‘You should have listened,’ Miller says softly from behind me, making me swing back around. I’m getting dizzy from all this shocked spinning.
‘What?’ I yell. I can tell from his steely gaze and the reluctance of his tone that it kills him to admit that.
His arms are hanging limply by his sides, his wide shoulders slumped, his stance threatening but yielding all at once. I don’t know what to make of this. ‘If Anderson makes a request, Livy, you should listen.’
Just when I thought nothing else could stun me, he says that? ‘He wanted to pick me up. I was with you! And I should listen? Like I should have listened to him when he was telling me continuously to walk away from you?’
Miller’s eyes turn vicious and flick to William across the room. ‘Never listen when he tells you that,’ he seethes.
My head falls back and I look to the heavens for help, wondering who and what I should be listening to. ‘Why do you think Sophia would kidnap me?’ I can’t believe the questions falling from my mouth. I know I need sass to survive Miller Hart, but not a black belt or . . . I gasp, realisation sucker- punching me. ‘Self-defence.’
‘It’s a necessity.’
‘In case one of your jealous whores tries to abduct me?!’
‘Olivia!’ Miller yells, enraged, making my mouth snap shut, startled.
Gregory is suddenly in my line of sight, and I focus on him for a moment, finding his mouth agape, his eyes full of alarm. ‘I can’t believe what I’m hearing,’ he splutters. ‘Are we on the set of The Godfather?’
I close my eyes and shift to the sofa, letting my backside fall in exhaustion to the squidgy cushion. ‘But she didn’t hold me against my will.’ I inhale, searching for sensible questions in a mind awash with craziness. ‘Getting caught up with me will be your demise.’ I look up at him. ‘That’s what she said.’ And while I previously appreciated the absurdity of the warning, Miller’s straight face and telling eyes now make me appreciate the reality. I sit up and swallow hard, not wanting to ask the question tickling the end of my tongue. ‘Was she . . . did she . . . is it tr . . .’ I pause and collect the words together in my mind and let them tumble out on an apprehensive whisper. ‘Is she right?’
Miller nods, blowing my already crumbling world apart. The fear that was lost to shock and anger resurfaces and immobilises me. My stomach turns. I hear Gregory gasp. I feel Miller stiffen. And I sense William’s . . . sadness.
Sophia knows the consequences if Miller quits? He’s shackled, and not just by the women relishing in his sick web of hedonism. I feel ill. His demise? Who are these people?
The sound of a mobile phone pierces the heavy atmosphere and William wastes no time answering it. He looks regretful as he speaks quietly to the caller, and his refined, grey-suited body is shifting uncomfortably on the spot. ‘Two minutes,’ he says tightly before hanging up and penetrating me with his silver gaze. It’s full of sorrow. My stomach turns. ‘Take her and go,’ he murmurs as he watches me. ‘Now.’
My brow wrinkles in confusion, and I stand, throwing my eyes to Miller. He’s nodding in understanding. ‘What’s going on?’ I ask, not knowing how much more I can take.
Miller approaches me and slides his palm around my neck, resorting to his tactics of calmly massaging my nape. I’d shrug him off, but I can’t possibly move. He turns to William. ‘Do you have the package?’
William reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a brown envelope. He’s thoughtful for a few seconds before he hands it to Miller, who shoves it under his arm and reaches in, pulling out two passports and a pile of paperwork. He uses his mouth to open one of the burgundy books to the photo page and runs his eyes over it. It’s me. I choke on nothing, unable to speak as I watch him check the next, seeing a shot of him this time.
‘You’d better go,’ William presses, glancing down at his watch.
‘Watch her.’ Miller releases me and jogs off towards his bedroom, leaving me to continue choking on my panicked breaths. I’m suffocating, a cruel world closing in on me and sending my life into mayhem.
‘What’s going on?’ I finally ask, my voice matching my body in the shakes department.
‘You’re leaving,’ William answers simply and swiftly, now detached, all emotion long gone.
‘I don’t have a passport.’
‘You do now.’
‘It’s fake? Why would you have a fake passport for me?’ And where would he get one? I almost laugh to myself, but a lack of energy prevents it. This is William Anderson. There’s no limit to his capabilities. I should know that.
He approaches me carefully, one hand resting in his pocket, the other holding his tumbler of Scotch. ‘Because, Olivia, from the moment I discovered your involvement with Miller Hart, I knew this would be the end result. I didn’t intervene to be difficult.’
‘What would be the end result? What’s happening?’ Why are people talking in code?
William seems to consider something for a moment before he looks down at me with sympathy filling his wonderful greys. He knows everything about Miller’s darkness. Restraints and a bad temper aren’t the only reasons William has been so persistent in his endeavours to keep me away from Miller. It’s all so clear. He knows the consequences of our relationship, too. He smiles a little, taking my cheek in his palm and smoothing the pad of his thumb across my cold flesh. ‘Maybe I should have done this with Gracie,’ he says quietly, almost to himself, reminiscence rife on his distinguished face. ‘Maybe I should have taken her away from the horrors. Taken her away from this.’
I stare at a remorseful face, but I don’t ask the obvious question, which would be to ask what this is. ‘Do you regret it?’
‘Every day of my wicked life.’
Concern makes way for sadness. William Anderson – the man who loved my mother with a passion – lives with daily regret. It’s potent and alive. It cripples him. I can think of no words to ease his pain, so I do the only other thing that feels right. I reach up to the powerful beast of a man and cuddle him. It’s a silly attempt to lessen his lifelong pain, but when he laughs a little at my action and accepts my embrace, holding me tightly with his free arm, I think I might have at least made a minute’s difference.
‘Enough now,’ he says, the authority back in its rightful place. I’m detached from him, and as the room comes into view, I spot Miller hovering a few metres away, standing next to Gregory. My best friend looks like he’s in a trance, and Miller looks unusually calm, considering what he has just witnessed. He has on grey sweatpants, a black T-shirt and trainers. It’s an unusual get-up for Miller, but after the massacre of his masks, I guess he has no other option. Then the sports bag suspended from his hand catches my eye, and I allow a moment to process the earlier appearance of passports and William’s words.
‘Go,’ William utters, flicking his head towards the door. ‘My driver’s parked on the corner. Take the exit from the second floor and use the fire escape.’ Miller doesn’t swing into action, which prompts William to go on. ‘Hart, we’ve spoken about this.’
I flick confused eyes to Miller, instantly wary of the ferocity rolling off him in waves. His jaw beneath his stubble turns to rock. ‘I’ll crucify them all,’ he promises, his voice drenched in violence. It makes me swallow hard.
‘Olivia.’ William says my name on a simple breath. It’s a reminder, and Miller looks down at me, cognisance seeming to wrestle past the anger. ‘Get her away from this fucking mess until we can figure out what’s going on. Don’t drag her any further into danger, Hart. Damage control.’ William’s phone sounds from his hand and he curses as he answers. ‘What’s the deal?’ he asks the caller as he looks to Miller. I don’t like the guardedness on his face. ‘Go,’ he says urgently, remaining on the phone and pacing towards us. Miller seizes me and leads me to the door in the blink of an eye, William following directly behind.
I’m disorientat
ed. I’m confused. I’m allowing myself to be hauled out of Miller’s apartment with not a clue as to where I’m being taken.
We’re in the hallway fast, Miller guiding me to the stairwell. ‘No!’ William shouts, making Miller halt sharply and snap his head back, eyes wide. ‘They’re coming up the stairs.’
‘What?’ Miller roars, breaking out in a stressed sweat. ‘Fuck!’
‘They know your weaknesses, boy.’ William’s tone is dark, and so are his eyes.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, breaking free of Miller’s hold, my eyes batting back and forth between him and William. ‘Who are they?’ I don’t like the cautious look William throws Miller’s way, not that Miller will notice. He’s beginning to tremble, like he’s seen a ghost, his skin paling before my eyes. ‘Answer me!’ I scream, making Miller jump and lift his brilliant blues slowly. They are haunted. It robs me of breath.
‘The ones who hold the key to my chains,’ he whispers, sweat trickling down his temples. ‘The immoral bastards.’
A sob rips through me like lightning as his confession settles hard and fast. ‘No!’ My head starts to shake and my heart rate rockets. I don’t want to ask. He looks truly frightened, and I don’t know whether it’s because they, whoever they may be, are on their way or because his escape is blocked and he needs to get me out. Intuition tells me it’s the latter, but it’s the former that has my heart squeezing in trepidation. ‘What do they want?’ I brace myself for his answer, wincing as he fights the symptoms of a meltdown, and when he finally speaks, it’s on a mere whisper.
‘I’ve handed in my resignation.’ He holds my eyes while I let the enormity of his statement sink in. And then my eyes flood with salty tears.
‘They won’t let us be if we stay?’ I ask, choking all over my question.
He shakes his head slowly, pain invading his beautifully perfect face. ‘I’m so sorry, my gorgeous girl.’ The bag drops to the floor and I see defeatism grip him. ‘They own me. The consequences will be shattering if we stay.’
My whole body shakes under the sombreness of his shaky promise, my cheeks stinging and sore as I wipe at my face, searching for my strength to replace Miller’s loss of it. I’m in deep – deeper than I ever imagined. And I plan on drowning with him if necessary. I suck in an unsteady breath and pace over to him, hauling the bag up from the floor and taking his clammy hand. He lets me, but as soon as he figures where we’re headed, he stiffens and I hear the beginning of panicked breathing. He’s putting up some resistance, making it harder for me to pull him to where I need him. But we make it.
I press the call button for the lift and silently plead for it to be near the top of the building. I’m looking back to the stairwell exit constantly.
‘Olivia?’
I glance to my side, seeing Gregory has joined William. He looks lost. Confused. Shocked. I smile at him, trying to ease his worry, but I know I’ve failed. ‘I’ll call,’ I promise, just as the doors slide open and Miller steps back, taking me with him. ‘Please tell Nan I’m okay.’
I throw the bag into the lift and turn, taking Miller’s other hand so we’re joined by both. Then I start to take slow steps back, aware our time is ticking, but more acutely aware that this is not something I can rush. He’s staring past me into the enclosed box, his whole body heaving violently, and it’s in the intensity of this moment that I wonder how I could have been so cruel those times I used this fear against him. I fight off the tears that the guilt spikes and continue with my backward steps until our arms are at full length and the space between our bodies is wide.
‘Miller,’ I say quietly, desperate for him to focus on me instead of the monster he sees behind me. ‘Look at me,’ I plead. ‘Just look at me.’ My voice quivers, no matter how greatly I’m trying to keep it together. Relief swamps me when he takes a tentative step forward, but then he starts shaking his head furiously and takes two steps back. He’s swallowing repeatedly and his hands are becoming increasingly hot. The waves of his lovely hair are becoming heavy under the weight of the sweat pouring from his scalp, his forehead, just about everywhere.
‘I can’t,’ he pants, gulping. ‘I can’t do it.’
I look across to William and see concern as he constantly checks his phone and looks to the stairwell, and when I look to Gregory, I see something that I’ve never seen from my best friend when Miller is in the picture. Compassion. I bite my lip as the tears begin to fall, choking on a sob when he looks at me and gives me eyes full of encouragement. Then he nods. It’s only just detectable, but I see it and I understand it. I feel hopeless. I need to get Miller out of this building.
‘You go,’ Miller says, pushing me into the elevator. ‘I’ll be fine, you go.’
‘No!’ I yell. ‘No, you are not giving up!’ I throw myself onto him, snaking my arms around him and silently vowing never to let go. I don’t miss the let-up in tension from his body under my hold.
My thing.
His thing.
Our thing.
I squeeze him, my lips on his neck and his face in my hair. Then I let go and pull more forcefully on his hand, begging with my eyes for him to come to me. And he does. He takes one slow step forward. Then another. Then another. Then another. He’s on the threshold. I’m in the lift. He’s trembling, still gulping, and the sweat is relentless.
And then I hear a loud sound from the stairwell, followed by William’s colourful curse, and I do what instinct tells me and yank Miller into the lift before smashing the button for the second floor and throwing my arms around his gasping body, immersing him in our thing.
The frantic pace of his heart beating in his chest must be verging on dangerous. I’m looking over his shoulders to the hallway as it slowly disappears with the closing of the doors, and the last thing I see before we’re alone in the terrifying box is William and Gregory stepping into sight, both watching quietly as Miller and I vanish from view. I smile at them through my sadness.
It wouldn’t be a surprise if the ferocity of his heartbeat hitting my chest leaves bruises. It’s relentless, no matter how hard I squeeze him. My attempts to calm him are fruitless. All I need to do is concentrate on keeping him upright until we reach the second floor, which right now is easy. He’s rigid as I watch the digital monitor tick down through the floors, each number seeming to take aeons to appear. We’re in slow motion. Everything seems to be in slow motion.
Everything except Miller’s breathing and heart rate.
I feel him jerk under my hold, and I attempt to pull away but get nowhere. I can’t let go of him, not for anything, and I’m suddenly panicked by the potential difficulty of getting him out of the lift once it stops. ‘Miller?’ I whisper, low and calm. It’s a vain attempt to fool him into believing that I’m composed. I’m far from it. He doesn’t respond and I take another glimpse at the floor indicator.
‘Miller, we’re nearly out,’ I say, pushing into him to force him to step away until his back is at the doors. The judder of the lift when it stops makes me jump, and Miller lets out a weak whimper as he pushes against me. ‘Miller, we’re here.’ I struggle against his fierce resistance, hearing the doors begin to open. It’s only now I consider the possibility of them waiting for us on the other side of the doors, and panic flares, my body stiffening as the doors begin to open. What if they are? What will I do? What will they do? My breathing pattern changes, catching up with Miller’s as I peek over his shoulders, my feet beginning to ache from staying on my tiptoes.
The doors open fully, revealing nothing but an empty hallway, and I try to listen for any signs of life.
Nothing.
Pushing against Miller’s dead weight, I get nowhere in my urgent need to shift him. How will he be once we’re out of this box? I haven’t got time to coax him out of this lift, let alone the building.
‘Miller, please,’ I beg, swallowing down the lump of desperation in my throat. ‘The doo
rs are open.’ He remains frozen, stuck to me, and tears of panic begin to overwhelm my eyes. ‘Miller,’ I whisper, my shaky voice tarnished with defeat. They’ll be on their way back down soon.
She’s holding him. A chime sounds and the doors begin to close again. I don’t have time to shout for Miller to get out. He seems to jump to life, the sound of the doors closing undoubtedly the cause, and his body flies back as if someone has launched him from a cannon. I hold my breath as I watch him. He’s drenched, his hair stuck to his head and his eyes wide with fear. And he’s still shaking.
Not knowing what else to do, I reach down to retrieve the bag and move to the threshold of the lift, all the while keeping my worried eyes on him as he looks around him, familiarising himself with his surroundings. And it’s like the shattered pieces of my world suddenly fuse, bringing hope crashing back into our reality, as the mask falls, wiping away every shred of fear, and Miller Hart is back.
He flicks empty eyes up and down my body, catching sight of the bag, and it’s gone from my grasp in the blink of an eye. Then my hand is claimed and I’m out of the lift just as quickly. He breaks into a run, forcing my little legs to sprint in order to keep up with him, and he glances back every few seconds to check on me and for anything behind us.
‘You okay?’ he asks, no signs of exertion showing.
I, however, have misplaced the adrenalin that was fuelling me. Maybe my conscience has registered Miller’s resurrection and wants to relieve me of the pressure to hold things together. I don’t know, but exhaustion is taking hold and my emotions are screaming for release. But not here. I can’t lose it here. I nod, keeping up my pace so I don’t hinder our escape. Showing mild concern on his perfect face, he throws the bag up to his shoulder as we near the fire exit and releases my hand, his body charging at full speed into the door. It crashes open loudly, and the daylight beyond attacks my eyes, making me wince.
‘Take my hand, Olivia,’ he demands urgently.
I seize it, allowing him to pull me down the fire escape and onto the side street. A car horn blares immediately, and I spot William’s driver holding the back door open. We dodge cars, trucks and taxis, most honking their horn in annoyance, as we weave through the busy London traffic, charging to William’s car.