The Vanity of Roses

by Lily White

  Among them, Callan sat on the large leather couch, his scuffed boots kicked up on the table, a cloud of smoke pouring out of his mouth from a cigar he held. All eyes flicked to us, a few smirks and cocky grins leading to murmurs that crept across the space like fireflies, quick bursts of sound, of low laughter, each hint of it lighting up my nerve endings.

  He was having some sort of party, and the only people in attendance were as big and broad as him, a smattering of brutish men, some with scars, a few with bruises.

  Fighters, I assumed.

  Every one of them.

  Even Callan’s face showed an angry red smear blooming across his cheekbone.

  “Mr. Rose,” Gretchen said, her voice loud enough to fight the thump of music. “I’ve returned Lisbeth to your suite as instructed.”

  Only then did those whiskey eyes crawl my direction, a slow glance, dark eyelashes dropping to fan over golden skin before lifting again. I was entranced by him, so damn easily, whether from fear or ... what? I didn’t know.

  He was beautiful…as usual. Dressed casually in a pair of dark jeans that hugged his thick thighs, and a dark henley tee that did nothing to hide the strength of his shoulders, the broad plane of his chest or the way his body thinned out into a tight, toned abdomen. The long sleeves were bunched up to reveal his corded forearms, every flex and contraction of his strength drawing my eye. Callan’s hair was damp as if he’d just recently showered, the inky black swept back from his face, a single drop of water slipping down his neck that I wanted to taste.

  What was it about him that made every part of me stand at attention? Made me want to run. Made me taste the thrill he would feel to chase. Made me ball up inside to understand the hatred that flickered in and out of that amber gaze as if he couldn’t decide what to think of me.

  Callan simply nodded his head once, every man in the room losing interest in the servant girl as Gretchen inclined her head in return and moved to leave.

  I had to fist my hand to keep from reaching out for her, to beg her not to leave.

  Then she was gone while I stood awkwardly in place, time stretching out like a rubber band only to snap in place again. A large hand locked over my arm, and I was tugged left.

  I’d been so focused on the predator in front of me, I’d failed to notice the one within reaching distance.

  My eyes sought Callan, but he’d turned away to finish his conversation. And when I turned to see who’d pulled me to his side, I had to crane my neck to recognize him.

  Green eyes stared down at me, crinkled at the corners, whatever humor that sparkled behind them lost to the thin line of his lips, the treacherous posture of his body.

  This was the man Callan had fought in the ring, the one who’d taken blow after a blow, a smile on his face as if the fury of Callan’s violence was funny.

  I studied his features, noted the silver color of a small scar running the line of his right cheekbone, the blooming bruise that shadowed his square jaw. His hair was lighter than Callan’s, brown instead of black, but he was still beautiful in a different way.

  Unlike Callan, he didn’t feel like an obvious threat, didn’t make everything inside me scream to run, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous.

  Speaking loud enough for me to hear him, but not so loud others in the room would hear as well, he said, “So, you’re Lisbeth. I’ve always wondered about the woman who could be so memorable.”

  I tried to tug my arm away, but his fingers tightened to hold me in place. It took him no effort at all to keep me still, the strength of him obvious in the defined muscles of his arms.

  “He tells me you’re a bitch. I like bitches. They’re fun in bed. Always more difficult to break.”

  Fear doused me, Gretchen’s pep talk lost as the man gazed down at me, his eyes darkening, his lips pulling into a smirk that promised pain. While my heart lodged in my throat, I fought to pull away, but the muscles in his forearm jumped as he held even tighter, a punishing hold that would bruise.

  “I don’t think so, love. It won’t be that easy to get away.”

  Panic shot my eyes to Callan, and the man only followed my line of sight, a low laugh shaking his chest.

  Bending down so he could whisper against my ear, he asked, “Do you think he’ll save you?” He laughed. “Do you really think that the man who hates you most in this world will suddenly be your savior?”

  A pause, the silence of it suffocating me. He leaned in closer, his breath washing across my cheek, sweet with the scent of alcohol. “Why do you think you’re here? Who do you think our entertainment is for the night?”

  The panic returned, the force of it a hammer against every inch of my skull, the heat of it branding my skin while it screamed to run, run, RUN!

  My body spun as if that could dislodge his hold. A trapped animal, I slammed my free hand against his body to fight, the feel of his stomach pure steel beneath my palm as I opened my mouth to scream.

  “Let go of me!”

  The man only looked at me with unhidden amusement, his lips curling more, light dancing behind his green eyes.

  “Jacob,” Callan snapped from across the room. “The fuck, man?”

  The man - Jacob, as I now knew from Callan - peeled his eyes off me to glance up. A full smile now creased his face, dimples indenting his cheeks as laughter rolled over his lips.

  “I was just having some fun.”

  Twisting so I could meet Callan’s eyes, I saw annoyance in his expression, but nothing more. He wasn’t angry like when Antonio had touched me, wasn’t pushing up to his feet to march over and claim possession. He only shook his head and ignored how I still had a hand trapping my arm, a large body holding me in place.

  I twisted back to find green eyes locked on my face again, Jacob’s mouth held in a brilliant smile that I was sure had seduced dozens of women.

  “See? I told you he wouldn’t save you.”

  His fingers loosened, but just as I moved to pull away, he swept out with an arm, wrapped it over my shoulder and tugged me closer against him.

  Bile shot up my throat to feel his body heat mix with mine, my entire body shaking because I wasn’t sure just what form of entertainment I would be tonight.

  “Calm down before you snap in two,” he teased. “Lucky for you, I’m just fucking with you. Kind of.”

  He canted his head, a playful twinkle replacing the darkness I’d recognized behind his eyes earlier.

  “You’re not our entertainment. But you are his. And he’s been drinking, which is my fault. It’s always my fault. I should apologize for that now.”

  His eyes danced between Callan and me, his voice lowering into a conspiratorial whisper.

  “So, if I were you, I’d be sure to behave. It’s best not to disturb the beast, if you know what I mean. Callan isn’t always thinking straight when alcohol is involved. Plus, he’s preparing for a fight. Always a dangerous time. It’s when his temper is most on edge.”

  His body was a concrete wall against mine, hard and overbearing. I couldn’t have broken away if I’d fought as hard as I possibly could. Instead, I withered in defeat next to him, allowed his words to sink beneath my skin and wrap my bones.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  Another quick glance in Callan’s direction before he said, “He’s my best friend. My brother in every way that matters. And if you do anything that distracts him in the next two days, I’ll personally hunt you down to make you regret it. Not that I have anything against you. Not like him. But I do love him, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect the people I love. Do you understand?”

  “No.”

  “Good,” he grinned, his hand tapping my hip once. “I’m glad we cleared that up.”

  I was beginning to think Jacob had been hit one too many times in the head. He wasn’t making sense.

  Two men walked past us to leave, their shoulders brushing mine since I was held in place so close to the door. Both glared down at me as they passed, violence wri
tten into their eyes like it was an essential part of them. I shrank against Jacob, but then remembered that he was as dangerous as the rest.

  It only made him chuckle.

  “Are we friends now? Do I make you feel safe?”

  “No.”

  The corner of his lip tugged up, his boyish demeanor at war with the threat that rolled off him.

  “Good. You shouldn’t trust me. Not when it comes to him.”

  He nudged his chin at the door.

  “The men who just left were Benny and Connor. Benny is too old to fight now, but that doesn’t mean he’s not lethal. He’s killed twenty men that I know of. And Connor is new, hasn’t fought yet, but he will soon.”

  My gaze shot to his.

  Brows tugging together, he smirked.

  “You didn’t know we killed? Callan’s killed the most, but only because you made him the way he is.”

  Denial shot through me, infecting my blood.

  “I didn’t make him anything.”

  With a smile as sharp as a knife blade, he rolled his eyes.

  “Don’t lie. I know all Callan’s secrets.”

  His free hand shot out to trap my chin. Turning my face so that I would look at Callan, Jacob whispered, “He’s trying to ignore you, but it’s eating him up inside. And you need to be a good little servant by making it up to him. You see that bruise on his cheek? I gave that to him.”

  I jerked my face away and stared up at him.

  “Your point?”

  Anger bled into the humor behind his eyes.

  “That never happens. I’m good, but he’s better. Except he’s distracted because of you. I can’t let that continue. So, I’m sorry if this is a dick move, but he’s far more valuable than you.”

  He moved his arm to release me, his hand catching my shoulder to shove me to the floor. I landed hard on my palms and knees, the unforgiving marble shooting pain up my legs and arms. A quiet grunt fell from my lips, the sudden movement catching the eye of every predator in the room.

  Every man chuckled to see me on the ground, but not Callan. His whiskey eyes swept my direction, the color deepening, his face a mask that gave away nothing of his thoughts.

  Above me, Jacob laughed with the rest of them, his voice lifting above the thump of music.

  “Isn’t this the bitch that used you as a footstool?”

  Callan’s stare abandoned me to lift to his friend, but he was silent, as were the rest of them, each man waiting for what Jacob had to say.

  “Shouldn’t you use her as well?”

  Jacob tapped his boot against my ass, his body leaning over me with the growled instruction, “Crawl to him.”

  I shook my head in refusal, anger locking over my frame, every muscle too tight to move. I’d crawled already for Callan, and where did it get me? Chained to the foot of his bed.

  To make me do it again in front of all these people was too cruel, too vindictive, too-

  “Or how about I bring my friends in here to make a better joke of you so that they can laugh like yours did?”

  Too much like me now that I remembered his warning. Too much like what I’d done to him. Over and over and over.

  Every memory smashed through my head with the shame that carried them. Every insult, every taunt, every time I’d made him fall to his knees before me just so my friends could make fun of him. I hadn’t cared that pain rolled behind his eyes. It only made me do it more.

  And even then, I knew what hurt him most wasn’t my friends’ laughter or the embarrassment he suffered, it was that I knew how he felt about me and punished him for the affection.

  We had history. And I had a price to pay.

  Callan had warned me this was coming.

  “Everybody get the fuck out,” Jacob bellowed, his voice rising above the music to shake the walls harder.

  Tears pricked my eyes, and I couldn’t stop them this time. Not with these men staring at me with amusement in their eyes, not with Callan refusing to look at me while my shame and the struggle to keep my pride intact was painted across my skin.

  The men eventually walked from the room to leave behind their laughter and lurid comments, but the whispers were nothing compared to the heavy air that remained when it was only Callan, Jacob and me left in the room.

  An arm hooked under my stomach, and I was wrenched from the floor, my body weighing nothing to the man who carried me to stand in front of Callan before dropping me down again. My arms gave out when I hit, my head falling forward before I crumpled into a ball. Pain shot over my chin as something warm and wet trickled. Opening my eyes, I saw the drops of crimson on the white floor.

  “Fucking use her, asshole! Get this shit out of your system before you get yourself killed in the next fight. I shouldn’t have been able to hit you today. And if you don’t do something with her, I will.”

  Callan grinned, the expression terrifying. His eyes weren’t on me, though, only on his friend.

  “It was a lucky punch.”

  “Like hell it was. I wasn’t even fucking trying. Your head was somewhere else.”

  While Jacob’s voice was raised in anger, Callan’s was cold, so damn empty of emotion that it frightened me.

  “Get out, Jacob. I’m sure Haley is waiting for you in the dungeon. I’d hate for all the other assholes to get to her first.”

  A shiver coursed through me at the mention of the dungeon, but I didn’t dare look up at either of them. I tried to stay as still as possible. Unseen. Every fear inside me screaming that Jacob would pick me up and take me with him rather than leave me with Callan.

  His next words only confirmed my fear.

  “I should take her with me. Away from you.”

  Callan’s smile was razor sharp, a dare written into the lines of his face. “Try it, and you won’t get a lucky punch again.”

  Jacob was silent, his boots held at shoulder width on the floor in front of me. I dared look away from Callan to see his friend, still not moving in case he wanted to make good on his threat.

  When Jacob finally answered, his voice was controlled, a warning written into every word spoken.

  “Do what needs to be done, or I’m telling Benny and Franklin to tie your ass down and keep you out of that ring. I’ll also tell them to get the fuck rid of her.”

  Callan only stared at Jacob, the smile unfading, the dare a silent whisper between two men who obviously had history with each other.

  Jacob didn’t say another word before storming away, the door to the family suites slamming closed a second later.

  While the music still played and the scent of cigar smoke hung heavy in the air, I glanced up at Callan to see he was staring at me.

  “You’re bleeding,” he said, his eyes dark and dangerous, his voice so deep that I felt every word he spoke.

  I reached up to touch my chin, my fingers pulling away, the tips stained crimson. Closing my eyes, I banished the tears that had been threatening me all day. They fell like a storm down my cheeks, more painful than where my skin had split on the floor.

  “I am,” I finally answered, not knowing what else to say.

  He smirked, his arm moving as he reached to rub the back of his neck. Pulling his booted feet from the table, he leaned down so that our eyes were at the same level.

  I wasn’t sure what I expected him to say, but it sure as hell wasn’t what left his mouth.

  “Good. I’m glad you’re finally learning what it feels like to bleed for someone else.”

  Callan

  Jacob was an asshole, and I had every intention of beating his ass next time we practiced.

  Not only did the son of a bitch follow me home from the pit and stalk after me into the gym, he’d demanded answers about Mortize’s interest in Lisbeth and wondered why I’d given enough of a fuck to get her out of the arena when I did.

  Yeah, I had a fight coming up in two days and I needed the practice in the ring, but that didn’t mean I had to stick around there to do it.

  We had a
room in the gym for the same fucking thing, a room Jacob dragged me into before throwing his first punch. It caught me in the cheek, honing my temper just like he wanted.

  Several hours later and we were both beaten down and exhausted, laughter falling over his lips when he told me to shower up because I was getting drunk whether I liked it or not.

  I was pissed at him for that, too, but he was right. I was distracted, and it had everything to do with the woman curled up at my feet.

  I wanted to hate her. I wanted to open the front door of the mansion and shove her out. But no matter what I did to remind myself of who the woman had been in my life, I kept finding myself back at one moment, one truth, that even the years of her disappearance hadn’t been able to erase.

  It didn’t matter how much she’d hurt me, I would always want her.

  How screwed up is that? I should have the word pussy tattooed over my forehead.

  Maybe Jacob was right about one other thing. I needed her out of my system, because simply punishing her was driving me insane.

  Reaching forward, I balled my fist over the front of her dress to tug her forward. She moved willingly, didn’t struggle or try to break free.

  On her knees between my spread legs, Lisbeth glared up at me with blood dripping from her chin, her eyes two pools of liquid blue that reminded me of a lifetime of pain. It didn’t matter that she was injured, that damn Rose pride glimmered on her face, her lips in the same petulant pout I always saw when I imagined her.

  “Jacob is right, you know? I should just fuck you out of my system.”

  Eyes rounding, she scowled, her body moving as if to tug from my hold.

  The alcohol I shouldn’t have consumed was racing through my veins, warming me in places that were dangerous to this woman. Every inhibition I’d had was skating away, desire dancing in to take up court.

  I leaned lower until our lips were inches apart. “I guess it’s a good thing for you I don’t fuck damaged toys.”

  Pushing to my feet, I dragged Lisbeth to hers. It took her a second to balance her body on shaky legs, fear quaking over every bone and through every muscle. Once she gained some semblance of control, I led her in the direction of my room, only for her to drop to the floor again like dead weight.