anywhere, and I wonder if he positioned himself like this on purpose, knowing damn well I’d start pressing for answers and want to escape when he gave them to me. And I don’t know why I’m acting so shocked by his shocking, hateful promise. After what William said and Miller’s look, I had a bad feeling he would say that. What Charlie proposed is worse? How?
‘Stay where you are.’ He’s calm. Too calm, and it just makes me all the more freaked. He seizes my wrists and holds them above my head, and I’m now puffing exhausted bursts of air into his face. ‘It’s the only way.’
‘No, it’s not!’ I argue. ‘Charlie’s given you another way. Take it!’
He shakes his head adamantly. ‘No. And that’s the end of it!’ His jaw is tight now, eyes darkening in warning. I don’t care. Nothing can be worse than killing someone. I won’t let him do it.
‘It fucking isn’t!’ I yell. ‘Get off me!’ I heave and flip myself, all without success.
‘Olivia, stop it!’ He slams my wrists back to the floor above my head when I manage to fight them up a little. ‘Damn it! Stop fighting me!’
I finally relent, but only because of utter exhaustion, and pant in his face, trying to glare through my tiredness. ‘Nothing could be worse than killing someone.’
He draws in a deep breath. It’s a confidence-boosting breath, and it makes every muscle against him tense. ‘If I agree to what he wants, it will destroy you, Olivia. And there’s no guarantee that once I do this, he won’t ask me to come back and do something else. As long as he’s breathing, he’s a threat to our happiness.’
I shake my head adamantly. ‘It’s too dangerous. You’d never be able to pull it off – he must have dozens of heavies watching his back.’ My panic is escalating. I heard Gregory mention guns. ‘And you can’t live with this on your conscience for the rest of your life.’
‘It’s too dangerous not to. And Charlie himself has given me the perfect opportunity.’
His confounding words hold me silent for a second before realisation slams into me and I gasp. ‘Oh God. He wants you to go on a date?’
He nods mildly, choosing to remain quiet and let it settle in my wrought mind. This only gets worse by the minute. There has to be another way.
Something deep and possessive inside of me is stirring at the thought of someone else touching and kissing him. Part of my mind is screaming, Let him kill Charlie. The world’s a better place without him! And a little devil on my shoulder is nodding his agreement. But I suddenly have a little angel, too, and she’s looking at me sorrowfully, not speaking, but I know what she’d say if she did.
Let him go.
Just for one night.
It’ll mean nothing to him.
‘She’s the sister of a Russian drug lord,’ he says quietly. ‘She’s wanted me for years but she disgusts me. She gets off on degrading her partner. All she wants is the power. If Charlie delivers me, he’ll get in with the Russians. It would be a very lucrative partnership, and he’s wanted it for a long time.’
‘Why don’t they just join forces anyway?’
‘The Russian’s sister won’t agree to an association unless she gets me.’
‘Let go of me,’ I whisper quietly, and he does, breaking away from my sprawled body and resting back on his knees. Apprehension is pouring from him. I get to my knees and reach for him, catching him frowning. But he lets me do my thing. I start to tug at his shoulders, encouraging him to turn away from me, and when his back comes into view, I fall apart.
It’s a mess. Red lines are crisscrossing his back; some are weeping tiny beads of blood and others are swollen. His back looks like a roadmap. He really did want me to hurt him, but his reasons were far deeper than a pleasure-pain mix. He wanted my marks all over him. He belongs to someone.
Me.
My palms find my face and I push my fingers into my eyes, unable to stop the constant hitching of my breath from my pain-filled sobs.
‘Don’t cry,’ he whispers, turning and taking me in his arms. He kisses my head repeatedly, stroking my hair and holding me tight. ‘Please, don’t cry.’
Guilt attacks me and I yell at myself to do the right thing. Miller’s willingness to do something so wretched for me is only enhancing it. No matter how much I tell myself that Charlie is the devil in disguise, that he deserves everything he gets, I still can’t convince myself to agree. Miller would shoulder the burden for the rest of his life, and now that I know, so will I. I can’t let him do that to us. It’ll be like a noose around our necks for the rest of our lives together.
‘Shhhhh,’ he soothes, pulling me onto his lap.
‘Let’s run away,’ I sob. It’s the only way. ‘We’ll take Nan and go far, far away.’ My mind is making a mental list of places as he looks at me fondly, like I just don’t understand.
‘We can’t.’
I feel aggravation budding as a result of his simple and final answer. ‘Yes, we can.’
‘No, Olivia. We can’t.’
‘We can!’ I yell, making him wince and close his eyes. He’s trying to gather his patience. ‘Stop saying we can’t when we can!’ We could go now. Pack Nan up and drive off. I don’t care where we end up, as long as it’s miles from London, away from this vile, cruel world. I’m not sure why Miller has claimed to be on his way to hell, because it feels like he’s already there. And I’m with him.
Blue eyes slowly peel open. Haunted blue eyes. They steal my breath and stop my heart, but not in the usual way. ‘I cannot leave London,’ he says clearly, his look and tone daring me to interrupt him. He’s not done yet. He really can’t leave London and there’s a damn good reason why. ‘He has something very damaging on me.’
I hate my body’s natural instinct to remove itself from his hold. I sit far back, working up the courage to ask the operative question. ‘What?’ I barely hear myself.
His Adam’s apple protrudes from his throat and settles slowly after his challenging swallow, and his lovely face has drifted into . . . nothing. ‘I killed a man.’
The noose I was avoiding is around my neck already, and it’s tightening fast. I swallow repeatedly, my eyes wide and rooted to his straight face. My mouth has been zapped of moisture, too, making breathing increasingly hard. ‘I . . .’ I move back slowly, numbly, feeling the ground around me to check it’s still there. I’m falling into hell. ‘He can’t prove it,’ I claim, my tortured mind feeding my mouth words that I have no control over. Maybe it’s my subconscious refusing to believe it’s true. I don’t know. ‘No one will believe him.’ He’s holding Miller to ransom. Blackmailing him.
‘He has evidence, Livy. Video evidence.’ He’s so calm. There’s no panic or fear. ‘If I don’t do what he wants, he’ll expose me.’
‘Oh God.’ My hand rakes through my hair, my eyes darting around the room. Miller will be thrown in prison. Both of our lives will be over. ‘Who?’ I ask, forcing my eyes to him, all the while hearing Gregory’s light sarcasm that time he wanted to add murderer to Miller’s long list of flaws.
‘That’s not important.’ His lips press together. I think I need to be angry, but I can’t seem to muster the fire in my belly. My boyfriend has just confessed to killing someone and I’m sitting here like an idiot asking calm questions. I don’t want to believe that there’s an underlying reason for my reaction, but I know for sure there is. I should be running away as far as my legs will carry me, yet I’m still sitting on the floor of his flat, totally naked, looking at him.
‘Elaborate,’ I grate, squaring my shoulders in a display of strength.
‘I don’t want to,’ he whispers, dropping his eyes. ‘I don’t want to pollute your beautiful, pure mind with it, Livy. I’ve promised myself so many times that I won’t tarnish you with my dirty brush.’
‘Too late,’ I say quietly, whipping his eyes to mine. He must realise. My apparently beautiful and pure mind has long been tarnished with dirt, and not just Miller’s. There’s plenty of shit I’ve inflicted on myself, too. ‘Tell
me.’
‘I can’t tell you,’ he breathes, shame now apparent on his cool face. ‘But I can show you.’ He slowly rises from the floor and holds his hand out to me. Instinct is working again, because my arm lifts of its own accord and I lay my hand in his. I’m pulled to my feet and our naked bodies meet, the heat of his bare flesh swathing me instantly. I don’t pull away. He doesn’t have a firm hold of me; he isn’t keeping me where I am. I’m choosing to stay. His fingertip meets my chin and pulls my face up to his. ‘I want you to promise me that what I show you won’t make you run. But I know that’s not fair.’
‘I promise you,’ I murmur, without thought or consideration, for reasons I may never know, but Miller’s small smile and then the tender kiss he places on my lips tells me he doesn’t believe me.
‘You never cease to amaze me.’ My hand is clasped and I’m led to the couch, unbothered by my nudity. ‘Sit,’ he instructs, leaving me to make myself comfortable while he wanders over to a cabinet and opens a drawer. He pulls something out before he slowly strides towards the TV. I can only watch in silence as he takes a DVD from a familiar envelope and loads it into the player. Then my eyes follow his path back to me. He hands me a remote control. ‘Press play when you’re ready,’ he instructs me, thrusting it forward gently until I take it. ‘I’ll be in my studio. I can’t watch . . .’
Again.
He was going to say that he couldn’t watch it again. He shakes his head and dips, taking each side of my head in his palms and placing his lips on top of my head. The deepest breath is inhaled, like he’s trying to siphon off enough of my scent and spirit to last him forever. ‘I love you, Olivia Taylor. Always will.’ And with that, I watch the distance between us grow as he leaves me alone in the room.
I want to scream for him to come back, to hold my hand, or just hold me. The remote control in my hand is burning and the urge to throw it across the room is overwhelming. The screen of the TV is blank. A bit like my mind. Starting to spin the control in my hand, I sit back, widening the distance between me and something that’s going to send my already crumbling world into complete obliteration. I know it. Miller has confirmed it. So when I stop spinning the gadget in my hand and my finger pushes down on the Play button, I only stop to wonder what the hell I’m doing for a split second before the image of an empty room stops me from finishing my thought process. I frown and inch forward on the couch, taking in the plush space. It’s boasting antique furniture at every corner, including the huge four-poster bed, and there’s no question that it’s all original. Wood panelling dresses every wall, and detailed paintings of countryside landscapes are hanging randomly, each mounted with intricate gilded frames. It’s so posh and I can pretty much see the whole room, which tells me the camera is in a corner. It’s empty, quiet, but when the door opposite the camera suddenly opens sharply, I fly back on the sofa, dropping the remote control to the floor.
‘Jesus!’ My startled heart is racing in my chest as I try to get my erratic breathing under control. I don’t have to try for long, though, because my heart practically stops beating when a man appears in the doorway. My pulse slows in my veins and my blood turns to ice. The man is naked – naked except for a blindfold over his eyes. His hands are also held behind his back, and it doesn’t take me long to figure out why. He’s restrained. My poor eyes feel like they could bleed.
He’s young, middle or late teens, perhaps. There’s no lean muscle on his chest, his legs don’t look powerful and strong, and his stomach is flat – no cut abdominals or shadows from the protruding muscles in sight.
Yet there’s no mistaking who this young man is.
Chapter 22
‘No!’ My eyes flood with tears and my hand covers my mouth. ‘No, Miller. No, no, no.’ He’s pushed into the room and the door shut firmly behind him, and then he just stands there, still and silent. There’s no sound whatsoever. Not even when the door closes. I try to force my eyes shut; I don’t want to see any more, but it’s like a vice is holding them open, denying me any hope of hiding. My mind scrambles. Find the remote control. Turn it off. Don’t watch!
But I do. I sit like a statue, immobilised by shock, only my eyes and mind functioning. My brain is relentlessly demanding I find a way to stop this – not just now, but stop it back then. He drops to his knees on the floor. I could be having an out-of-body experience. I can see myself standing to the side, screaming my anguish. Miller’s head is dropped, and I gasp when a man appears from the bottom corner, his back to the camera. I let out a sob when he grabs Miller by the throat. He looks well dressed, a black suit adorning his tall body, and though I can’t see his face, I know with perfect clarity what his facial expression is. Supremacy. Power. Arrogance in the worst possible way.
I continue to torture myself, telling myself that this is a breeze compared to what my love is enduring. The unknown man continues to hold Miller by the throat as he yanks at the belt of his trousers. I know what’s coming. ‘You bastard,’ I whisper, rising to my feet. He takes a hold of himself, shifts his other hand to Miller’s cheeks, and squeezes until he’s forced to open his mouth. Then he rams himself past Miller’s lips and begins to thrust like a deranged madman. I bite my lip as I watch Miller, my strong, powerful man, being violated in the worst possible way. It goes on and on and on. No amount of my tears and gut-wrenching sobs stop the hideousness playing out before me. My stomach turns when the stranger’s head drops back a little and he slows down, circling into Miller’s mouth like it’s so very normal, my tummy twisting further when I actually see Miller swallow. Then like nothing has happened, the guy zips up, pushes Miller roughly to the side, and strolls out.
Every scrap of breath leaves my lungs on a quiet whimper as I watch Miller lie motionless on the floor, not a whistle of his mental state clear. His cautious approach to me taking him in my mouth and his violent reaction when he woke to me pleasuring him in New York is so clear now. I’m shaking with rage, sadness, every emotion possible, and it’s all for him. I sniffle and sniff, willing him to get up and leave. ‘Run away,’ I beg. ‘Leave.’
But he doesn’t. Not for the longest time. He only moves when another man appears from the same place as man number one. He’s back on his knees. ‘No!’ I yell, watching the new man stalk slowly forward, again in a suit. ‘No, Miller, please!’ The man follows the same string of sickening movements as the previous guy, except this one strokes Miller’s cheek. My hand is back over my mouth, holding back the nausea. He starts to undo his trousers. ‘No!’ I swing around, searching for the remote control. I can’t watch any more. My hands work like demons, throwing pillow after pillow across the room. ‘Where are you?’ I yell, beginning to sweat – a mixture of exhaustion and desperation to kill what’s playing out on the screen behind me. I pull up and scan the floor, spotting it under the table. Dropping to my knees, I grab it and swing around, aiming it at the television, but my finger doesn’t stab at the stop button. It just hovers above it, twitching as my wide eyes watch Miller’s hands come from behind his back and yank his blindfold from his head.
I choke and heart palpitations send me falling back to my arse. His eyes are revealed. They’re hollow. Empty. Dark.
Familiar.
The man staggers back in shock, frantically working at his trousers as Miller rises to his feet, danger coming from every naked pore. He said he killed a man. This man here. My arm goes limp, my finger relaxing as my hand falls to the floor. Now I really know what’s going to happen and I can’t even be sorry for the sadistic thrill I know I’m going to get from watching it play out. Miller in this footage may not be as physically lean and cut, but it would be foolish to underestimate the sheer violence radiating from him. He starts to stalk slowly forward, his face straight, no hint of anger evident at all. He looks completely composed. He’s a robot. A machine. He looks lethal.
I slowly stand, silently willing him on.
The guy’s hands come up in defence as every muscle on Miller’s body visibly engages, ready to pounce
. . .
And then the screen goes blank.
I gasp, frantically stabbing at the play button on the remote control. That can’t be it! I need to see him hurt him. I need to see him get revenge. ‘Play, damn it!’ I yell, but after a lifetime of punching the button, nothing happens. ‘Fuck you!’ I scream, hurling the remote control across the room with brute force. I don’t even flinch when it smashes against the front of one of Miller’s paintings, shattering the glass sheet protecting the canvas. I whirl around, heaving and shaking. I feel cheated. ‘Miller,’ I exhale, bolting across his flat and running like an unhinged nut down the corridor towards his studio.
Bursting through the door clumsily, I pull to a halt and search him out. He’s sitting on the edge of his old worn couch, elbows braced on his knees, his face in his palms. But shocked wide blue eyes are revealed quickly. I see life in them. Light and energy, none of which were there in that footage, and none of which were there when we first met. It’s all evolved since we’ve found each other, and I’d rather walk the fiery depths of hell than see it all lost. A painful sob fights past my anger and I start running to him, only vaguely registering him standing through my blurry vision.
‘Olivia?’ He starts forward tentatively, frowning. He’s shocked I’m still here.
I launch myself into his arms. Our naked bodies crash together hard, and would probably hurt if there wasn’t another agony consuming every nerve ending. ‘I’m so fascinated by you,’ I sob, constricting him around the neck, melding myself to him.
Miller accepts my overpowering clinch and holds on just as tightly, maybe even tighter. My rib cage is under incredible pressure, jeopardising my breathing, but I couldn’t care less. I’m never letting go. ‘I love you, too,’ he whispers, sinking his face firmly into my neck. ‘So much, Olivia.’
My eyes close and all of the anxiety from the horror scene falls away under his thing. ‘I wanted to see you do it,’ I admit, reasonably or not. I feel like I need that part of the puzzle. Or maybe I just need to be sure he really did kill that wicked arsehole.
‘Charlie has it.’ He doesn’t ease up on his hold, which is fine because I don’t want him to. He could squeeze even harder and I wouldn’t complain.
My mind settles, allowing me to think clearer. ‘He’ll take it to the police.’
Miller nods a little into my neck. ‘If I don’t play ball, then yes.’
‘And you’re not going to play ball, are you?’
‘I’m not doing it, Olivia. Not to you. I couldn’t live with myself.’
‘But you could live with blood on your hands?’
‘Yes.’ His answer is swift and decisive before he wrestles me
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