had done all along, I had to assume it was in my blood.
There were thorns beneath these pretty petals. I just had to find them. Even if they were only for show.
Antonio laughed, his eyes studying me.
“Enjoy the show tonight, Lisbeth. I’m sure it will be eye opening for you.”
Callan won’t die, I promised myself. It was a mantra in my head as Antonio walked away.
A few minutes later, the lights above the audience dimmed and those above the ring blazed brighter. Holly stood a few feet from me at the bar. Her tray was being loaded with drinks, but her eyes were locked on me.
Turning to stare down into the ring, I felt glued in place, my feet heavy like anvils and every muscle locked against my bones. Blood thundered in my head, the rush of it making me dizzy. The first indication that anything was beginning was the slow creak of a large set of wooden gates swinging open.
The audience was silent around me, disturbingly so, everybody’s focus on the dirt oval beneath us, at a space bordered by twenty foot walls, on a ramp that opened to the ground once those large gates were fully open.
My eyes scraped down the aged wood, over large, heavy black hinges and down farther to see one man standing at the entrance of the ring, his back to me, his shoulders broad beneath a black suit.
Before him, two men approached, their bodies stripped from the shadows as they stepped into the glow of light.
My eyes went to Callan first, heat blooming in my chest to recognize the set of his broad shoulders, the bulk of his arms, a set of abs that ran to his waist with so many bright ridges and shadowed valleys that I melted every time I saw his body.
He stood with his legs shoulder width apart, his expression blank, black hair gleaming beneath the lights above. Both his hands were taped in green, his body covered only in a pair of black athletic shorts.
Beside him, another man stood. He had the same build, if not bulkier. He wasn’t as sculpted as Callan, his waistline thicker and less defined. He radiated the promise of absolute violence. I recognized him as one of the men who’d visited the arena that day with Antonio. He looked like a fucking psychopath. A smile stretched his lips as if he couldn’t wait for bloodshed.
They stopped in front of the third man, facing him.
The suited man must have been mic’d, his voice a booming sound across the audience.
“Do you both understand that this fight is to the death? One winner. One loser. Once you step inside and the gates close, there is no turning back.”
I understood then that the ring was hidden in the sham facade of a warehouse because it wasn’t legal. My family’s money was dipped in blood, just like Callan had told me. It made me sick to think about it, horrified to wonder how many people had died so that I could sleep on silk sheets and live a life wanting nothing.
Wasn’t their life as valuable as mine?
Callan and his opponent nodded their head in unison, the suited man nodding back before stepping aside to let them into the ring.
Around me, the audience began shouting, their feet stomping the floors, demanding blood.
So engrossed in watching Callan, I’d forgotten there were people watching me. When a hand landed on my shoulder, I jumped again, my heart lodging uncomfortably in my throat.
I spun in place to find Connor at my back.
“You’re supposed to be serving drinks,” he reminded me, but despite his blank expression and aggressive presence, his words were lined with amusement.
Shaking my head, I opened my mouth to respond, but the audience screamed louder, and my head shot around to see Callan facing his opponent in the center of the ring, their bodies set and prepared for battle.
Connor’s chest brushed my back, his voice soft against my ear.
“Are you worried for him?”
Movement caught my eye, and I glanced over to see the large gates swinging closed. They slammed together with a bang of finality. One man had to die for them to open again.
Nodding my head to answer the question, I swallowed and felt a bead of nervous sweat slip down my throat.
“The guy fighting him is a punk,” Connor laughed. “Callan wouldn’t even break a sweat if he didn’t have to pretend the fight was fair to put on a good show.”