The Vanity of Roses

by Lily White

  “Lucky punch,” I grinned. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t go running to Franklin again to rat on me for not paying attention.”

  Jacob held the towel to his nose.

  “Lucky punch, my ass. You’re just being a dick.”

  Pointing a finger in his face, I growled, “Stay the fuck out of my business if you’re going to go running to anybody who will listen to you complain.”

  He pulled the towel away, crimson red staining the white terry cloth, but his nose had already stopped bleeding.

  “You’re right, I complained. Your life is on the line tomorrow. They need to know your head’s not in the game. I won’t let you die out there because of some petty bullshit with a woman who isn’t worth your time. It’s not going to fucking happen, Callan. And I won’t apologize for it. I don’t care how many times you beat my ass.”

  Our eyes met, and I saw only determination and loyalty in his green stare. For that, I couldn’t fault Jacob. If our roles had been reversed, I’d do the same. He meant the world to me. He was the only friend I knew I could trust, the only person who had my back no matter what.

  This man would gladly die for me, and I for him. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t a bad influence, his typical nonchalant attitude about everything always getting us cornered in bad situations.

  Like last night.

  “Get in the ring, I’m planning to beat your ass all of today to get even.”

  We didn’t need to say you’re forgiven. It was always a given when it came to us.

  He grinned and bounced from one foot to the other.

  “Have some frustration to work off, huh? Let me guess, you couldn’t go through with it. She’s still got your balls wrapped in her pretty little fingers.”

  Ignoring him, I turned to tug off my shirt and drop it on a bench. Laughter burst out behind me.

  “Or maybe not. Holy shit. Either you fucked her for hours or you got into a fight with a cat and lost. Between the old scars and those new scratches, we could play Checkers on your back.”

  Twisting to glance at him, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to sucker punch him again right now, or wait to beat his ass in the ring.

  “Yeah, thanks for that. She’s not out of my system. If anything, she’s now more of a problem than before.”

  His eyes rounded. “No fucking way. I didn’t think I’d see the day that magic snatch would make Callan Rose fall.”

  I sat on the bench to tape my hands.

  “I haven’t fallen for anything. This situation is more complicated than that.”

  Jacob moved to lean a shoulder on the wall next to me.

  “Keep telling yourself that. I said the same thing the first couple of times with Haley. Now look at me. Speaking of which, I asked her to marry me last night. She said yes.”

  My eyes flicked up to him. “She’s still a slave.”

  He grinned. “For now. But I’ll convince you to give her up eventually. I also snuck her up to my room. You should have seen Franklin’s face when he caught us in the hall.”

  I laughed. “Is that before or after you ratted me out?”

  “It’s why I ratted you out. He was so pissed at what I had to say about you that he stormed away and forgot all about what I was doing.”

  Shaking my head, I wrapped my hand for the last time and ripped the tape from the roll. Our eyes met when I glanced up, his filled with mischief.

  “You’re an asshole. Don’t let anybody ever tell you different.”

  He flashed me his widest smile, one that had dropped the panties of several women at the bars we used to frequent. Laughter shook his shoulders, but the humor was lost when his expression became serious.

  “Is your head in this? Be honest with me. I can’t watch you die out there. I won’t.”

  I reached up, and he locked his hand with mine.

  “I won’t die tomorrow night. I’ll walk out of that ring wearing the bastard’s blood.”

  “You better.”

  He tugged me to my feet, and we walked into the ring together. Grabbing the strike pads, he held them up, feet set at shoulder width, his expression that of a fighter who understood that walking into the pit was no laughing matter.

  Still, that wouldn’t stop him.

  “So,” he said, a glimmer behind his eyes as he took the first few warm up punches I threw. “What was princess pussy like? I could tell just by talking to her last night that Lisbeth still has the vanity of all the Rose family members despite what you’ve done. Did you fuck it out of her? Did she cry?”

  Throwing my arm and shoulder harder, I knocked him back a step. “That reminds me.”

  His brow cocked. “Of?”

  The next punches I threw drove his back against a wall, his hands pulling the pads together to protect his chest and stomach.

  “Touch Lisbeth again, and I’ll knock your teeth out for it. The only man who lays a hand on her in this house is me.”

  He laughed, shoving my punches off with the pads.

  “I can’t believe it. Callan Rose is falling hard. I’m happy to have a front row seat for it.”

  My foot impacted his shin, and he fell to the ground. Rolling to his back, he kept laughing because pain was nothing to us, not when we’d learned to enjoy it.

  “Maybe we can double date when you finally give me Haley. I promise to be nice to Lisbeth next time.”

  Shaking my head, I reached down to drag him to his feet, set my body again and waited for him to take his position.

  Eyes on my face, he grinned.

  “I know that look. You’re about to beat my ass, aren’t you?”

  Rolling my neck over my shoulders, I breathed out and fisted my hands.

  “You better fucking believe it.”

  Lisbeth

  It was useless trying to get anything done for the day. My body ached from being with Callan, exhaustion plaguing me for the few hours of sleep I’d managed after we both had run out of strength. I didn’t remember falling asleep next to him, so I was surprised when my eyes opened in the morning to find I was on the mattress and not on the floor.

  Hope had trickled in for just a second, the idea that despite his warnings, things had changed.

  But then he’d walked out of the bathroom, steam rolling out to caress his naked body, and his voice had roared through me to remind me who we were despite everything that happened.

  I should have known better than to hope. But there was no guarding my heart from it. I was crushed to hear his words, torn apart when his eyes caught mine, and in them, I only saw the same hatred and pain as before the moment we’d caved to the wants of our bodies.

  “Is everything okay with you, Lisbeth? I’ve had to clean up after you all day. I’m not sure why you’re even trying.”

  Glancing over at Holly, I frowned to see her cleaning the streaks from the windows I’d just finished. Her eyes flicked down to the marks on my neck, worry eating at her even if she’d managed to keep from asking about them.

  I could see the questions, though, could hear them.

  “I’m fine. Just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  Whatever restraint Holly had before was lost at my answer.

  “Did he do that to you? Mr. Rose? You weren’t-“

  Her voice trailed off, softened.

  “You weren’t dragged to the lower levels again, were you?”

  Fear caressed her voice, the sound of it highlighting what was so obvious in her careful expression.

  “No.”

  She sighed, shoulders withering with relief before she turned her attention to the windows again.

  “So, did he do that?”

  Uncomfortable dragging Holly into this situation, I found a way to dance around the truth without revealing anything.

  “You know that I wasn’t always a maid, right?”

  Her eyes met mine for a second, head nodding.

  “I remember. I woke you up that morning. The one when you were dragged through the house.”
/>   Guilt weighted her expression, but I reached out to squeeze her shoulder.

  “It wasn’t your fault. Callan and I have a complicated history. This would have happened regardless of whether you’d woken me or not.”

  She bit her lip, but then nodded again to accept the answer.

  “But you are okay, right? You wouldn’t lie to me?”

  “I’m fine,” I promised.

  Physically, at least. Mentally was a different issue.

  The truth was I was torn in two, a constant whispering in my head telling me to run regardless of what happened.

  I didn’t trust Callan, didn’t trust my uncle or any of the people who’d helped drag me into this position.

  If the opportunity were to present itself, I wouldn’t hesitate to run. Unfortunately, the doors were still constantly guarded, the electronic locks blinking red. I checked every one as I passed them.

  Callan still hadn’t dropped his guard.

  Holly flung her rag onto the cart and pulled the yellow gloves from her hands.

  “It’s getting late. We should go back to the staff hall, shower, change our clothes and get dinner.”

  It would have been nice to have even that much freedom. But my clothes were tucked away in Callan’s room. Holly must have realized that when she looked at me next, her cheeks heating pink.

  “I’m sorry. We can go straight to dinner in these clothes. It’s not a problem.”

  Shaking my head, I smiled.

  “It’s fine. I’ll wait for you outside the bathrooms. When you’re done, we’ll eat.”

  We’d made it as far as the dining hall before Gretchen found me, her hair pulled up in its typical stern knot, her scowl in place.

  Before I could grab a plate, she reached for my arm to pull me aside. Holly shot me a look of concern, but moved along to decide on her dinner rather than interrupt.

  Gretchen walked me to a far wall where nobody would be able to overhear us.

  “You’ve been requested in the gym within the half hour. I wanted to let you know so you would hurry with your dinner. I’d hate for you to miss a meal.”

  Still confused by her concern when it came to me, I thanked her and turned to leave, but she grabbed me again to spin me back.

  Gretchen cleared her throat, her gaze swinging to my neck and back to my eyes.

  “Did they hurt you?”

  Startled by her question, I opened my mouth to answer before closing it again. My brows tugged together, a million thoughts rolling through my head. I settled on a question.

  “What do you mean?”

  A roll of her eyes, a click of her tongue.

  “Don’t be daft, Lisbeth. I dropped you off last night in a room full of fighters, and you were returned to me this morning with bruises all over your neck. I know a handprint when I see one. I recognize a bite mark.”

  “Oh,” I answered, my hand reaching for my throat.

  “This wasn’t caused by them. It was-“

  “Mr. Rose?”

  I nodded.

  Some of the strain eased from her features, but not much.

  “Well, then it’s none of my business. And I don’t need details. Just tell me you remembered what I told you last night.”

  Another nod. “To manipulate him.”

  Her eyes locked to mine.

  “Don’t feel shame if that’s the way you chose to do so. Women have been doing that for years as well.”

  She paused, her eyes searching the room again.

  “Go eat,” she suggested. “I’ll wait for you by the doors.”

  Not that it was an easy request to fulfill.

  Just like the night before, the food settled with a heaviness that made me sick. I felt full after a few bites, but managed to continue until the plate was clean. After dropping it off on the return cart to the kitchen, I stepped up to where Gretchen waited, my skin cold and clammy.

  She studied me with a shrewd eye.

  “Fix your posture, Lisbeth. You’re a Rose. Act like it. Strong women never slouch.”

  “Maybe I’m just exhausted.”

  She scoffed.

  “We’re all exhausted for one reason or another. They’ll eat you alive if you show it.”

  I rolled my shoulders back like I’d been taught as a girl, my spine ramrod straight. Tilting my chin up took effort, but once I’d assumed the position she approved of, Gretchen nodded her head and led me from the dining hall and down the maze of hallways leading to the gym.

  Before we reached the gym, Franklin walked up to us, his eyes finding mine before moving to Gretchen.

  “I’ll take her from here. Thank you.”

  Hatred bloomed inside me.

  If not for this asshole, I wouldn’t be trapped in this place. The last thing I wanted was to be alone with him, but I knew Gretchen couldn’t argue.

  Franklin was her employer. She was as bound to his instructions as she was to Callan’s.

  “Yes, Mr. Rose.”

  Inclining her head, Gretchen turned to leave. When she passed me, she reached out to brush her hand over my arm, a silent reminder to guard my pride against anything he would do to me.

  With each passing day, my distrust of her faded, but she was still a dutiful servant of the family, and for that I couldn’t trust her completely.

  Franklin waited for Gretchen to turn a corner before stepping up to me. His hand locked over my arm with such force that I cried out in shock.

  “Shut up,” he snapped. “Callan doesn’t know you’re here.”

  I jerked from his hold, refusing to let him think he could manhandle me like everybody else.

  “Don’t touch me,” I hissed. “You’re the reason all of this is happening to me.”

  Franklin narrowed his eyes, his lips thinning.

  “To be fair, you’re the reason all of this is happening to you, but you’re too blind to see it. You always have been.”

  I took a step back from him, my head turning toward the door leading into the gym. I could hear low voices, but wasn’t able to hear the conversation or what they said.

  “Why doesn’t Callan know I’m here?”

  Straightening the sleeves of his suit jacket, Franklin caught my stare with his.

  “Because he’s preparing for a fight, and he doesn’t need the distraction. But I couldn’t let this part of his preparation happen without having you nearby to witness it. You need to see what you’ve done to him.”

  Why did everybody keep blaming me for Callan? He was a grown man. Head of the damn family. Why was my cruelty as a kid such a big deal?

  Yes, I’d been mean to him, but every person acted like I’d somehow scarred him permanently. It was ridiculous. Children are bullied. They get over it.

  “Come with me,” he demanded, “and don’t say a word or make a sound. He doesn’t need to know you’re there.”

  Huffing out a breath, I wavered between telling him to fuck off and following obediently behind him.

  My curiosity won out, and I kept pace with him as he led me into the gym, but no further than a shadowed corner where we could see into the exercise area, but not be seen by the three men standing in it.

  I recognized Callan immediately, the scars running down his back, the set of broad shoulders that I’d clenched onto while he drove me fucking crazy in the head. Sweat dripped down his body like he’d recently been fighting, his hands wrapped in green tape.

  Beside him was Jacob, the best friend and brother who had dropped me to the floor where I’d busted my chin. He paced at Callan’s side, his green eyes dark with worry, his cocky smile absent.

  To their back stood a third man I recognized from the dungeon. He was busy pulling something from a duffle bag, his face stern, his clothes business casual. Wearing slate grey slacks with a white button up shirt, he’d rolled the sleeves to his elbows and left the collar buttons undone.

  Callan stood facing away from me, his body rigid, his head bowed as he rolled his shoulders. It sent a ripple affect down
the muscles of his back, those silver scars glimmering like tinsel.

  When he raised his head, he stared up at a metal bar secured in what looked like a doorway, the width just large enough for the breadth of his shoulders.

  Jacob stopped pacing suddenly, his gaze darkening more, a curse word spit beneath his breath, and when I followed his line of sight, I saw what the other man was pulling from the bag.

  A whip.

  The kind used on farm animals, the leather thick and unforgiving.

  My brows tugged together, and I looked back to Callan to see he was reaching above his head to curl his fingers over that metal bar.

  Understanding swept in as to what they were about to do, but confusion flooded me as to why.

  I opened my mouth to ask Franklin what was going on, but he covered it, his grey eyes pinning mine with warning.

  Once he was satisfied that I would stay silent, he pulled his hand away and whispered, “Just watch.”

  The first strike happened, a loud crack that slicked the air and made me jump in place.

  My head snapped around to see Callan’s body tense, his voice so utterly silent as a red streak bloomed across his back.

  I couldn’t see if the strike had broken the skin, there was no obvious blood, but then the whip struck him again and his body trembled for only a second.

  Anger flooded me, my hands clenching into fists with each new strike against his body. After the fifth, blood seeped from his skin. Not a lot, but enough that I knew he was hurting.

  Franklin must have sensed my rage because he stepped up behind me to grab my wrist and hold me in place.

  Quietly, he whispered.

  “We hate that he does this. Every one of us. But it’s the only thing that focuses him enough to fight. Every strike of that whip drives intense anger into him. It’s a demon he can’t escape. One that you caused.”

  No. They could all fuck off. I didn’t do this.

  Another few strikes and the asshole whipping Callan finally backed off,

  Callan’s body was so eerily still before his biceps flexed and he pulled himself up on that bar. Over and over, every muscle in his body tense as blood seeped down his back.

  What kind of strength did it take to be able to endure the whip only to use your body in such a way?