The Vanity of Roses

by Lily White

  “Don’t hate me,” he said, his grey eyes holding mine.

  What an odd statement.

  “Did you have something to do with this?”

  My voice was a whispered warning, my thoughts racing with the idea that he had somehow betrayed me after I’d warned him not to lie.

  A shake of his head, resignation wearing on his expression. “Not with this. I would never have risked Lisbeth’s life.”

  My brow arched. “Then why would I hate you?”

  His lips slammed shut, something flashing behind his eyes before he exhaled heavily. “You’ll know soon. But when you find what I know you’ll find, try to remember it was for the best.”

  The lights flashed again in my peripheral vision, and rather than questioning him further, I turned to walk toward the building, my focus solely on destroying the man who threatened Lisbeth.

  Stepping inside the compound, I was assaulted by the scent of gunpowder cut through with the iron tang of blood. Around me, men stepped over bodies, their guns firing when they noticed a small sign of life in the men on the ground.

  I was waved over to a door on the right side of the room, my steps careful not to trip over the bodies littering the ground. There was very little light pouring through the broken windows, and I wondered what Moritze had hoped to achieve by killing the power to his compound.

  Stepping up to a group of men near the door, I waited as one peeked his head through to discover what was on the other side.

  “A few of them ran through here,” they explained. “They’re armed. Are you sure you don’t want us going with you?”

  My jaw ticked, my fingers curling into my palm. “How many were there?”

  “Three, I think. Although, I know I shot one of them. If he’s still alive, he’ll be bleeding out somewhere.”

  It wasn’t too many. And although the men were worried I’d be shot as soon as I walked through the door, I had a sneaking suspicion Moritze wouldn’t let my death be as simple as a bullet to the brain or heart. Not by one of his men, at least.

  This trap had been set for me. And rather than avoiding the inevitable, I planned to walk straight into it.

  “It’s fine.”

  One of the men shoved a gun into my hand. The weapon felt odd against my palm, the cold metal in stark contrast to the heat of my skin. I eyed the guy who handed it to me, and he stared at me like I was asking for a quick death.

  “Just in case,” he bit out, releasing the gun as my fingers wrapped around it.

  For as many men as I’d killed in my life, I’d never done so with a weapon other than my hands. Not that I didn’t know how to fire the weapon. I just never had a reason to use one.

  Nodding a silent thanks, I slipped through the door and walked down the center of the hallway, doing nothing to disguise my presence, my booted steps a rhythmic drumbeat against the ground.

  The sound echoed in my path, my eyes scanning up one direction and down another each time I came to a separate hall that spread out like a web of different channels through the large building.

  Every door I passed was locked as I tested the handle, and I knew I was being led to a specific spot, down a specific direction, Moritze most likely sitting back like the coward he was, thinking I was too stupid to realize exactly what I was walking into.

  Losing patience with his game, I decided to make some noise, my fist slamming against each door as I passed it, the loud crunch of wood echoing out in every direction.

  Either the assholes waiting for me had all been shot and were scattered out in the halls in lifeless heaps bleeding out, or they were fucking deaf. I was all but announcing my exact position with every door I passed.

  But while I was making as much noise as possible, I was also listening for any small sound that would draw my notice, any indication that Lisbeth was in the building.

  Knowing Moritze wouldn’t let her wander too far away from him, I hoped she would call out, whether to warn me, or to tell the asshole to get away from her, it didn’t matter.

  But the halls were silent except for me, the intense quiet setting every nerve inside me on edge.

  After five minutes of wandering the halls, I knew I was approaching the other end of the compound.

  And at the click of a gun, my steps stopped in place, the corner of my lip curling to know that I’d finally hunted down my prey.

  “One fucking step and you’re a dead man.”

  I didn’t recognize the voice as footsteps moved my direction, which meant this was one of Mortize’s men and not the asshole himself.

  “Drop the gun.”

  A second voice coming from the opposite direction.

  Doing as they instructed, I let the gun fall from my hand, the clatter of metal against cement a loud noise in the enclosed space.

  Movement in the shadows caught my peripheral vision, a man creeping forward slowly as I lifted my hands to place on the top of my head.

  He pressed the gun to my temple, holding me in place while the second man came up on the opposite side.

  “Thought there were three of you,” I said conversationally.

  “It won’t take three to kill you. Just one.”

  “That’s too bad. Sorry to hear that your buddy died. I’m sure he was a great guy.”

  He shoved the gun tighter, his hand shaking just enough to let me know he was nervous.

  “Fuck off, asshole. I’d drop you right here if Moritze didn’t want to kill you himself.”

  Seriously, it was like these idiots were reading from a bad movie script. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Moritze watched every mafia movie out there to learn how to be a badass.

  I decided to go with sci-fi. “Take me to your leader.”

  They both paused at the odd request. I fought not to laugh.

  “Very funny. It must be hard to make jokes when you’re already dead.”

  I grinned. “It’s a coping mechanism.”

  “Walk straight ahead.”

  Shoving me forward, both men stayed close to my back, my lonely footsteps now a trio. Eventually we reached a door, and one of the men swung around me to twist the handle and shove the wood open. We stepped into what looked like an abandoned warehouse, the ceilings at least fifteen feet high and the walls stretching out fifty feet on either side of us.

  Just as I thought, Moritze stood in the middle of the room, gun in hand, a grin stretching his lips to think that he was smarter than me and I’d fallen for his trap.

  “About time you found me,” he called out.

  My grin stretched wider. “I could say the same thing. For what you must be paying these guys, it took them long enough when I was practically drawing them a map to where I was.”

  We stopped within ten feet of him, his two men on my left and right, their guns held to my head like they might actually pull the trigger.

  “Where’s Lisbeth?”

  Moritze flashed me a broad smile, the glimmer of his white teeth competing against the amount of gold and diamonds he wore. “In bed where I left her. She was a bit tired after I took what I wanted.”

  My eyes moved to see that his hair was slicked in place like usual, dragged down to see his clothes were unwrinkled.

  “Must have been a boring fuck. Lisbeth tends to be a fighter when ridden hard. Yet you look so well put together.”

  I noticed the slightest shake of his hand that held the gun, but I didn’t drop my eyes to it. Instead I held his stare, daring him to lift the weapon and point it in my direction.

  “You killed my men, Moritze.” Tsking my tongue against my mouth, I stood still. “It pissed me off.”

  “Well, then I guess it’s a good thing you’ll be joining them soon. A happy family reunion.”

  In the distance, a sound caught my attention, my eyes shooting to the shadows behind Moritze, at the opposite end of the room only lit by a few single bulbs above our heads.

  Something moved, but rather than focusing on it, I dropped my stare back to Moritze.
>
  Echoing his words back to him, I prodded the asshole along, tired of the game he was playing. “So, were we going to stand here eye-fucking all day? Or are you planning to do something with that gun?”

  Moritze’s smile slithered across his features, his beady eyes narrowing as he lifted his arm to point the gun my direction. His men slammed their hands over my shoulders to shove me to my knees. And while I could have fought them, I dropped instead, letting every one of them believe I was as weak as I seemed.

  Moritze pinned his stare on me, pure hatred a black haze behind his eyes as he slid his finger to the trigger.

  “I’ll tell Lisbeth you said goodbye.”

  The muscles in my shoulders and arms tensed, my body stilling even more as I prepared to show this asshole what I had planned for him.

  But before I could move, a feminine voice called out from the shadows, surprising all of us.

  “Callan!”

  Memories of the past collided with the present, the sound of my name so familiar that I wondered for a split second if I’d missed the moment of my death and had already stepped foot into the afterlife.

  Lisbeth

  Coming into this room had been stupid on our parts. The woman leading me was desperate though, the gunfire too close, the screams of men being shot so awful that she knew we had to hide, or we’d get caught.

  As she practically dragged me through the halls, the blood dripping from my head leaving a trail, she checked every door to find them locked, only one left open for us to go through.

  When we entered the room, it was empty, every sound echoing in the large expanse. Guiding me to the far back, she’d barely hidden us in the deep shadow when the door opened again and Moritze walked through.

  The door had shut behind him quietly, his eyes scanning the distance before he looked down at the floor and grinned. Sliding the toe of his shoe through my blood, he gripped a gun in his hand and spoke.

  “I didn’t think you’d make it out of the basement on your own. I whacked you pretty hard.”

  His eyes lifted, slowly searching the distance to seek out movement. His gaze never locked on where we were sitting, the light in the room too dim.

  “Guess you’ll have a front row seat for Callan’s death. They’re flushing him out now, guiding him right where he needs to go.”

  A sigh, the sound more relief than exhaustion, more victory than defeat.

  “I’d hoped to keep you from having to see what I do to him, but I guess it’s fitting that you watch him die. Maybe I’ll be nice and fuck you next to his body so it’ll feel like the final time.”

  Neither the woman nor I answered, her arm wrapping tighter around me as the gunfire in the distance died off.

  Moritze cocked his head, a smile sliding over his face.

  “Sounds like round one is finished. It’s only a matter of time before round two begins.”

  Slowly, he walked toward us, the click of his shoes a quiet sound against the concrete. My body tensed as he drew closer, but he stopped in the center, standing silently, his slimy smile stretching wider when pounding could be heard in the distance.

  Laughing to himself, Moritze said, “Callan is always so impatient. But there’s only one place for him to go. My men will find him soon.”

  He turned his back to us, waiting, his eyes locked on the unlocked door we’d come through.

  I knew that when the pounding stopped, they’d found Callan, somehow understanding that, rather than avoiding the trap set for him, Callan had chosen to walk into it instead.

  If he lived through this, I would kill him for being so stupid.

  They walked him in a few minutes later, two guards behind him, his hands up and pressed to the top of his head.

  He was larger than life in that moment. Even as a prisoner. Even as his fate rested in the hands of three men who wanted him dead. As soon as they stepped through the door, the woman next to me tensed, her arm around me tightening more, a breath rushing over her lips.

  I almost laughed at the reaction.

  Callan has that effect on a person.

  You couldn’t look at him without knowing the power he held, the quiet strength, the absolute threat that to cross him was to play with your life.

  Moritze would regret this decision. He had to. I refused to accept he’d win.

  The two men talked, my breath trapped in my lungs at the tense conversation, my gaze dancing between the gun in Moritze’s hand and Callan. I rolled my eyes when Moritze claimed I was in bed, rolled them harder when Callan called me a fighter when ridden hard.

  He was such as asshole.

  Even in this.

  The woman beside me shot me a look when Callan made the comment, and my cheeks flared with heat despite the cold fear in my veins. I shrugged, shook my head but then regretted it when pain shot down my body.

  I needed a doctor, but my injuries were meaningless when Callan’s life was on the line.

  Heart pounding, I stared helplessly, unsure that Callan would walk away from this.

  Three men.

  Three weapons trained on him.

  And only one had to pull their trigger to end his life.

  But rather than begging, the stubborn ass poked the bear. And when he went down to his knees, my heart climbed into my throat, caught there, pounded like a war drum with frantic, chaotic beats.

  The woman pulled her arm from me, pushed to her feet and called out.

  “Callan!”

  Amber eyes lifted, somehow finding us in the shadows, that dangerous gaze that missed nothing sliding from me to the woman at my side.

  Tears pricked my eyes, my body so still as if any movement would destroy him. That man. That boy. That dark soul I’d never wanted to see on his knees again.

  Just like when we were kids, he went down to the floor without giving up his pride, his power, the silent strength of a dangerous mind.

  Images of our past flashed through my head. Guilt swallowing me. Anger burning me. The whisper of a thought I’d always had to look at him when he was at his weakest.

  Fight, Callan.

  You fucking bastard, fight!

  It was all I ever wanted him to do when we were kids. And it’s what I needed him to do now.

  I couldn’t lose him.

  Not after everything.

  Not after finding him again.

  My heart stopped when Moritze pulled the trigger, a scream tearing from my throat at the flash of fire, at the sound that bounced off every wall at the same time.

  I didn’t blink.

  Didn’t breathe.

  Didn’t dare turn away from him.

  Not even for a second.

  If I had, I would have missed the quick movement, wouldn’t have understood that Callan had waited for Moritze to shoot all along.

  Everything happened so fast that all I could comprehend was that Callan had pulled one man from his side down in front of him, the bullet hitting flesh as he caught the second man off guard and pulled him down next.

  Moritze fired again, but the bullet struck the second guard, blood spraying out as Callan shoved to his feet and ran forward.

  My heart lurched to a sudden start when he knocked Moritze to the ground, broke his wrist with a loud snap as he wrenched the gun from his hand, and then stood over him with an expression on his face that whispered the promise of death.

  Both the woman beside me and I breathed out simultaneously, our hearts no doubt pounding the same jagged rhythm, our eyes locked on the two men, one on his back, the other standing over him.

  But when I thought Callan would pull the trigger and end the fight, his lips curled at the corners and he tossed the gun toward us.

  I couldn’t move, but the woman inched forward to grab the weapon, understanding that Callan hadn’t simply tossed it away, he’d thrown it to us just in case something went wrong and we needed the protection.

  While Moritze lay still, his eyes glaring up at the threat that stood above him, Callan slowly lowered his
body down to wrap a fist in Moritze’s shirt to lift his back off the floor.

  “As I was saying earlier, you killed two of my men and you touched something else that doesn’t belong to you.”

  The first punch to Moritze’s jaw caused his neck to snap back painfully, blood leaking down his lip from where the flesh had split.

  “That was for Benny.”

  The second punch landed with equal fury, another snap of his neck, more blood spraying out as bone crunched beneath the blow.

  “And that was for Connor.”

  “Just fucking kill me,” Moritze snarled, his lips pulling into a sneer despite the swelling.

  “Gladly.”

  It wasn’t a quick or easy death.

  I’d witnessed Callan fighting before, had watched the lethal fluidity of his strength, had shivered against the truth of his brutality. But in this, in the violence he unleashed on a man he had reason to hate, Callan was without mercy, each punch breaking the bones it hit, Moritze’s face nothing but pulp by the time Callan pushed to his feet and threw the man across the room, only to stalk toward him to stomp at his arms and legs.

  Screams tore through the room, bile creeping up my throat to witness such unrestrained aggression, the scent of blood and piss a toxic stew in the air as Callan continued the lethal assault, his expression cold, his temper unleashed.

  I thought Moritze was already dead as Callan continued to toss him around like his body weighed nothing, as he continued to punch and crush, torture and destroy.

  I cried. Not for Moritze’s life, but to understand that Callan wasn’t just destroying one man who’d wronged him, he was expelling all the darkness he’d carried his entire life.

  A boy made a slave.

  A slave treated as a beaten dog.

  A man that had risen above the flames of a painful life to prove he was the most powerful of us all.

  Watching him revealed another truth buried beneath all the secrets and lies in our life:

  He had shown such a gut wrenching level of restraint when it came to me, even when I believed he was at his most violent.

  I knew what it felt like to be the target of those angry amber eyes, but I also knew the tender touch of hand that could have crushed me without guilt for doing it.