Now I was left standing in place.
I was surrounded by extravagance and luxury, by beautiful women and powerful men.
Yet, even when surrounded, I would never be the same. I would always be a servant. I’d always be ashamed.
There was an incongruency within myself because I knew somehow that this wasn’t the life I should have lived. I was small on the outside but larger than life inside my skin.
I was better than them.
They just didn’t know it.
Anger coursed through my veins just as fingers snapped at my back, a chorus of laughter rising up to draw my attention around.
There was one other rule with Lisbeth I hated: never make eye contact unless she was the one to initiate it.
An entire life spent always glancing at her cheek or a shoulder or her shoes.
But when I spun to face her this time, I narrowed my eyes on hers, her laughter fading off when our stares locked, and her smile fell.
She actually flinched before regaining herself enough to scowl.
“Shouldn’t you be leaving now? You’re a servant here. The help. Nobody invited you to attend the party.”
A grin stretched my lips, something taking over me that I’d allowed this bitch of a girl to beat down every single day.
But I’d noticed her falter for just one second, at least. I noticed the moment she’d hesitated.
I was just as powerful as her, if not more so.
Lifting her glass of champagne to my mouth, I kept my stare locked to hers while I drank the sparkling liquid down. Her lips parted for just a second before she stepped back to turn away.
As her entourage stormed off behind her, I knew what just a small amount of power would feel like.
I wanted more of it.
In that moment, I’d changed.
. . .
A palm slapped my cheek. Once. Twice. The third more urgent as my name was called.
“Callan. Get up.”
I moved my head, and a hammer pounded inside my skull. Mouth dry, I forced my eyes apart, the pounding only coming faster and harder.
“Get up, damn it. Now.”
Wanting to shake off the disorientation, I didn’t dare move my head too fast in one direction or the other. Above me, a blurry figure stood, his face backlit by the light of one of the three ornate chandeliers that hung in the ballroom.
“Franklin...”
Fuck. It hurt to talk.
“Get up. Now.”
His voice was a whip crack through the silent room, the warning enough to pull me from my confusion. I placed a hand down on the floor beneath me to push my body up, but stopped when I felt a cold, thick liquid coat my skin.
Blood.
So much of it that as I managed to force myself up from where I’d been sleeping, I opened my eyes wider to see I was lying in a pool of it.
The horror show hit me a second later, my head turning slowly to see the pile of bodies, one after the other, all dressed in their expensive gowns and pressed tuxedos, all dead where they lay.
“What the fuck happened?”
There must have been over a hundred, all silent, their eyes open and jaws slack.
“We need to go,” Franklin insisted, his hand reaching for mine.
I moved to grab him so he could pull me up.
My brows tugged together, and I looked up at Franklin only for him to snatch my hand and tug me to my feet, his grip latching onto my shoulder when I stumbled back. I turned in a circle where I stood and took in the extent of death surrounding me.
Not one person had made it out of the ballroom. All of them mowed down by bullets to die where they’d fallen.
I looked for one person among the piles. One white gown. One scowl on a beautiful face that had called to me all my life.
Franklin grabbed my arm and pulled me forward.
“She’s not here.”
I spun to look at him.
“Lisbeth is gone,” he explained, his tone hurried. “And we need to be gone as well before anybody finds this.”
My clothes were soaked with blood, white shirt now crimson, my pants sticking to my legs. I allowed Franklin to pull me along, careful to step over outstretched arms and crumpled bodies, over men who’d tried to shield women and servants who never stood a chance.
Frantic, I searched for another face among the many, tugging my arm from Franklin’s grip to reach for every uniformed body.
“She’s dead,” he told me while grabbing me again. “They’re all dead. We have to go.”
Franklin led me through a set of double doors and away from the abattoir.
I never had the chance to find my mother.
Callan
Ten years later
“Antonio Moritze claims he has three new recruits that he’ll debut within the next few weeks. He says they’ll give us a run for our money.”
The conference room broke out in muffled laughter, six men around a large table attempting to disguise their mirth with hands over their mouths.
Everybody knew Moritze enjoyed making claims that were far above his station, none ever having much worth. Not when he led men into the pit whose bodies would later be dragged out on stretchers.
I relaxed against my seat, bored as fuck, not giving much of a damn about anything Moritze claimed or the other myriad of topics my men wanted to discuss. The only reason I was sitting here today was because Franklin had a meeting he needed to attend, something he claimed to be important, although he wouldn’t explain the details.
He was due to arrive back within the hour and bring me up to speed. In the meantime, I had to sit at this table and pretend that anything these men had to say meant something to me.
“What do you think, Callan? Are you nervous?”
Turning my head, I locked eyes with Benny Goodman, a broad shouldered man with a large scar that lined his jaw. He was a fighter, like me, but had taken one too many a beating and had to retire. He was also twenty years older, his body no longer able to move as quick to avoid the sometimes lethal blows dealt in the pit.
“I’m not worried. Why would I be? None of Mortize’s men have lasted longer than one round. He keeps leading them in like lambs to slaughter.”
Benny arched a brow while the rest of the men nodded their heads. Still, Benny wasn’t convinced. He’d been prodding at me for years seeking out any weakness.
“As head of the Rose family, you should be worried. They’re itching to take you down.”
My mouth quirked at the corner.
“Then give them flea shampoo, and be done with it. The next fight is in two weeks. He can debut thirty fighters, and I wouldn’t care.”
Benny scowled, but the expression didn’t bother me. It wasn’t the first time someone had looked at me with contempt, and it wouldn’t be the last.
I drummed my fingers on the table. “Are we done here?”
Colton Lawrence opened a folder and turned to me. Sleazy as shit with greased hair and a shady temperament, he was the perfect man to run one of our other enterprises.
“We have some new girls who want to work at the club. I’ve questioned them about just how much they’re willing to take following the fights. As usual, they were enthusiastic. But they’ll need to be trained.”
My eyes slid his direction, the corner of my mouth curling.
“Let me guess? They saw a fight and can’t wait to have one of the men between their legs?”