over and stake his claim.
Even in that he refused me. Although he kept an eye on the exchange between us, he failed to interrupt it. And it was that refusal that made me feel more vulnerable to the man standing in front of me.
He grinned, as if knowing my discomfort, enjoying it.
“We all thought you were stolen the night of your ball. It’s good to see you’re alive and well. Especially after the ugliness of what happened.”
“I’m fine,” I finally managed to choke out, my heart trapped in my throat, pounding a staccato rhythm that made it impossible to talk.
He inclined his head, turning to glance at the arena before swiveling that greasy gaze back to me.
“Are you the prize at the next fight? If so, I might have to test my strength in the ring.”
Prize?
I had no idea what he was talking about.
He reached forward to trap a lock of my hair between his nasty fingers, twisting the strands as his hand outstretched to brush my cheek. I shivered with disgust.
Apparently, Antonio’s unwanted touch had finally been enough to trigger Callan’s aggression. He stormed over to knock Antonio aside, his presence swallowing the space around us, so much so that even the slickness of Antonio’s presence was burned to ash and brushed away.
“I warned you about touching,” Callan growled, his narrowed eyes sharpened into finely-honed blades.
Antonio laughed, but the sound of it was shaky, his false mask of bravery flickering in and out.
“My apologies. It’s difficult not to sample the wares. Especially one as fine as this.”
Wares?
Was I merchandise?
My eyes shot to Callan, but he didn’t look at me, his lethal stare locked on Antonio.
“Playtime is over. Get the fuck out of the arena. Your men know their way around. There’s not much left to do but slaughter them at the next fight.”
Callan’s hand landed on my shoulder to direct me from the chair. Shoving me past Antonio once I was on my feet, he didn’t say a word as he led me to the door guarded by another man and down a set of stairs leading me into the belly of this place.
Once at the bottom, I refused to go through the next door until he explained what the fuck was going on.
Spinning to face him, I opened my mouth to demand answers, but he covered my mouth with his hand, shoved me back against a wall and leaned in so close that I burned beneath the heat radiating off his skin.
“Not a word, Lisbeth. I’m not in the mood for your crap right now. The only reason you’re down here is to stay away from him, but if you make so much as a squeak, I swear I’ll gag you.”
My eyes widened at the threat, my head spinning with so many questions that both whispered and screamed. I wouldn’t ask them. Not now while Callan was like this.
Tears burned at my eyes, but I refused to shed them.
Satisfied that I wouldn’t fight, Callan released my mouth and grabbed my wrist to tug me through the next door. It was a locker room of sorts, a space outfitted with benches and bathrooms, with showers and a gym I could see just around a corner.
And while Callan toweled off and got dressed, I stood silently watching.
What the hell had that man been talking about?
My mother’s voice rang inside my thoughts. The warnings. The reason why she’d somehow removed me from the ballroom that night to take me away and keep me running.
Was Callan planning on selling me off just like my father had?
I saw those women in the dungeon again. I imagined my hands bound by the same chains.
Fear crept in to take its rightful seat, knocking away any lust I’d felt previously.
Callan was not a good man.
He certainly wasn’t my savior.
And there was even more of a desperation in me to escape.
How much time did I have?
That was the question.
Lisbeth
Several hours later and I found myself in the staff dining room, Gretchen watching from a far door while I made a plate of food to devour before being escorted back to the family suites to serve Callan.
After the run in with Mr. Mortize at the pit, Callan drove us back, his voice so utterly silent that my fingers had curled against my palms, half-moon circles indenting my skin from my fingernails. I had so many questions about who the man was, what he had been to my father and why he’d referred to me as a ware, but