One Night: Unveiled

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  My focus remains straight ahead as I weigh up the merits of doing a bunk. I don’t want to see William. I don’t want to face his disapproval, his smug arrogance. Miller knows it, and he doesn’t make me do things that he knows I don’t want to do. Yet I fear on this occasion his promise will be broken. It doesn’t stop me from trying, though. ‘I don’t want to come.’ I turn to look at him, finding thoughtfulness riddling his face.

  ‘Tough luck,’ he whispers as he starts the car and pulls away, leaving me gulping down courage.

  Miller has come to depend on William for information. I know Miller doesn’t like it, and I know William doesn’t like it. I definitely don’t like it. But regrettably, it seems none of us has a choice. My eyes close and remain that way during the entire journey. Neither of us speak, the silence cutting the close air around us. It’s awkward. It’s painful. And it makes the drive drag out forever.

  When we’ve reached our destination, I can sense Miller’s tension. The atmosphere seems to freeze, sending every muscle in my body rigid. They’re not even within sight of each other yet, but all of the invisible animosity is already rife. It’s making my skin prickle and my pulse quicken. I feel like I’m walking willingly into the lion’s den with a steak strapped to my chest.

  ‘Open your eyes, Olivia.’ Miller’s placid tone strokes my skin and I find myself peeling my lids open, even though I have no desire to see what will be outside of the car. But I keep my gaze on my lap, noting my eternity ring spinning wildly on my finger, courtesy of my own unconscious fiddling. ‘And look at me,’ he orders.

  Before I can obey, my nape is clasped and twisted until I’m facing him. I root my eyes to Miller, knowing what I’ll see beyond him if I cast my eyes past him.

  The Society.

  William’s club.

  ‘Better,’ he says, reaching over with his spare hand and arranging my new hair just so. ‘You know William Anderson isn’t my favourite person,’ he declares, ‘but he cares for you dearly, Olivia.’

  I choke on nothing and open my mouth to argue, to tell him that all of William’s actions are spiked by his guilt. He couldn’t save my mother so he’s trying to cleanse his soul and save me, but I get a palm laid neatly on my lips to shut me up before I start.

  ‘If I can accept his help, then you certainly can.’

  My face twists in defeat behind his palm, my eyes narrowing slightly. The mild curve of his lips tells me exactly what the next words from his perfect mouth will be.

  I’m bang on the money.

  ‘Sass,’ he breathes, moving his hand fast and replacing it with his mouth. The touching of our lips does everything I’ve come to expect and I find myself unbuckling my seat belt while I return his kiss. I quickly find my way across the car to his lap. ‘Hmmmm,’ he hums, helping me get comfortable while our tongues find perfect synchronisation. He’s loading me with the strength I’ll need to face William, to walk into the Society.

  ‘Come on. Let’s get this over with.’

  Moaning my objection, I make it as tricky as possible for Miller to detach me from his mouth and open his door. He cocks his head in instruction for me to jump out, which I do on an audible grumble, slipping from his lap and finding myself on the pavement sooner than I’d like. I do everything to avoid looking up. I faff with my dress, flick my new hair over my shoulders and pull it back to my front, and then accept my bag when it appears by my side. My lungs collect air slowly and I finally locate the strength to face the building before me.

  Years of anguish seem to creep up my body from the concrete at my feet and suffocate me. The air grows thick, making breathing challenging. And my eyes burn from the visual reminder of my tainted past. The building is just how I remember it – the giant limestone bricks, the original giant stained-glass windows, the smooth curved concrete steps leading up to gigantic double doors that’ll take me into William’s world. Glossy black metal railings guard the frontage, with gold spikes at the tip of each rod, making it seem grand and opulent, but with an edge of danger. A gold plaque fixed to one of the pillars flanking the entrance states in large bold letters the society. I stare blankly at the doors, feeling more vulnerable than ever before. This is the centre of William’s world. This is where it all began, when a young woman stumbled boldly into the unknown.

  ‘Olivia?’

  I shake myself from my reverie and cast a sideways glance at Miller, seeing him looking down at me. He’s trying to conceal his apprehension . . . and failing. It’s pouring from those eyes, yet I’m unsure whether his unease is because of where we’re heading or because I’m falling fast into despondency. ‘The last time I was here, William sent me away for good.’

  Miller’s lips straighten and misery to equal mine plagues his features.

  ‘I never wanted to see this place again, Miller.’

  His misery doubles and he moves in to take me in his thing. It’s the perfect hiding place. ‘I need you with me, Livy. I feel like I’m constantly balancing on the edge of a black hole that’ll swallow me up and take me back to complete darkness with one slight wrong move.’ His palms skate up my back until they’re cupping the sides of my head. He pulls me from my hiding place and finds my eyes. I hate the hint of defeatism I can detect there. ‘Don’t give up on us, I beg you.’

  A light switches on in response to Miller’s plea, and I mentally pull my sorry self together. Miller Hart isn’t a weak man. I’m not mistaking his confession as weakness. He’s not. I’m simply a chink in this confounding man’s tight armour. But I’m also a strength, because without me, Miller wouldn’t have entertained the thought of escaping his life of debasement. I’ve given him the reason and strength to do it. I mustn’t make it harder for him than it already is. My history is exactly that – in the past. Gone. It’s Miller’s history preventing us from moving forward. We need to remedy that.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I say evenly, defying the lingering apprehension that’s still rooted deep. I take the steps steadily and with purpose, me leading Miller for once, until I’m being blocked from proceeding farther by the ominous double doors. I’m astounded when Miller reaches over and punches in the keypad code from memory. What in the world?

  ‘You know the code?’

  He shifts uncomfortably. ‘Yes,’ he answers, flat and with utter finality.

  ‘How?’ I splutter. I’m not accepting any of the usual signs that tell me the subject is exhausted. It isn’t. William and Miller despise each other. There’s no good reason why he would know the code that can grant him access to William’s establishment.

  He halts in his attempt of shifting me and starts fiddling with his suit jacket sleeves, brushing each down. ‘I’ve stopped by one or twice.’

  ‘Stopped by?’ I laugh. ‘What for? Cigars and laughs over a mature whiskey?’

  ‘There’s no need for insolence, Olivia.’

  I gape at him, not needing to correct him or ask what the topic of conversation was during those visits. I bet there have been some quite colourful words exchanged. Yet my damn curiosity won’t allow me to shut the hell up. ‘What for?’ I watch as his lids perform a lazy, patience-gathering blink. His jaw is tight, too.

  ‘We may not like each other, but when it comes to you, Anderson and I rub along just fine.’ His head cocks, expectantly. ‘Now, let’s go.’

  I feel my bottom lip curl in condemnation, but I follow through on his order, bristling from head to toe.

  The grand entrance hall of the Society gleams with elegance. The original wooden floor is clearly still polished weekly and the décor, although now cream and gold instead of deep red and gold, is opulent. It’s dripping in money. It’s luxurious. It’s magnificent. But all of the lovely décor now just seems like a disguise – something to fool people from seeing what this building truly represents and what happens here. And who frequents this posh establishment.

  Preventing my eyes from familiarising themselves with my surroundings any more, I push on, begrudgingly knowing where I’ll find William’s
office, but Miller grabs my upper arm, swinging me around to face him. ‘The bar,’ he says quietly.

  My bristling returns. It’s unwarranted and unnecessary, but I can’t help it. I hate that I know this place, probably better than Miller. ‘Which one?’ I retort, harsher than I mean to. ‘The Lounge Bar, the Music Bar, the Mingle Bar?’ He drops my arm and his hands slide into his trouser pockets as he regards me closely, clearly wondering if the sass is going to subside any time soon. I can’t confirm that. The farther into the Society I venture, the more I can see my sass getting harder to control. All of Miller’s words outside are suddenly forgotten. I can’t remember them. I need to remember them.

  ‘The Lounge Bar,’ he responds calmly, and signals to the left with a sweep of his arm. ‘After you.’ Miller is taking all the sass I’m throwing his way without retaliation. He’s not biting. He’s calm, cool, and aware of the irritation flaring within his sweet girl. On the longest gulp of air I’m ever likely to take, I yank some reason from God knows where and follow Miller’s gesturing arm.

  It’s busy but quiet. The Lounge Bar, just as I remember, is almost tranquil. Plush velvet armchairs litter the space, suited bodies reclined in many, all with tumblers of dark liquid grasped in their palms. The lighting is dim, the chatter quiet. It’s civilised. Respectful. It defies everything William’s underworld signifies. My nervous feet cross the threshold of the double doors. I can feel Miller behind me, my body’s natural reaction to his closeness ever present. I’m simmering but unable to enjoy the usual delicious sensations of internal sparks because of the exquisite surroundings that are torturing my wrought mind.

  A few heads turn as we make for the bar. They recognise Miller. I can tell because of the surprised expressions replacing the initial curiosity. Or do they recognise me? I quickly rein in my disturbing thoughts and push on, finding myself at the bar fast. I can’t think like that. I mustn’t think like that. I’ll be dashing for the exit any moment if I don’t halt these thoughts. Miller needs me with him.

  ‘What can I get you?’

  I direct my attention to the impeccably turned out barman and immediately blurt my order. ‘Wine. Whatever you have.’ My bum drops to one of the leather barstools as I gather every reasonable fibre of my being in an attempt to calm myself down. Alcohol. Alcohol will help. The barman nods acceptingly and begins making my order while he looks on to Miller in question.

  ‘Scotch. Straight,’ Miller mutters. ‘The best you have. And make it a double.’

  ‘Chivas Regal Royal Salute, fifty years old. It’s the very best, sir.’ He indicates a bottle on a glass shelf behind the bar and Miller grunts his acceptance, but he doesn’t take a stool next to me, choosing to remain standing by my side, scanning the bar and nodding to a few inquisitive faces. The best they have. No one pays for drinks at the Society. The obscene membership fees cover it. And Miller will undoubtedly know this. He’s making a private point. He remembers William messing with his perfectly neat drinks cabinet and helping himself to a drink. He’s on a silly revenge fit. Is this rubbing along just fine?

  A glass of white wine is placed before me and I immediately swipe it up, taking a long healthy glug as a huge frame appears behind the bar from nowhere. Glancing to my right with my glass suspended in mid-air before me, I take in the ominous presence of the giant man. Blue eyes, so pale they resemble clear glass, cut through the relaxed atmosphere like a machete, and his shoulder-length black hair is slicked back into a tight ponytail. Everyone is aware of him, including Miller, whose hackles seem to have risen and are currently stabbing at my back. I remember him – I could never forget – but his name is stuck on my tongue. He’s William’s first in command. He’s well turned out, but his tailored suit does nothing to dilute the evil vibes emanating from every pore.

  I sit back on my stool and take a nervous sip of my wine, trying to ignore his presence. Impossible. I can feel those mirror-ball eyes slicing into my flesh. ‘Olivia,’ he all but growls, making me take in a steadying breath of air, and Miller bristles into the realms of taking leave of his senses. He’s now pushed up against my back and virtually vibrating on me.

  I can’t speak. I can only just swallow, sending more wine down my throat fast.

  ‘Carl,’ Miller utters quietly, instantly reminding me of his name. Carl Keating. One of the scariest men I’ve ever met. He’s not changed one bit – not aged . . . not lost his frightening aura.

  ‘We weren’t expecting you,’ Carl says, taking the empty tumbler from the barman and flicking his head in command, sending him away without the need to verbalise his order.

  ‘Surprise visit.’ Miller’s retort is full of arrogance.

  Carl places the glass on the marble counter of the bar before he turns and takes down a black bottle from the shelf that’s embellished with an intricate gold plate. ‘The good stuff.’ He raises his black eyebrows as he holds the bottle up and pulls the gold stopper from the top. I shift uncomfortably on my stool and risk a peek over my shoulder to Miller, dreading what I’ll find. His stoic expression and heated blue eyes, boring right into Carl, do nothing to lessen my unease.

  ‘Only the best,’ Miller speaks clearly, never letting his focus waiver.

  I blink slowly on a quiet hitch of breath, my shaky hands taking my glass back to my lips. I’ve been in some painful situations of late, and this is right up there with the best of them.

  ‘Nothing but the best for the Special One, yes?’ Carl smiles cunningly to himself as he pours a few fingers.

  I cough over my wine, slamming the glass down before I drop it. He’s playing a dangerous game and he knows it. Miller’s chest heaving, buzzing, burning against my back tells me he could explode at any moment.

  Carl passes the glass over and holds it in mid-air, rather than placing it on the bar for Miller to take, then wiggles it slightly . . . teasingly. I wince on a little jump when Miller’s hand flies out and viciously swipes it from his clasp, making the mean beast grin evilly. He’s getting a sick thrill from poking Miller and it’s beginning to get under my skin. Miller drains the alcohol in one smooth gulp before he smashes the glass down and licks his lips slowly, a slight curl developing at the side of his mouth. His eyes remain locked on Carl the whole time. The animosity batting between these two men is making me dizzy.

  ‘Mr Anderson wants you in his office. He’ll join you shortly.’

  My neck is taken before Carl’s words fully sink in, and I’m on my feet and being led away from the bar before I can finish the rest of my much-needed wine. The anger pouring from Miller is potent. I’m nervous enough just from being here. All these bad feelings aren’t assisting. The pounding of Miller’s expensive shoes on the polished floor is ricocheting around my head, the walls closing in around me as the corridor swallows us up.

  And then I see the door – the one I staggered towards the last time I saw it. The intricate door handle seems to swell before my eyes, enticing me in, showing me the way, and the wall lights seem to dull the farther we progress. The light buzzing of the posh club is fading into a muffled fuzz of quiet sound behind me, my poor mind being hijacked by relentless, painful memories.

  My eyes are set on the handle, and I see Miller’s hand extend in slow motion and take hold, pushing it down and opening the door. He shoves me through quite firmly. I never thought I’d see this room again, but before I have time to absorb it, I hear the sound of the door close and I’m being whirled around and taken with conviction. I gasp, caught off guard, and stagger back in shock. Miller’s kiss is hungry and urgent, but I accept it, grateful for being spared the chance to take in my surroundings.

  Our mouths are clashing repeatedly as we consume each other. Then he’s at my neck, my cheek, my shoulder, and returning to my mouth. ‘I want you here,’ he growls, beginning to step forward, encouraging me to move back until I feel hard wood at the back of my legs. ‘I want to fuck you right here, make you scream in ecstasy and come all over my aching cock.’ He lifts me and places me on the desk beh
ind us, my dress pushed to my waist as he continues to attack my mouth. I know what he’s doing. And I couldn’t care less. This is the refuelling of strength I need.

  ‘Do it,’ I gasp, reaching up and pulling at his hair. Miller growls into my mouth as he unbuckles his belt and rips his trousers open before returning his hands to me and yanking my knickers aside. Our kiss is broken and my eyes drop to his groin. His cock is twitching eagerly, begging for me to come to it.

  ‘Move forward,’ he instructs hoarsely, sliding his spare hand to my bum and tugging impatiently as he stares down at himself slowly stroking his arousal. ‘Come to me, sweet girl.’

  I shift a little, placing my palms flat on the desk behind me, being sure to never let my eyes stray from his perfect face – being sure not to allow myself a reminder of where we are. The moist head of his cock skims my centre, making me hiss and tense. The strength required to keep my eyes open nearly finishes me. He’s rolling the tip of his erection in painful circles, around and around on my flesh, still using those familiar teasing tactics, despite his earlier urgency.

  ‘Miller!’ My hands ball behind me, my teeth gritting.

  ‘Do you want me inside you, Olivia?’ He flicks his eyes from his groin to my flushed face, teasing my opening. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes.’ I circle my legs around his waist and use them as leverage, yanking him towards me. ‘Yes!’ I choke, the instant, deep penetration robbing me of breath.

  ‘Oh fuck! Livy!’ He withdraws slowly, watching himself emerge from my passage, his jaw pulsing. Then he looks up at me as he holds still and his blue eyes visibly darken, his grip on my thighs flexing . . . preparing. I wait for it, holding his purposeful gaze as it comes closer to me until his suit-covered torso is leaning over me and our noses are nearly touching. Yet he remains poised at my entrance, only the very tip of him submerged. I don’t move. I remain still and patient under his close studying of me, panting in his face, so desperate for movement, but just as desperate to let Miller lead the way, knowing it’s exactly what he needs.