as I rained down a small taste of the violence boiling inside me.
Just fuck her.
Franklin had said the same thing.
But as I continued shoving Jacob back with punches that transitioned into kicks, I worried that if I allowed myself to do what I’ve always wanted, I wouldn’t be able to walk away at the end of it.
I’d never let her go.
Even if she begged.
Fucking her would destroy us both in the end.
Lisbeth
A fighting ring.
Never in my years growing up had I known my father was involved in sports. I’d always assumed from his expensive suits and the perfectly put together appearance of everyone around him that my family was involved in the usual businesses, something boring like financial holdings, marketing or accounting.
But fighting?
Scrolling through my memories like a film reel in reverse, I searched the past for images of the same broad shoulders and bloodthirsty expressions of the men who filled the Rose mansion now. I didn’t find one face that made me think of the thud of a powerful punch or the split of skin with a burst of blood. I couldn’t understand how a business such as this had been invisible to me.
But still, that didn’t explain why this place was so bad that Holly had visibly trembled to think of it. Many people were into sports. Even with the violence of this particular one, it wasn’t anything unusual.
It also didn’t offer a reason for the dungeon I’d viewed on the night Callan dragged me through the halls. The tears of those naked women. The welts across their bodies that must have come from thick leather straps.
None of this was making sense.
Casting my eyes between one exit and the other, I noticed how both men Callan had pointed out watched me in their peripheral vision while pretending to be focused on the fighting below.
Regardless of the truth of my father’s business coming to light - the shock that this had been what made our money - I took a moment to study a place that was undeniably impressive.
In a way, I felt like I’d been dragged back to the days of Rome, the sunken ring in the center reminding me of the gladiator arenas. And while there were no lions hunting the men down, no sharp metallic strikes of swords against shields, I still felt fear to look down into a place with insanely high walls and a large double gate at one end with a ramp leading down to the dirt floor beneath.
I could hear cheering in the back of my head, could see the rows of seats filled with spectators, insanity burning behind their eyes while they shouted and jeered for one man to win while the other suffered the misery of defeat. From my vantage point, I could see the light and shadow dance in the muscles of the men fighting, could see the sweat dripping down their skin like beads of diamonds beneath the bright lights in the rafters above my head.
Four men had grouped off, two separate matches filled with hard punches and dizzying kicks, while another man stood off to the side, his eyes focused on the wall closest to me, a mischievous grin stretching his lips a few seconds later.
My breath caught when another man approached him and I recognized the power of his broad shoulders, the seductive stride of his long legs, the strength of his thick, muscular thighs and the faint scars that ran down his back on ladder rungs ending at the waistband of his black shorts.
It wasn’t that I was surprised to see Callan marching out there to enter into a fight. He certainly had the temperament for violence. It was that he always drew my attention, his presence larger than ever, a black shadow that surrounded me like a heavy blanket with the threat of devouring me whole.
Even from up here, I would have sensed him if I hadn’t been watching the ring. I would have known he was near, his energy an ever-present ghost whispering against my ear, a shameful cloak I’ve worn for years - a boy I’d once thought dead who not only returned to my life, but stole it.
I couldn’t help but stare. He was a force of nature, a predator who moved with feline grace, his body a wall against the punches of his opponent. Just one of those hits and I would have been destroyed, but Callan took them one after the other, his muscles flexing with every blow, shadow