The Vanity of Roses Read online

  Or maybe that was me.

  It wasn’t that I felt bad for what I did to her. No. My conscious was sparkling clean, a surface you could eat from without worry of germs or disease. Hell, I’d killed men for less than what she’d done and felt no regret for doing it.

  But as the hours bled on, I grew more aggravated, eventually pushing my body up from the mattress to sit on the side of the bed. Curled forward with my forearms braced on my knees, I stared at the floor beneath me.

  She fucking apologized, the words falling so easily from her lips as if they meant something. I wanted to snatch them all up and shove them back inside her. Make her choke on the bitter taste of her lies. They meant nothing, those ignorant fucking syllables, and they hadn’t been what saved her.

  Only because I’d never intended for her to stay in that dungeon in the first place.

  If I had, she’d still be there. And maybe I would sleep better.

  The aggravation of having Lisbeth under the same roof was pushing me in ways that weren’t healthy. My fingers curled into my palms, stretching again with a sickening crunch as I shoved to my feet and stormed away from the bed to take a hot shower. I had to think. Had to loosen the constant strain of tight muscles and a blistering pulse.

  Not even the hot water could help leach the tension out of me. I lied to myself as the heat poured over me, swore that it wasn’t her that was crawling beneath my skin. I just needed to fight. Needed to feel the dirt floor of the pit beneath me so I could work out the knots along my spine and silence the whispers in my head.

  I needed something. And it couldn’t be found in the lower dungeons. It wouldn’t be found in the gym. But still I knew I would return there to work my body into exhaustion once again.

  It wouldn’t be enough. I knew it as I stepped out of the shower and dried off, knew it as I pulled on a pair of athletic shorts and stretched a T-shirt over my chest and shoulders.

  I needed to fight. Case closed. The end. It was the only thing that would bleed this hatred out of me enough that I didn’t march through the house to find Lisbeth and wring her skinny neck.

  She apologized.

  The fucking bitch.

  As if an apology would set things right. As if it could wipe away years of treating me like shit and then disappearing after my mother was killed.

  Yet, none of that had taken away from my body’s reaction to the sight of her against that pole.

  No woman had excited me to this point in the past five years. Yes, when I’d first started fighting, the prize at the end was worthy of my attention, but eventually even that fell flat. Isabelle did a decent job of keeping me in check, but she hadn’t drawn out my violence in a long time.

  Not like Lisbeth.

  Not like a woman who drove my pulse to pounding and ignited fire inside me unlike anything I’d felt.

  I had to think that my violence had multiple facets, one side bloody and the other...

  It was best not to think of it because Lisbeth could never fill that need, not with how much I hated her.

  Still, I couldn’t get those frightened eyes out of my thoughts, couldn’t stop her voice whispering through my head with the way she’d said please.

  Such a simple word, and yet it held so much power.

  I had no choice but to avoid her as much as possible. Not if I wanted to keep my head on straight and my dick in my pants.

  Once dressed, I stepped into the family rooms to find Franklin drinking his morning coffee and reading the paper. His grey eyes darted to me, the paper crinkling as he folded it to set aside. It was obvious he’d waited to talk, most likely about Lisbeth, but that wasn’t the first thing on my mind.

  “I don’t care what you’ve said before. I’ll be in the ring when the fights resume in a few days.”

  His expression darkened, disapproval written into every line of his face.

  “Although I’m sure you could use the release, I’ll have to insist you change your mind.”

  My lips curled at the corners.

  “Yet, you’re not in a position to make that call. I need this, Franklin. More than you know.”

  He grinned.

  “I would think dragging a woman around the mansion would have been enough.”

  No. Not nearly enough. If anything, it had only driven the violence inside me to a point of boiling over.

  “I’m fighting. That’s all there is to it.”

  Discussion ended, I moved to leave the room, but he called my name.

  “We should talk about Lisbeth.”

  “No,” I growled, my shoulders rolling back as if that could toss the bitch from my thoughts, “we shouldn’t. Not now.”

  Not when I was fighting every instinct I had to storm to her room. And do what?

  That was the fucking question and not one I was willing to explore today. That woman’s name was practically tattooed on every inch of my skin, and I couldn’t trust myself around her.

  “Fine, but we will talk at some point. Go blow off steam or whatever it is you need to do. If you’re dead set on fighting in the next few days, then you’ll need to prepare. We can’t afford to lose you in that ring.”

  Images of the three idiots Moritze had walked into the arena flashed in my head. There was no chance in hell I would lose to one of them.

  I stormed off without answering him. I knew damn well what I needed to do. Not that it was necessary.

  With the rage boiling inside me now, I could step into that ring and end the fight before it even got started, but what fun would that be for the audience? A quick two second kill would only leave them disappointed. It would take restraint to toy with whatever poor bastard stepped in there with me, to give the audience the illusion it had been a fair fight.

  I spent the next few hours in the gym, but the punching bags and weight training were doing little to dilute my temper, the hour I’d spent on the treadmill giving me far too much time to think.

  It didn’t matter what distraction I could find to keep from thinking of Lisbeth, she was always there, glaring up at me with angry blue eyes, her full lips a sharp line. There was violence in her, too, but I already knew that from the way she’d been as a kid.

  I’d closed my eyes and remembered every insult she’d used, every tease, every laugh...every moment she’d forced me to bow down so that she could fix her shoe. The bitch had a habit of intentionally spilling shit on the floor just so she could laugh while I crawled to clean it up for her.

  It was far past time for me to watch her crawl as well.

  “I hear you’re planning on fighting in a few days. What the fuck, Callan? Are you insane?”

  Setting the barbell on the uprights with a loud clang, I sat up on the bench and eyed Isabelle as she stormed toward me.

  “What makes you think I give a shit about your opinion? This has nothing to do with you.”

  She stopped in place, her long brown hair falling in waves over her shoulders, the green dress she wore doing nothing to disguise the generous curves of her body. Isabelle was a beauty that had appeased the foul tempers of many of the arena champions, but she’d forgotten her place if she thought that meant she had the right to question me.

  Still, even with her almond shaped eyes and a set of lips that would drive any man fucking crazy, she didn’t hold a candle to Lisbeth. Maybe it was because Isabelle had grown up on the streets, her childhood much worse than mine because her parents didn’t give much of a shit what happened to her.

  It’s how she ended up here eventually. She was one of the first new slaves we’d offered to the fighters after I’d taken over.

  Having been here so long, she now assisted Colton in the dungeon and was one of the only women I allowed in my suite of rooms. But still, that didn’t mean she was anywhere near the level of having a say in my life.

  “I’m sorry, Callan. I misspoke. It’s just worrying that you’ll risk yourself like that when we all know this entire household would fall apart if something happened to you. Haven’t you fo
ught enough?”

  There was no such thing as enough.

  If it weren’t for the other men wanting their chance in that ring as well, I would be in it every time. Fighting was a fucking addiction that I couldn’t satisfy no matter how many times I entered that ring.

  I wrapped a towel around my neck to dry off the sweat and was reaching for a bottle of water as Isabelle stepped closer to me.

  “You seem stressed. What’s bothering you?”

  Well, you see, there’s a woman in the house that I simultaneously want to strangle and fuck, or strangle while fucking, or...

  Son of a bitch, I had to get Lisbeth off my thoughts.

  “I need something,” I said, the answer truthful but nonspecific. Isabelle smiled with the hope she could fulfill that need.

  For the moment, maybe she could.

  “Pain or pleasure, sir?”

  Both. Not that she could provide them all at once. I’d have to settle for one until another time when I could endure the other.

  My gaze flicked to the shelves that were ten feet in front of us, at the bench that sat along them where Isabelle could help me find some form of relief.

  Following the line of my gaze, her grin stretched into a seductive smile. She didn’t need me to tell her where to go.

  Walking over to the bench on long legs, she sat on the bench to face me, the crook of her finger inviting me to take what I wanted.

  Pushing to my feet to step toward her, I wondered what she would think if she knew it was Lisbeth’s face I saw in my mind.

  Lisbeth

  In four hours, Holly had done a good job of showing me everything that was expected of the cleaning staff. Paying attention had been difficult, though. I wanted nothing to do with all the different scrubs and polishes she explained to me, my eyes constantly seeking out a way I could escape the house without being seen.

  Every time we passed a door leading outside, I didn’t miss the men lingering nearby or the electronic keypads blinking red. The mansion was locked down tight, and I was sure it wasn’t to keep people out, but more to keep me in.

  Two days ago, every door had been accessible without some suited guard standing nearby. I highly doubted some outside threat had occurred at the same time that I’d been forced into employment.

  With no choice but to play well with others, at least until they believed the threat of my running away was far behind, I helped Holly clean several large bathrooms and the sauna attached to the athletic rooms, my body sore from stretching and scrubbing before bending and scrubbing some more.

  “We’ll need fresh towels in the gym. Can you take some in there and stack them on the shelf while I finish here?”

  I dropped the scrubber I was using on the glass walls of the sauna, my arm weighing a thousand pounds where it hung from my aching shoulder.

  “Sure. Where are they?”

  Holly pointed to a closet.

  “You’ll find clean towels in there. The gym is right through that opposite door.”

  Thankful to step away from scrubbing, if even for a few minutes, I stepped out of the sauna and headed in the direction she’d indicated.

  Grabbing as many white towels as I could, I marched into the gym, the terry cloth tower in my arms concealing my eyes so that all I could do was watch my path on the floor as I walked toward the shelving units.

  Someone was inside, if the grunts were any indication, a steady spurt of gravel followed by a deep exhalation.

  I couldn’t see who was working out, but it didn’t really matter to me either. I had every intention of stacking the towels and getting the hell out of there.

  Before I could reach the shelves, a female voice floated through the air.

  I hear you’re planning on fighting in a few days. What the fuck, Callan? Are you insane?

  The mention of his name stopped me in place, my heart shooting straight to my throat where it pounded like a jackhammer. I attempted to peek around the towels at the woman who spoke, but they only tipped in one direction, damn near toppling over before I could pull them in place again.

  I tried not to think about the need I felt to see the woman who could speak to Callan that way. She had to be a girlfriend or somebody important and the curiosity was getting to me.

  What makes you think I give a shit about your opinion? This has nothing to do with you.

  Or maybe not.

  He spoke to her like she was getting on his last nerve.

  But, hey, at least he spoke to her, right? Not that he would do the same for me.

  While they kept talking back and forth, I hesitated in place, wondering if I should hurry forward to stack the towels or turn and run.

  The shelving units were practically a solid wall, though, with only thin slats open to the gym beyond. The chances of them seeing me were slim.

  I stepped forward and attempted to ignore the conversation.

  It had been somewhat easy up until Callan admitted he needed something, and the woman asked whether it was pleasure or pain.

  My stomach fluttered over those words, but I bit the inside of my cheek and fought to let it go, choosing instead to begin stacking the towels from the bottom shelf to the top.

  Crouching down, I froze in place when the woman sat on the bench just on the other side of the shelf from me, her voice going quiet as heavy footsteps approached her.

  Angling my head just right, I could see through to where Callan was standing, my heart lurching with one painful thump to see him only partially dressed.

  He was magnificent. There was no other word that came to mind, his body primed and ready, a dizzying form of smooth, hard muscle and slick skin from sweat.

  My eyes danced over every shadowed ridge of his abdomen, up higher to a broad chest and a set of shoulders that shouldn’t have been real. My gaze caught on the swirl of a tattoo I hadn’t noticed before, the line of it leading down his right arm to define the bulge of his bicep.

  I think I stopped breathing for a while as I studied him, my eyes wide and thighs clenched.

  Callan, regardless of everything I hated about him, was undeniably gorgeous. As if his attitude and eyes weren’t dangerous enough, whatever God had designed him wanted to make sure that his body was the most lethal of weapons and the most tempting of lures.

  And while I’d crouched there frozen in place, he’d walked forward to approach the woman on the bench, his arms reaching forward to lock his hands on the shelf while she angled her head up to look at him while her fingers slid over the waistband of his shorts.

  One tug and those shorts slid down his muscular thighs to crumple on the floor at his feet. I stifled a groan to see what else the gods had endowed him with.

  The woman reached to grip the thick shaft of his cock, but his hand moved so fast to grab her wrist that she squeaked, a visible tremble over her body, her other hand reaching up until he could trap them both in his strong fingers and lift her arms over her head. Pinning them back against the shelf so far that her chest arched forward, he said one word only, a command that was impossible to ignore.

  “Open.”

  Her lips must have fallen apart, not that I could see them. But mine opened as well. And as soon as I realized what I was doing I snapped my mouth closed and blushed.

  Callan stepped forward and the woman’s mouth took every inch of him, a slow crawl of rock hard flesh over pouty lips. How the hell wasn’t she choking?

  The question faded as soon as his body moved, and I damn near lost it to see the way the muscles in his abdomen rolled and flexed with each thrust of his hips, almost moaned to hear the wet sounds coming from the woman’s mouth as she struggled to suck his dick.

  Holy.

  Fucking.

  Shit.

  It wasn’t like I was an innocent virgin witnessing sex for the first time, but I still had never experienced something as hot as this.

  It was only then that I shook myself of the fascination and realized I should not be crouching where I was. Callan hated me e
nough. For this, he would kill me.

  Quickly stuffing towels away, I slowly pushed to my feet as I filled each shelf, my eyes seeking each tiny slit to peek through as I stuffed the last towel in.

  I was at my full height when I dared look one more time and found a pair of whiskey eyes pinning mine through the slat. My heart stopped with a painful rattle.

  Oh my God...

  Callan’s dark stare didn’t waver. His body didn’t stop fucking that woman’s face. And she had no idea I was standing here.

  But he did.

  Knowing I was as good as dead when this moment ended, I was still a rabbit trapped.

  Unable to move.

  Unable to breathe.

  Unable to will my heart to start again while he held me in that cruel stare.

  The corner of his perfect mouth tugged up into a smirk, his body moving with more force, more speed, so much that the woman choked.

  As his lips parted and she whimpered in complaint, his eyes shut, and he thrust forward one more time with a single deep-voiced command.

  “Swallow.”

  I did. My throat moved over nothing, but I followed the instruction regardless.

  Even if it wasn’t spoken to me.

  There was never a better time to get the fuck out of a place then at that moment. And once released from his eyes, I somehow forced my legs to move, practically running as I left the gym to find Holly.

  She was still scrubbing away without any clue that I’d be dead before the night’s end.

  “Did you get them all put away?”

  Her blue eyes turned to me, a sweet smile adorning her face.

  It took effort to answer.

  “Yep. Are we done here?”

  Her brows tugged together in the center, the smile fading.

  “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  It felt like it, too, but I didn’t tell her that. This ghost from my past was as real as any threat, as real as the knife he’d probably use to slit my throat.

  “I’m fine. Can we go?”

  She dropped her sponge into a bucket and stripped the yellow gloves from her hands.