I hurry across the road, being sure to keep as close to the wall as possible. I make it into the club unnoticed. I know exactly where I’m going now, and I walk with steady, even paces, my earlier calmness and purpose returning the closer I get to Miller’s office. But now I’m confronted with another obstacle. My shoulders sag. I’d forgotten about the keypad code required to enter Miller’s office. I didn’t think this through properly at all.
What now? The element of surprise won’t work if I have to knock, and he’ll see me on the camera before I get to the door anyway. ‘Idiot,’ I mutter. ‘Fucking idiot.’ Taking a deep breath, I straighten my camisole and close my eyes for a few seconds in an attempt to gather my wits. I feel relatively calm, yet anger still burns in my gut. Damaging anger. It’s all contained, although that may change once I face Miller.
I’m standing in front of the door, under the watch of the camera, before I’ve even instructed my legs to carry me there, and I’m knocking it calmly in quick succession. As I knew they would, Miller’s eyes widen in alarm when he throws the door open, but in the blink of an eye, he has that impassive mask back in place. I begrudgingly note how spectacular he looks. But his jaw is tight, his eyes warning, and his chest is heaving.
He steps out and pulls the door behind him, swiping his hand through his hair. ‘Where’s Ted?’
‘At home.’
His nostrils flare and he whips his phone out, dialling urgently. ‘Get your fucking driver here,’ he spits down the line, before punching in a few more buttons and taking the phone back to his ear. ‘Tony, I won’t ask how the fuck Olivia got past you.’ He’s whispering, but the hushed tone doesn’t eliminate the authority. ‘Come and get her, and watch her until Ted arrives. Don’t let her out of your sight.’ He stuffs his phone in his inside pocket and hits me with blazing eyes. ‘You shouldn’t have come here, not when things are so delicate.’
‘What’s delicate?’ I ask. ‘Me? Am I the delicate thing you don’t want to break or upset?’
Miller leans into me, slightly lowering his frame to get our faces level. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You think I’m fragile and weak.’
‘I think you’re being forced to deal with things that are beyond your ability, Olivia,’ he whispers, making it plain and clear. ‘And I haven’t got a fucking clue how to make it less painful for you.’
Our stares hold for the longest time, mine lifting to maintain our connection when he straightens up, rising to his full height. The agony in his expression nearly floors me.
‘Are you trying to send me over the edge?’ he whispers, not coming closer to comfort me. I need his thing, so I move in, but he steps back, shaking his head in warning. Realisation dawns fast, and I glance up at the security camera above the door. She’s watching us.
‘Why is she here?’ My voice is even and strong.
‘Who?’ Miller’s face is guarded and guilty. ‘No one’s here.’
‘Don’t lie to me.’ My chest begins to puff under the strain to breathe through my anger. ‘How much did you miss her?’
‘What?’ He checks over his shoulder again, and I seize the opportunity, using his momentary lapse in focus to push past him. ‘Olivia!’
I land in his office less ladylike than I would have hoped, but I soon find my composure, flicking my hair over my shoulder and tucking my purse under my arm. Then I smile as I cast my eyes to where I know she’ll be. I’m not wrong. Reclined in Miller’s office chair, legs crossed, wearing a cream trench coat and drawing on a long, slender cigarette, is Sophia. The air of superiority suffocating me is potent. She’s smiling slyly, looking at me with interest. It’s only now I wonder how she got my number. It’s inconsequential. She wanted to pull me from my hiding place and she’s succeeded. I’ve played right into her hands.
‘Sophia.’ I make sure I’m the first to break the painful silence, and I also ensure I hold my own. ‘It looks like you beat me to him this evening.’ I detect two things the moment I finish speaking – Sophia’s mild surprise because I can see it plain and clear in the slight parting of her red lips, and Miller’s unease multiplying by a million, because I can feel him twitching behind me. ‘I’ll just help myself to a drink before I leave.’ My high heels carry me across to the drinks cabinet and I pour myself a tall, straight vodka.
‘Sweet girl, I’m not stupid.’ Sophia’s haughty tone makes my confidence vanish.
I close my eyes and try to steady my trembling hands, and when I’m sure I’ve reined in my shakes, I take the glass and turn to face my spectators. I’m being regarded carefully by both parties – Sophia thoughtful, Miller nervous – as I slowly bring the highball to my lips. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’ I swig the whole glass back and gasp before filling it again.
The tension in the room is palpable. I look across to Miller, only mildly registering condemnation on his face. I swig my second glass and slam it down, making him physically flinch. I want Miller to feel what I’m feeling. I want to take that resilient part of him and hurt it. It’s all I know.
‘I mean,’ Sophia starts confidently, looking at me with a slight curve on her red lips, ‘you’re in love with him and you think you can have him. You can’t.’
I don’t deny her conclusion. ‘Because you want him.’
‘I have him.’
Miller doesn’t argue with her or put her straight, and when I look at him, I see that there is no intention to. I can’t even locate the sensibility to convince myself that there must be good reason, so pouring another shot of vodka for good measure, I saunter across to him. He’s standing like a statue by the door, hands in pockets, clearly brimming with aggravation. He looks at me with the expressionless, emotional beauty that captured me in the first place. It’s rife. His defence mechanism is on lockdown. I stop before his tall, motionless form and gaze up, noting the slight pulse of his dark stubbled jaw. ‘I hope you’re happy in your darkness.’
‘Don’t fucking push me, Olivia.’ His mouth barely moves, his words hardly audible, but they are loaded with threat . . . which I totally ignore.
‘See you around.’ I slam the door behind me and navigate the maze of corridors urgently, finding the stairs and taking them two at a time while knocking back my third vodka, eager to get to the bar and maintain the numbness that the alcohol has incited.
‘Livy?’
I look up and see Tony and Cassie standing at the top of the stairs, both frowning down at me. I have nothing to say to either of them, so I bypass them and round the corner to the main club.
‘Livy,’ Tony calls. ‘Where’s Miller?’
I swing around, finding both of their expressions have morphed into worry. And I know why. ‘In his office,’ I say, walking backwards so as not to delay my escape. ‘With Sophia.’ Tony curses and Cassie looks genuinely worried, but I don’t waste time evaluating the cause for their concern. My overwhelming need to stake my claim is there, but so is the need to hurt Miller after hearing that call and Sophia state with such confidence that Miller belongs to her. I know he doesn’t, he knows he doesn’t, but his lack of input and the memory of him telling her he missed her has fired me up.
Weaving my way through the crowd, the powerful beats of NiT GriT’s “Prituri Se Planinata” assaulting my hearing, I arrive at the bar and slam down my empty glass with a twenty. ‘Vodka and tonic,’ I demand. ‘And a tequila.’ My order is delivered hastily, my change just as fast, and I’m throwing back the tequila immediately, followed closely by the vodka. The liquid burns its way down to my stomach, making me close my eyes and feel out my throat. It doesn’t deter me, though. ‘Same again,’ I shout once he’s done with the guy next to me. The numbing of everything – my mind, my body, my heart – is intensifying with every swig of alcohol, the feeling of misery slipping away fast. I like it. A certain sense of detachment is building.
I lean against the bar and cast my eyes across the club. My gaze drifts over the hordes of people, taking my time, my drink poised at my lips
, wondering whether my lack of urgency to lose myself amid the crowds and wreak havoc on my part-time gentleman’s sanity is my subconscious telling me not to be rash, that I need to stop drinking, sober up and think hard about what’s happening and why.
Maybe.
Probably.
Undoubtedly.
I may be on my way to a drunken stupor, but I can still appreciate that dormant reckless gene that had me willingly seeking out my mother’s clients and lowering myself to a level that I can’t bear to accept. Feeling the familiar fizzing of internal fireworks, my eyes dart around the club less casually now, more panicked, and I catch sight of him stalking towards me.
Oh shit. Any notion I had that Miller wouldn’t rein me in under the circumstances has just been dramatically crushed. He looks homicidal, and I’m clearly the sole focus of his anger.
He makes it to me, his lips straight, his eyes dark, and takes the drink from my hand. ‘Never serve this girl again,’ he barks over my shoulder, keeping his eyes on me.
‘Yes, sir,’ comes a timid reply from behind.
‘Get out,’ Miller breathes down on me. He’s barely containing himself. A quick flick of my eyes over his shoulder confirms Sophia is standing across the club, chatting with a man, but her eyes are rooted firmly in our direction. Interested eyes.
My shoulders square of their own volition and I reclaim my drink from behind me. ‘No,’ I whisper before taking a sip.
‘I’ve asked once.’
‘And I’ve told you once.’
He reaches for my glass again, but I pull away and attempt to escape by dipping past Miller. I don’t get far before Miller’s grip on the top of my arm stops me. ‘Let go.’
‘Don’t cause a scene, Olivia,’ he says, snatching the drink from my hand. ‘You are not staying in my club.’
‘Why?’ I ask, unable to stop him from pushing me on. ‘Because I’m interfering with your business?’ I’m yanked to a stop and swung around.
He pushes his face to mine, so close I’m certain it could look like he’s kissing me from afar. ‘No, because you have a fucking nasty habit of letting other men taste you when you’re pissed off with me.’ His eyes drop down to my mouth, and I can tell he’s fighting the urge to tackle it – to taste me. His hot breath on my face burns away some of my anger, making way for another heat. But he pulls back, face straightening as he takes a step away from me. ‘And I won’t think twice about breaking them in half,’ he whispers.
‘I’m really pissed off with you.’
‘So am I.’
‘You said you missed her. I heard it, Miller.’
‘How?’ He doesn’t even deny it.
‘Because she called my phone.’
His breathing deepens. I can see it and I can hear it. I’m claimed and swung around, being pushed on harshly.
‘Trust me,’ he spits. ‘I need you to trust me.’
He shoves me roughly through the crowd as I try to desperately cling to my faith in him. My legs are unstable and my mind even more so. People are watching us, standing back and moving aside as they throw inquisitive looks at us. I spend no time studying their faces . . . until I clap eyes on a familiar one.
My eyes fix on the man, my head turning slowly as we pass to maintain my view. I know him, and by the look of recognition on his face, he knows me, too. He smiles and moves to intercept us, leaving Miller no option but to stop. ‘Hey, no need to escort the young lady out,’ he says, tipping his drink to Miller. ‘If she’s too intoxicated, I’ll happily take responsibility of her.’
‘Move.’ Miller’s tone is deadly. ‘Now.’
The guy shrugs mildly, unaffected, or simply unbothered by the threat lacing Miller’s words. ‘I’ll save you the hassle of ejecting her.’
My eyes drop from his intent stare, thinking hard. Where do I know him from? But then I flinch and step back when I feel my hair being played with. The cold chills creeping onto my neck tell me it’s not Miller indulging in the feel of my wild blonde. It’s the stranger.
‘Feels just like it did all those years ago,’ he says wistfully. ‘I’d pay just for the pleasure of smelling it again. I’ve never forgotten this hair. Still turning tricks?’
All breath is sucked from my lungs when realisation sucker punches me in the stomach. ‘No,’ I gasp, moving back and colliding with Miller’s chest.
The heat and tremors firing off him and soaking into me are all indicative of psychotic Miller, yet the focus I need to appreciate that danger is being sucked up by unrelenting flashbacks – flashbacks I’ve managed to push to the back of my mind. I can’t now. This man has awakened them, brought them thundering forward. They make me grip my head with my hands, make me wince and shout in frustration. They won’t go. They’re attacking me, forcing me to witness a mental re-run of encounters from my past that I’ve wrestled to the dark, hidden place at the back of my mind for so long. Now they’ve been set free and nothing can stop them from charging forward. Memories are circulating repeatedly, burning into the back of my eyes. ‘No!’ I shout, my hands shifting to my hair and yanking, knocking the stranger’s grip from my strands.
I feel my body cave under the shock and distress, every muscle giving up on me, yet I don’t fold to the floor, and that is because the vice-like grip on my upper arm is holding me up. I’m numb to my surroundings, everything dark from my clenched eyes, everything silent from my mental lockdown. But that doesn’t rid me of my awareness to the ticking bomb holding on to me.
He’s gone from beside me in the blink of an eye, leaving me crumbling to the floor from my lack of support. My palms slap the hard ground, sending shock waves up my arms, and my hair tumbles around me. The sight of my golden tresses pooling in my lap makes me feel sick; it’s all I can see, so I throw my head up and choke on nothing when I face the stomach-turning sight of Miller in psychotic action. It’s all in slow motion, making every bloodcurdling collide of his fist to the guy’s face repulsively clear. He’s relentless, repeatedly striking his victim over and over, roaring his rage as he does. The music has stopped. People are screaming. But not one person steps forward to intervene.
I sob, wincing constantly as Miller continues to rain punches into the man’s face and body, spraying blood everywhere. There’s no fight in the poor guy. He isn’t being given any opportunity to fight back. He’s completely helpless.
‘Stop him!’ I scream, catching sight of Tony to the side, looking on with dread on his rough face. ‘Please, stop him.’ I drag myself from the floor with some determined effort. No one in their right mind would try to intervene. I painfully accept that, and when the focus of Miller’s rage collapses lifelessly to the floor and Miller still doesn’t relent, starting to kick him in the stomach, I succumb to my need to escape.
I can’t watch anymore.
I run away.
I’m sobbing as I fight my way through the crowds, my face stinging and swollen from my tears, not that anyone notices. Everyone’s attention is still on the mayhem behind me, the sick arseholes unable to tear their eyes away from the gruesome scene unfolding. I stagger and stumble, distraught and disorientated, to the entrance of Ice. Making it to the pavement outside, I cry gut-wrenching tears, my body shaking uncontrollably as I frantically search out a cab to take me away, but my opportunity to escape is lost when I’m grabbed from behind. It’s not Miller; I know that much. There are no fireworks or burning need rising within me.
‘Inside, Livy.’ Tony’s troubled voice sinks into my ears and I’m on the move with not a hope of fighting him off.
‘Tony, please,’ I beg. ‘Please, let me go.’
‘Not a fucking chance.’ He guides me to the stairs that lead down to the maze under Ice. I don’t understand. Tony hates me. Why would he want me to stay when Miller needs to focus on this world? A world that’s now all too clear.
‘I want to leave.’
‘You’re going nowhere, girl.’
I’m being pulled and pushed around corners, down corridors. ‘Why
?’
The door to Miller’s office is opened and I’m pushed inside. I turn to face Tony, finding his stocky body heaving, his jaw tight. A finger comes up and points in my face, making me recoil slightly. ‘You’re not leaving, because when that maniac has finished beating that man to death, he’s gonna be asking for you. He’s gonna want to see you! And I’m not risking him going in for round two when he can’t find you, Livy! Stay where you fucking are!’ He walks out, slamming the door ferociously, leaving me standing in the middle of Miller’s office, eyes wide, heart thundering.
There’s still no music coming from the club above. I’m alone and useless in the bowels of Ice, with only stark silence and Miller’s stark office for company. ‘Arhhhhhhhhhhh!’ I scream in a delayed reaction to Tony’s tactic, my hands delving into my treacherous blonde and wrenching aimlessly, like I can pull the events of the past half hour from my head. ‘I hate you!’ My eyes wince shut from the physical pain I’m causing myself, the tears kicking in again. I don’t know how long I spend pointlessly wrestling with myself, it feels like eons, and it’s only physical exhaustion and a sore scalp that make me stop. I whimper as I turn in circles, my mind a riot, unwilling and unable to let any cognitive thought settle and calm me. It’s only the sight of Miller’s drinks cabinet that pulls the futile whirling of my body to a stop.
Alcohol.
I run over and clumsily pull a random bottle from the throng of others, sniffling and choking on my emotions as I unscrew the cap and tip it to my lips. The instant scald of the alcohol on my throat works wonders at burning away the focus of my thoughts, leaving me gasping and wincing at the discomfort and potent taste.