‘He’s gone,’ Miller says to the open air before him, just as we reach his car. ‘Get in.’
I do as I’m bid without complaint, letting Miller load the boot of his car alone. It’s not long before we’re speeding out of the car park and joining the main road, the atmosphere unbearable, but there’s no escaping it. ‘Where are we going?’ I ask, suddenly worried that he’s no intention of taking me home.
‘To Ice.’
‘But Nan,’ I argue quietly. ‘You can take me home first.’ I’ve no desire to accompany Miller to Ice. I’d rather commence with my favourite pastime of late and wedge my head a bit farther into the sand.
‘Wrong,’ he fires back resolutely, leaving no scope for negotiation. I know that tone. I know this behaviour. ‘We haven’t got time to fuck about, Olivia.’
‘Taking care of Nan isn’t fucking about!’
‘Gregory will take care of her.’
‘I want to take care of her.’
‘And I want to take care of you.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I haven’t got time for your sass right now!’ He pulls a hard right and screeches down a side street. ‘None of this is going away unless I make it.’
My heart rate slows. I don’t like the determination that’s written all over his hard features or lining his gravelly voice. I should be feeling a sense of relief that he’s full of fortitude to fix things. Problem is, I’m not sure how he intends to do that, but the little voice in my head is telling me I might not like it. And where will he start, anyway? Give me five minutes and I’ll produce a list of the shit to be dealt with, but then we go back to our original problem: What takes priority? Something tells me that my suspected pregnancy won’t be at the top of that list. Nor will the appearance of my mother.
No. Everything is telling me that our encounter with the ominous guy in the supermarket is reigning supreme on our list of shit. The immoral bastard. The man who Miller has been hiding me from. The man who holds the key to Miller’s chains.
Chapter 19
It’s the first time I’ve seen Ice completely empty.
Miller lifts me onto a stool and spins me to face the bar before making his way around and grabbing a sparkling tumbler from one of the glass shelves. He slams it down with force, seizes a bottle of scotch, and pours the glass to the brim. Then he downs the lot, gasping, his head falling back. Slowly, he turns and collapses back against the counter, looking down at his empty glass.
He looks defeated, and it scares the hell out of me. ‘Miller?’
He concentrates on his glass for a while before tortured blue eyes finally meet my gaze. ‘The guy in the supermarket. That was Charlie.’
‘The immoral bastard,’ I say, willingly showing my understanding. He’s exactly who I feared he was, yet my conclusion of the man, having been told about him by Miller, doesn’t do him justice. He’s terrifying.
‘Why won’t he just let you quit?’ I ask.
‘When you owe Charlie, you’re indebted for life. If he does you a favour, you pay forever.’
‘He got you off the streets years ago!’ I blurt. ‘That doesn’t justify your lifelong commitment to owing him. He made you a prostitute, Miller! And then promoted you to the Special One!’ I nearly fall from my stool as a result of the sudden anger bubbling in my gut. ‘This isn’t right!’