Unveiled

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.