Denied - Page 11/64

I run.

My legs work fast, carrying me away from my distress and a man who I don’t think can be helped at all. By anyone. I navigate the corridors well, my terror fuelling my determination to escape, until I break free of the underground labyrinth of Miller’s club. I’m torn when the exit comes into sight, my head snapping back and forth between that and the openness of the club where Gregory is waiting for me.

I need to find him. I tear through the crowds, bumping and pushing into bewildered revellers, who curse or shout when I send drinks flying and knock bodies back.

I spot Gregory. ‘Where have you been?’ he asks as I come to an abrupt halt in front of him, his confused eyes taking in my pale, sweaty face. Handing me a glass cautiously, his concern soon morphs into anger and the drink is withdrawn, his eyes diverting over my shoulders.

‘I need to leave,’ I wheeze, grabbing his hand. ‘Please, I need to go.’

‘What’s he doing here?’ He discards my drink on the bar and starts pulling me away, making sure he knocks into Miller as we pass, but I’m soon captured by the wrist and yanked away from Gregory. ‘Get your f**king hands off her,’ Gregory growls, his body starting to shake. ‘Now!’

‘I’ll ask you to do the same thing,’ Miller retorts on a menacing whisper, tugging at my arm. ‘We’re not done.’

‘Yes, we are.’ I wrench myself free and push Gregory onward, knowing Miller won’t give in. Ben approaches, looking concerned, but soon backs off, a cautious look on his face when he clocks Miller following behind. And then there’s Tony, who tries to intercept Miller and gets practically thrown to the side for his trouble.

‘Miller, son, this isn’t the time or place,’ Tony seethes, looking nervously around the club.

‘Fuck you!’ Miller spits.

All I can hear is shouting. Miller is cursing. Tony is cursing. Gregory is cursing. Anger is drenching the happy club atmosphere around me, making my determination to escape stronger.

The doorman gives us a wide berth as we throw ourselves out of the club, his eyes widening when he sees who’s coming after us. ‘Don’t let her leave!’ Miller roars, prompting the doorman to make chase. He catches me and tosses me up onto his big shoulder, but I’m too stunned to voice my shock, still hearing men swearing.

Explicit language is being fired everywhere, my view of events surrounding me is hampered, leaving me wriggling to free myself from the severe grip of the doorman.

‘Give her to me!’ Miller’s voice is dripping with threat, and I feel hands at my waist trying to pull me down.

‘Dave, put her down!’ Tony yells.

‘I will if you all give me some f**king space!’ the doorman bellows, taking me away from the grappling of hands, over to the other side of the road. He lowers me to my feet and gives me the once-over. ‘Are you okay, darling?’

I half-heartedly pull my dress back into place, feeling disorientated and exposed. ‘Sure,’ I murmur, but then I’m seized by the waist again in a fierce clinch. Internal lightning bolts strike me hard, and as I look up, I see Gregory a few yards away. Miller has me, and the fear of his touch sends me into a deranged mess of flailing body parts. ‘Let go of me!’

‘Never!’

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.

‘I fell,’ I mutter feebly, which isn’t far from the truth.

‘Okay, lovey,’ she says, taking a sterile pad from a packet. ‘This may sting.’ I pull in a shocked rush of breath as it connects with my head, and she hushes me like an injured child. ‘There, there. It looks worse than it is. Some glue will sort it out.’

I’m flooded with relief. ‘Thank you.’

‘Perhaps better footwear is called for.’ She smiles, looking down at my heels before continuing to glue me back together.

I sit on the edge of the bed and listen to the nurse chat away, offering the odd agreement or answer to her questions every now and then. My face is cleaned up, but there is nothing that can be done with my hair, so I pile it up gingerly, securing it with a loose tie that I find hiding at the bottom of my bag. My dress looks like it’s ready for the dustbin. I look like I’m ready for the dustbin.

Once I’ve been seen to thoroughly and checked for concussion, I’m discharged and left to find my way home. But I don’t call the nice taxi man because one pulls up, just as the automatic doors swing open, exposing me to the chill of the early hours. I shiver and wrap my arms around my body, trying to squeeze the shudders away as I hurry to the cab. I hop in, but before I can pull the door shut, there’s a body blocking it, hindering my attempts.

Then a palm is resting on my nape and internal sparks begin to fizz. ‘You’re coming with me.’

Chapter Seven

Despondency and the look of determination in his eyes prevent me from fighting him. I haven’t the energy to fight him, so I let him pull me from the taxi and lead me away.

‘Get in,’ he orders when we arrive at his car parked haphazardly nearby.

I do as I’m told and let him shut me in. He climbs in and shocks me when he starts pulling at his wreck of a suit. ‘Fucking mess,’ he mutters, looking out the corner of his eye to me. He’s probably taking in my own dishevelled state, the fool. On a mild shake of his head, he slams his Merc into gear and pulls away from the hospital way too fast, but I don’t say a thing. I’d be stupid to say anything. He looks homicidal, totally deranged. And I’m wary of it.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks, pulling a sharp left onto the main road.

I don’t answer, instead focusing forward. He knows the answer to that question.

‘I’ve asked once.’

I remain quiet, absorbing the continued fury emanating from his messy form.

‘Damn it, Olivia!’ He punches the door window, sending me on a startled jump in the passenger seat. ‘Where are your f**king manners?’

I chance a cautious glance at him, seeing a sweaty brow and that loose curl jumping across his forehead from his shaking. ‘I’m fine,’ I whisper.

He takes a calming pull of breath and glances up to the rear-view mirror. ‘Why is your phone turned off?’

‘It’s broken.’

He looks across to me before flicking his eyes up to the mirror again, then taking another sharp left. ‘How?’

‘I threw it at the wall when you texted me,’ I don’t hesitate telling him. ‘Because I was mad at you.’

His face turns to mine and drinks in my blank face for what seems like for ever. Then his hand releases the gearstick and starts to slowly come towards my knee until he gently and cautiously rests it on my bare flesh. I look down at him rubbing lazy circles before I pull my leg away and return my stare forward, leaving his hand dropping to the leather by my leg. He quietly curses and, in my peripheral vision, I see him looking to the rear-view mirror once again. My hand shoots out to grab the door when he takes another vicious turn into a dark alley on yet another quiet curse, and I instinctively glance out the back of the car. Does he think someone’s following us?