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.