking me down.

  I’d sulked instead of plotted. Crumpled instead of holding my body straight. I’d allowed fear to defeat me rather than keeping my mind set on how to escape.

  And, fuck, if that didn’t surprise me about the woman walking in front of me now. She’d managed to light a fire under me without saying anything specific. She’d reminded me of who I am.

  Why?

  I wasn’t sure the answer mattered, all that did was that I felt grateful to a woman I’d hated only an hour earlier. I felt a camaraderie even when I knew I shouldn’t.

  Would I trust her now that she’d attempted to build me up?

  Hell no.

  But would I take her advice and line my thoughts with it? Would I remember to hold onto it with clenched fists and refuse to let go?

  I hoped.

  I was strong. I was proud. I was unbreakable.

  At least, until we reached the hall leading to the family suite and music filtered out, a heavy beat of rap music underlain by several deep voices. Masculine laughter filtered down the hall, and every ounce of power Gretchen had given me bled out again.

  My feet tripped with every bass beat against the walls, my heart lurched like a stalling car. We reached the door and Gretchen stopped so suddenly that I ran into her back.

  Her head moved to glance over her shoulder at me, a brow arching until I’d backed off and squared my shoulders.

  Satisfied that I’d gained control of myself again, she nodded her head in approval.

  Gretchen’s voice was a hiss of a whisper, barely discernible beneath the music. “Remember what I said, Lisbeth. It’s the only way you’ll survive here.”

  My throat felt full, tongue swollen. How I spoke, I wasn’t sure.

  “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

  She grinned, the expression clipped and contrite.

  “It’s not supposed to.”

  The door popped open, music rushing through the widening crack as Gretchen walked through to drag me along with her.

  The common room wasn’t filled with people, but it wasn’t empty either, several men standing or sitting in small groups of two of three.