Unveiled

  ‘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.

  So I drink some more.

  I gulp it all down until the bottle is empty and I’m hurling it across Miller’s office in a temper, annoyed and deranged. My eyes fall onto the masses of other bottles and I randomly select and swig, turning and staggering over to the bathroom. I collide with the wall, the door, the frame, until I’m propped up against the vanity unit and staring at a mess of a woman in the mirror. Tears black with mascara are streaming down my flushed cheeks, my eyes are glazed and haunted, and my heavy blonde hair is an array of tangled waves, framing my pale face.

  I see my mother.

  I look at my reflection with utter contempt, like it’s my archenemy, like it’s the thing I hate most in the world.

  Right now . . . it is.

  Lifting the bottle to my lips, I glug down more alcohol while holding my own eyes. Then I take a deep breath and stumble over to Miller’s desk
. I pull drawers open, swipe my hands through the precisely placed items within, messing up his perfectly neat arrangements, until I find what I’m looking for. I gaze down at the shiny metal as I flex my hand around the handle, taking sporadic sips from the bottle while I think.

  After staring blankly at my find for an eternity, I stand and wobble back to the bathroom, slamming the bottle down on the counter. I look up at myself, noting an expressionless face, and bring my hand to my head. Clenching a massive chunk of hair, I open the scissors and snap them shut around my locks, leaving me with a handful of blonde and a scraggy section of hair that’s half the length it once was. Strangely, stress seems to flow out of me. So I grab another section and hack it off, too.

  ‘Olivia!’

  I let my drunken head flop to the side where I find Miller at the doorway of the bathroom. He’s a wreck. His dark waves are a chaotic mess, his face and collar are splattered with blood, his suit is ripped, and he’s wet through. His chest is heaving, but I’m unsure whether it’s a result of exertion or if he’s shocked by what he’s found. My expression remains straight, and it’s only now, when I’m seeing the horror on his notoriously impassive face, that I remember all of the times he’s warned me never to cut my hair.

  So I pull at another section and take the scissors to it, chopping away manically.

  ‘Olivia, fuck, no!’ His body flies towards me like a bullet fired from a gun and his hands start to grapple with me.

  ‘No!’ I scream, twisting away, holding on fiercely to the scissors. ‘Leave me! I want it gone!’ I throw my elbow back into his ribs.

  ‘Fuck!’ Miller yells. His teeth are clenched, the pain clear in his tone, yet he refuses to give up. ‘Give me the fucking scissors!’

  ‘No!’ I haul myself forward, finding myself suddenly free, and swing around wildly, just as Miller comes at me. My hands fly up instinctively, my body going into protective mode, and his tall, lean body collides with me, knocking me back a few paces.

  ‘Fuck!’ he roars, and I open my eyes, finding him on his knees before me. I step back some more as I watch him slap a palm over his shoulder. My wide eyes look down at the scissors in my grasp and I see thick red liquid dripping from the blades. I gasp and my grip immediately releases, letting them tumble to the floor at my feet. Then I collapse to my knees as I watch him shrug off his suit jacket on a few winces until I’m confronted with a white shirt soaked in blood.

  I gulp back my fear, my remorse, my guilt. He rips his waistcoat open, followed in quick succession by his shirt, sending buttons popping and flying in all directions. ‘Shit,’ he spits, inspecting his wound – the wound I’m responsible for. I want to comfort him, but my body and mind are on shutdown. I can’t even speak to apologise. Hysterical cries are tumbling from my lips as my shoulders jerk and my eyes are so full of tears, I struggle to see him anymore. My intoxication isn’t helping my distorted vision. It’s unquestionably a good job. Seeing Miller injured and bleeding is bad enough. Knowing I’m the cause for his pain is bordering unbearable.

  And with that thought, I haul myself to the toilet and throw up. It comes and comes, the alcohol still strong and burning my mouth as my hands brace on the seat and my stomach muscles twist and knot. I’m a mess – a frail, wretched soul. Hopeless and living in hopelessness. A cruel world. And I can’t cope.

  ‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ Miller mumbles from behind me, but I’m too remorseful to chance turning and confronting my wrongs.

  My forehead meets the toilet seat when my retching finally subsides. My head is pounding, my heart is aching, and my soul is broken.

  ‘I have a request.’ Miller’s unexpected calm words fuel the after-effects of my breakdown, prompting the tears to redevelop and burst from my eyes. I keep my head where it is, mainly because I haven’t the strength to lift it, but also because I’m still too much of a coward to face him. ‘Olivia, it’s polite to look at me when I’m talking to you.’

  I shake my head and remain in my hiding place, ashamed of myself.

  ‘Damn it,’ he quietly curses, and then I feel his palm on my nape. He doesn’t gently encourage me out. He yanks me, not bothering to be gentle. It doesn’t matter. I can feel nothing. He grabs each side of my face and jerks me forward, but I drop my eyes to the sliver of naked, blood-stained flesh peeking through his open shirt and waistcoat. ‘Don’t deprive me of that face, Olivia.’ He wrestles with my head until I lift my eyes and his sharp features are close enough to focus on. His lips are straight. His blue eyes are wild and bright, and the hollows in his cheeks are pulsing. ‘I have a fucking request,’ he grits. ‘And you’ll fucking fulfil it.’

  A little sob escapes and my whole body sags in my kneeling position, but his hold of my head keeps me up. The few seconds before he speaks feels like an eternity. ‘You won’t ever stop fucking loving me, Olivia Taylor. Do you fucking hear me?’

  I nod in his hold as he scans my wreck of a face and moves in closer, getting forehead to forehead with me. ‘Say it,’ he breathes. ‘Now.’

  ‘I won’t stop,’ I choke through a sob.

  He nods against me and I feel his hands slide to my back and tug me forward. ‘Give me my thing.’ There’s no softness to his command, but the instant calm that descends as the heat of his body starts to blend with mine is all I need. Our bodies collide and we cling to each other like life itself could end if we let go.

  It might.

  The cracks in our existence are gaping wide open now. There’s no hiding from the cruel reality we need to face. The chains. Escaping them. Being on the brink of despair as we face our demons. I just hope we clear those cracks when we leap and don’t fall into the blackness.

  Miller hushes me repeatedly as I shake in his arms, the tightness of his hold not reducing the vibrations in the slightest. ‘Don’t be sad,’ he begs, his voice now taking on a softer edge. ‘Please, don’t be sad.’ He pries my clawed hands from his back and holds them between us, searching my tear-stained face as I sniffle and judder.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I murmur feebly, dropping my eyes to my lap to escape his lovely face. ‘You’re right. I can’t cope with this.’

  ‘There is no you anymore, Olivia.’ His fingertips grip my chin and lift until I’m facing eyes full of determination. ‘There’s only us. We deal with this together.’

  ‘I feel like I know so much yet so little,’ I confess, my words broken and raspy. He’s shared so much with me, some voluntarily, some he was forced, but there are still so many blanks.

  My perfect part-time gentleman inhales a weary breath and blinks slowly as he brings my hands to his mouth and pushes his lips to the back of each. ‘You possess every part of me, Olivia Taylor. For all of the wrongs I have done and all that I am yet to do, I’m asking for your mercy.’ His eyes sink into me beseechingly. I have forgiven him for all that I know, and I will forgive him for all that I don’t. The wrongs he has yet to do? ‘Only your love will see me through this hell.’

  My bottom lip starts to quiver, the lump in my throat growing rapidly. ‘I’ll help you,’ I vow, flexing my hand in his grip until he releases me. I reach up, my movement a little disorientated, until I feel his rough cheek. ‘I trust you.’

  He swallows hard and nods mildly. Determination slowly creeps onto his emotion-soaked face and into his telling eyes, bringing my detached, fraudulent gentleman back into the room. ‘Let me get you out of here.’ His body lifts fluidly to full height and he helps me to my feet. The change in position sends blood rushing to my head and I stagger a little. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I answer, swaying on the spot.

  ‘You’re right,’ Miller says matter-of-factly, like I should know exactly what he’s talking about. I can’t frown my confusion because all of my focus is being used to stop myself face-planting to the floor. ‘Alcohol doesn’t suit you.’ My nape is taken, along with my arm, and I’m led on wobbly legs to the couch in Miller’s office. ‘Sit,’ he orders, helping me down. He kneels before me and shak
es his head as he reaches for my ruined waves. His fingers comb through what’s left of my hair, the pain clear on his handsome face. ‘Still beautiful,’ he murmurs.

  I attempt a smile but struggle, knowing he’s devastated, and glance past him when his office door swings open. Tony stands there for a few moments, taking in the situation. He looks set to burst under pressure. Miller slowly stands and turns, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. They just stare at each other, Tony silently assessing his boss and then me. I feel small and stupid under his watchful eyes and in an attempt to shy away and hide the result of my meltdown, I pull my hair from my face and use the tie on my wrist to secure it in a messy knot.

  ‘What’s the situation?’ Miller asks, reaching up to his shoulder and flinching a little.

  ‘The situation?’ Tony blurts on a sarcastic huff of laughter. ‘We have a fucking mess, son!’ He slams the door and stalks over to the drinks cabinet, quickly pouring a scotch and downing it. ‘I’ve a half-dead bloke out there and crowds of people wondering what the fuck just went down!’

  ‘Damage control?’ Miller asks, taking a shot of scotch himself.

  Tony laughs again. ‘Do you have a time machine? Shit, Miller, what the fuck were you thinking?’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking,’ he spits, making me shrink into the couch, like the root cause of this mess might not be noticed if I make myself small. A flick of Tony’s stressed eyes in my direction confirms I’ve failed in my endeavour. My unreasonable need to hurt Miller has resulted in the bloodbath up in the club and it has confirmed Sophia’s suspicions about the true nature of our relationship. ‘No, you weren’t. Story of your life, son,’ Tony sighs. ‘You don’t go all ape-shit on a guy over a woman who’s a bit of fun!’ He reins in his exasperation and frowns, reaching forward to pull Miller’s shirt aside. ‘A puncture wound?’

  Miller shrugs him off and places his glass down. I’m stunned when he actually tweaks its position before he starts to pull at his shirt. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘Did he have a knife?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Miller repeats slowly, leaving Tony tilting his bald head questioningly. ‘Has Sophia gone?’

  ‘Oh, she’s got her hooks in you deep, my boy. Don’t question her loyalty to Charlie. She’s his fucking wife!’

  My teary eyes widen. Sophia’s Charlie’s wife? And she’s in love with Miller? Charlie holds the keys to Miller’s chains. Does he know Sophia’s in love with his Special One? I didn’t think this web of corruption could get any more tangled.

  Tony attempts to gather himself, taking another drink and bracing his hands on the side of the cabinet, head dropped. ‘Our corrupt lives are fucking real, boy, and attached to our arses for