tonight, I nodded my head, my steps steady as we approached the doors to the main room, the guard nodding his head in Callan’s direction before opening the door to let us through.
I wore a black dress that was tight around the bodice but flared out at the hips, my short height pushed up three inches by stiletto heels that strapped up my ankles.
Callan was dressed up as well, and to say the man cleaned up well was an understatement. The seams of his suit jacket fought against the breadth of his shoulders, the white shirt beneath doing nothing to hide the lethal strength of a fighter.
It surprised me to see him in something other than his usual casual attire, but he’d explained that on the nights he didn’t fight, Franklin insisted he represent the Rose family in the way most expected.
It was still early enough when we arrived that the spectators hadn’t filled the seats yet. Even though the only people around us were the guards and other various staff members employed by our family, the air was already charged with the violence I knew was to come.
I was on edge after my conversation with Callan in the car. He warned me about Antonio Moritze, explained that his father was the man who I was being sold to due to a blackmail attempt. Frightened to hear that a threat against the family was still very much real, I looked to Callan with the assurance that he would find a way to protect me.
Still, I was a Rose, a member now in good standing, and I wouldn’t betray any weakness when facing a man who hoped to hurt us all if he wasn’t given what he was after.
Griping Callan’s hand tighter as we rounded the top edge of the walls surrounding the pit, I kept up with his quick pace, my head held high as we entered the viewing box I remembered seeing Franklin and Jacob in the last time there was a fight.
Already, Franklin was there, Jacob next to him with a bandage around his sprained ankle. Franklin, as usual was dressed to impress, but Jacob wore a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt.
I assumed the fighters weren’t held to the same standards as the rest of us when it came to appearance on these nights.
“Gentlemen,” Callan said as we approached. “Is everything ready?”
You could tell Jacob was still pissed about not being able to fight tonight, his eyes catching Callan’s and narrowing slightly. The expression faded, though, his head nodding in answer.
“Connor’s downstairs getting prepped. Colton will be bringing Melinda in as the slave tonight.”
“She’s new,” Callan commented, his palm slapping against Jacob’s in that weird male bonding thing they always did. I wondered briefly if the handshake was taught to them as soon as they left the womb. Everybody with a dick seemed to know it.
“She’s ready,” Franklin answered, his eyes scanning the arena as if looking for something. “The guests should begin arriving soon. I’m surprised Moritze hasn’t brought his guy in yet.”
Jacob laughed. “Maybe we lucked out and they decided not to come. Anybody he brings has to know he’ll be leaving in a body bag.”
While they talked, I turned to watch the staff working quickly to prepare the arena. Already, most of them had changed out of their cleaning uniforms and into the sleazy server outfits I remembered all too well.
Thankfully, Holly wasn’t asked to come tonight, and I wouldn’t have to worry about her, but I wondered if it would be possible to make changes to the system Franklin had in place. It wasn’t fair that women be subjected to the rude comments and wandering hands of the assholes who filled this place when the fights began.
Making a mental note to talk to Callan about it, I watched as the double doors opened and guests poured in, a low din of conversation starting as the seats were slowly filled. Like last time, every person was dressed as if attending a semi-formal event. Expensive suits mixed with the flash of sequins and silk of the dresses their female companions wore.
Dread filled me as the audience grew larger with the passing minutes, my eyes scanning for one person in particular.
Warm breath cascaded down my neck as a mouth pressed to my ear. “Are you okay?”
I shivered at the feel of Callan’s lips, at the strength of his body when I pressed closer.
“Just nervous,” I admitted.
“About Moritze?”
Turning so that our gazes met, I was struck