Gregory’s at my side in an instant. I’m being yanked from one direction to the other, both men yelling, both men persistent. This is becoming a battle of the egos now.
‘Both of you stop!’ I scream, my shriek having no effect whatsoever, my body still flying from one man to the other, until Miller curls an arm around my waist and hauls me up to his chest. My face is level with his, and the first thing I notice is the lethal danger in his eyes as he focuses past me. There’s no sight of the deep twinkle that always hypnotised me. This is another man. Not the man disguised as a gentleman or the loving, worshipping Miller. This is someone else.
‘I’ll f**king kill you!’ Miller bellows, earning a right hook to his jaw from Gregory, the fist skimming my cheek to find its target. He staggers back, and Gregory takes Miller’s momentary daze as an opportunity to reclaim me, pulling me from his hold. But he doesn’t hold tight enough, and I fall to the ground in a heap of limp muscle, smacking my head on the kerb as I land.
‘Shit!’ Pain sears through me, making me a little dizzy and even more disorientated. I glance up to see Miller tackle Gregory to the pavement, both men rolling around like animals, fists flying, curses piercing the night air, until Tony and Dave intervene and drag them apart.
And the whole time, I’m crumpled on the ground in a pathetic mess, my head pouring blood, my eyes pouring tears. Both men are so consumed by the determination to win, they’ve lost sight of what they’re fighting for. Now I’m injured, blood’s gushing down my face, and I’ve still not been noticed as they wrestle in the holds of Tony and Dave.
‘Stay away from her,’ Gregory snarls at Miller, letting up on his persistent struggle against Tony.
‘Only when I’m f**king dead!’
‘Then I’ll f**king kill you!’ Gregory breaks free and launches himself at Miller, taking him and the doorman to the concrete. I wince at the sounds of hard knuckles connecting with flesh, blood spraying, and clothes ripping. But even though Gregory is well built, Miller clearly has the upper hand, showing the fighting skills of someone trained.
I’ve seen him show this kind of punishment before, except it was a limp bag of sand hanging from the rafters of a gym that was subjected to his brutality. Not my treasured friend. Both of them have forgotten about me, neither noticing that I’m injured and distressed on the pavement. Their rationality has been clouded by caveman behaviour and bashing horns.
In my dazed state, I struggle to my feet while the spectacle continues. My steps forward are tentative. I need to stop this, but then my arm is taken and I’m being pulled away. I look up, seeing Tony focused, with purpose directing me to the road. He flags a taxi down and makes to put me inside.
‘Tony, I need to stop them.’
‘I’ll sort it. You’re best off out of the way,’ he snaps harshly, encouraging me into the cab.
‘Please stop them,’ I beg as he slams the door.
He nods, a nod that I find reassuring as he leans into the window and hands the driver a twenty. ‘Take her to A and E.’ And then he’s gone, stalking away, rampant with fury. As the driver pulls away from the horror scene I’ve caused, he eyes me in his rear-view mirror, prompting me to reach up and feel the top of my head. I wince, tears continuing to fall, more from despair than pain.
‘Are you okay, sweetheart?’ the taxi driver asks, looking concerned.
‘I’m fine, honestly.’ I rummage through my purse for a tissue but give up when one’s handed through the small hole in the glass. ‘Thank you.’
‘No problem. Let’s get you to the hospital.’
‘Thank you,’ I murmur pitifully, resting back in the seat and watching the blurred lights of London by night zoom past the window.
The driver drops me off at A&E and gives me his mobile number to call him as soon as I’m done. After checking myself in, I sit among the masses of Saturday night drunks, all injured, some ranting, some throwing up.
Four hours later, I’m still sitting in the waiting area, my bottom numb, my head banging. I get up and make my way to the toilet, looking down and seeing my ice-blue dress soaked with blood. My reflection in the mirror once I arrive in the ladies’ reveals even more of a mess. My hair is matted and my right cheek caked in dried blood. I look as pitiful as I feel. After staring at myself for too long and not bothering to remedy my sorry state, I exit into the waiting area again, just catching the tail end of my name being called. I look across the room to see a nurse scanning the waiting area.
‘Here!’ I call, hurrying over, thankful my time in the drunk-infested space is up. ‘I’m Olivia Taylor.’
‘Let’s get you sorted out.’ She smiles kindly and directs me into a cubicle, swiftly pulling the curtain across and settling me on the bed. ‘What have you been up to?’ she asks, frowning at my blood-coated face.