the reason Callan died. And I didn’t want to be the reason he hurt.
It didn’t make sense to me why I mattered to him.
“I don’t want to go up there. Take me somewhere else. To the fucking dungeon for all I care. I don’t want to be around him.”
Sympathy flooded Franklin’s face.
“It’s too late for that, I’m afraid. You’re his personal servant now. He won’t let you go until you force him to never want to see you.”
Tears ran down my face, my body shaking.
“Why did you bring me here then? Why did you beg me to come back?”
Franklin’s head fell forward, exhaustion heavy on his shoulders.
“I didn’t think he’d fall for you again.”
Eyes lifting to mine, sincerity shone behind the steel color.
“Callan might not know it, but the rest of us do. Underneath all the hatred he has for you, there’s more. He was in love with you as a kid. Despite everything you did. And I’m only realizing now that it never went away.”
Shaking his head, a bark of humorless laughter flew from his chest.
“Hell if I know the reason why.”
Callan
The hot water from the shower stung my back, my teeth clenching as it washed away whatever blood leaked from the small wounds.
Colton was a master with the whip. He knew how to deliver the pain of it without scarring the skin. Not like the assholes who’d hurt me as a kid. Those bastards had ripped the skin open and laughed when I cried. They’d enjoyed the torment, the punishment.
If they hadn’t died during the night of Lisbeth’s ball, I would have killed them myself once I was big enough. If you asked me, I’d tell you they got off far too easy, far too quick.
A bullet is nothing compared to years of having your skin flayed open and stitched together. It’s nothing compared to the agony of returning to work for the girl who’d lied and caused the punishment in the first place.
Jacob and Franklin - hell, even Colton - hated what I did to prepare for a fight. But it renewed me in a way. It reminded me why I carried such violence.
The whip was a tap on a keg, the crack of it releasing the pain that needed to flow. It sharpened my mind, made me dangerous until the moment my opponent’s blood was spilled and I could release it all.
I didn’t just breathe violence, I was violence, the embodiment of it, my body vibrating with the vibrant, red frequency of rage.
The water ran cold after a while. I shut it off, grabbed a towel and was walking into the bedroom when I noticed the brat standing awkwardly by my door.
She shouldn’t have been there. I should have known to keep her away until the fight. But it was too late now to send her off, everything inside me ignited, desire fanning the flames and charring the edges of bitter memory.
As much as I wanted to hurt her, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
It takes a certain type to wear cruelty as their armor. Those that have been hurt or are hurting. The ones who can’t find an outlet or a release so they take it out on others.
I had a release in the ring.
But for the beautiful brat, in the years she’d been under her father’s thumb, I had been the only outlet for her rage.
Pedestals have their benefits, but like any good thing, they have their dangers. From so high up, you can never plant your feet on the ground and learn to walk untethered.
For Lisbeth, it was a life lived inside a cage. The gilded bars keeping her safe, while the door kept her trapped inside.
It was a life that wasn’t her own and never would be.
Her hair fell over her shoulder as her eyes lifted to me, a quick flutter of long lashes before they snuck down again. I didn’t mind the way she looked at me, the way her breath caught and her cheeks flushed pink.
“Do you ever wear clothes?”
“Do you want me to?”
Her cheeks blushed pure scarlet, and I wanted to know how far down the color ran.
“It’s not my fault you keep staring when I’m coming out of the shower.”
I turned to walk into my closet, but a rush of air caught my attention. Twisting to look at Lisbeth, I saw horror written across her face.
“Your back,” she explained, her eyes running over every mark, new and old. “What happened?”
“You happened.”
She flinched, sorrow flooding her eyes. Lisbeth’s