My shoulders square of their own volition and I reclaim my drink from behind me. ‘No,’ I whisper before taking a sip.

‘I’ve asked once.’

‘And I’ve told you once.’

He reaches for my glass again, but I pull away and attempt to escape by dipping past Miller. I don’t get far before Miller’s grip on the top of my arm stops me. ‘Let go.’

‘Don’t cause a scene, Olivia,’ he says, snatching the drink from my hand. ‘You are not staying in my club.’

‘Why?’ I ask, unable to stop him from pushing me on. ‘Because I’m interfering with your business?’ I’m yanked to a stop and swung around.

He pushes his face to mine, so close I’m certain it could look like he’s kissing me from afar. ‘No, because you have a fucking nasty habit of letting other men taste you when you’re pissed off with me.’ His eyes drop down to my mouth, and I can tell he’s fighting the urge to tackle it – to taste me. His hot breath on my face burns away some of my anger, making way for another heat. But he pulls back, face straightening as he takes a step away from me. ‘And I won’t think twice about breaking them in half,’ he whispers.

‘I’m really pissed off with you.’

‘So am I.’

‘You said you missed her. I heard it, Miller.’

‘How?’ He doesn’t even deny it.

‘Because she called my phone.’

His breathing deepens. I can see it and I can hear it. I’m claimed and swung around, being pushed on harshly.

‘Trust me,’ he spits. ‘I need you to trust me.’

He shoves me roughly through the crowd as I try to desperately cling to my faith in him. My legs are unstable and my mind even more so. People are watching us, standing back and moving aside as they throw inquisitive looks at us. I spend no time studying their faces . . . until I clap eyes on a familiar one.

My eyes fix on the man, my head turning slowly as we pass to maintain my view. I know him, and by the look of recognition on his face, he knows me, too. He smiles and moves to intercept us, leaving Miller no option but to stop. ‘Hey, no need to escort the young lady out,’ he says, tipping his drink to Miller. ‘If she’s too intoxicated, I’ll happily take responsibility of her.’

‘Move.’ Miller’s tone is deadly. ‘Now.’

The guy shrugs mildly, unaffected, or simply unbothered by the threat lacing Miller’s words. ‘I’ll save you the hassle of ejecting her.’

My eyes drop from his intent stare, thinking hard. Where do I know him from? But then I flinch and step back when I feel my hair being played with. The cold chills creeping onto my neck tell me it’s not Miller indulging in the feel of my wild blonde. It’s the stranger.

‘Feels just like it did all those years ago,’ he says wistfully. ‘I’d pay just for the pleasure of smelling it again. I’ve never forgotten this hair. Still turning tricks?’

All breath is sucked from my lungs when realisation sucker punches me in the stomach. ‘No,’ I gasp, moving back and colliding with Miller’s chest.

The heat and tremors firing off him and soaking into me are all indicative of psychotic Miller, yet the focus I need to appreciate that danger is being sucked up by unrelenting flashbacks – flashbacks I’ve managed to push to the back of my mind. I can’t now. This man has awakened them, brought them thundering forward. They make me grip my head with my hands, make me wince and shout in frustration. They won’t go. They’re attacking me, forcing me to witness a mental re-run of encounters from my past that I’ve wrestled to the dark, hidden place at the back of my mind for so long. Now they’ve been set free and nothing can stop them from charging forward. Memories are circulating repeatedly, burning into the back of my eyes. ‘No!’ I shout, my hands shifting to my hair and yanking, knocking the stranger’s grip from my strands.

I feel my body cave under the shock and distress, every muscle giving up on me, yet I don’t fold to the floor, and that is because the vice-like grip on my upper arm is holding me up. I’m numb to my surroundings, everything dark from my clenched eyes, everything silent from my mental lockdown. But that doesn’t rid me of my awareness to the ticking bomb holding on to me.

He’s gone from beside me in the blink of an eye, leaving me crumbling to the floor from my lack of support. My palms slap the hard ground, sending shock waves up my arms, and my hair tumbles around me. The sight of my golden tresses pooling in my lap makes me feel sick; it’s all I can see, so I throw my head up and choke on nothing when I face the stomach-turning sight of Miller in psychotic action. It’s all in slow motion, making every bloodcurdling collide of his fist to the guy’s face repulsively clear. He’s relentless, repeatedly striking his victim over and over, roaring his rage as he does. The music has stopped. People are screaming. But not one person steps forward to intervene.

I sob, wincing constantly as Miller continues to rain punches into the man’s face and body, spraying blood everywhere. There’s no fight in the poor guy. He isn’t being given any opportunity to fight back. He’s completely helpless.

‘Stop him!’ I scream, catching sight of Tony to the side, looking on with dread on his rough face. ‘Please, stop him.’ I drag myself from the floor with some determined effort. No one in their right mind would try to intervene. I painfully accept that, and when the focus of Miller’s rage collapses lifelessly to the floor and Miller still doesn’t relent, starting to kick him in the stomach, I succumb to my need to escape.

I can’t watch anymore.

I run away.

I’m sobbing as I fight my way through the crowds, my face stinging and swollen from my tears, not that anyone notices. Everyone’s attention is still on the mayhem behind me, the sick arseholes unable to tear their eyes away from the gruesome scene unfolding. I stagger and stumble, distraught and disorientated, to the entrance of Ice. Making it to the pavement outside, I cry gut-wrenching tears, my body shaking uncontrollably as I frantically search out a cab to take me away, but my opportunity to escape is lost when I’m grabbed from behind. It’s not Miller; I know that much. There are no fireworks or burning need rising within me.

‘Inside, Livy.’ Tony’s troubled voice sinks into my ears and I’m on the move with not a hope of fighting him off.

‘Tony, please,’ I beg. ‘Please, let me go.’

‘Not a fucking chance.’ He guides me to the stairs that lead down to the maze under Ice. I don’t understand. Tony hates me. Why would he want me to stay when Miller needs to focus on this world? A world that’s now all too clear.

‘I want to leave.’

‘You’re going nowhere, girl.’

I’m being pulled and pushed around corners, down corridors. ‘Why?’

The door to Miller’s office is opened and I’m pushed inside. I turn to face Tony, finding his stocky body heaving, his jaw tight. A finger comes up and points in my face, making me recoil slightly. ‘You’re not leaving, because when that maniac has finished beating that man to death, he’s gonna be asking for you. He’s gonna want to see you! And I’m not risking him going in for round two when he can’t find you, Livy! Stay where you fucking are!’ He walks out, slamming the door ferociously, leaving me standing in the middle of Miller’s office, eyes wide, heart thundering.