But he pauses his urgent string of movements when something catches his attention.

Something in my hand.

Every defeated bone in my body gives up on me. I make no attempt to hide what I’m holding. I make no attempt to conjure up an excuse. He’s blank, just gazing down at the box for the longest time before he eventually lifts empty blues to my watery eyes. ‘Oh Jesus fucking Christ,’ he exhales, the tips of his thumb and index finger meeting his forehead, his eyes clenching shut.

‘I don’t think the morning-after pill worked.’ I choke over my words, knowing I don’t need to elaborate and that he won’t demand it.

His hand rakes through his waves, pulling them all back from his face, and his cheeks puff out, adding to the display of shaken actions. ‘Fuck!’

I flinch as a result of his curse, my earlier terror being replaced by nerves. ‘I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure.’

‘Fuck!’ Miller seizes my nape and pushes me towards the end of the aisle, where I find our full trolley waiting. He chucks the box in carelessly, takes the handle of the trolley with his free hand, and starts leading us to the checkout.

My movements are automatic, my muscles working without instruction, maybe appreciating the delicate situation or maybe noting Miller’s explosive mood. I’m placing things on the conveyor belt at the checkout, quiet and wary, as Miller repositions everything according to how it should be. Leaving him to it, I go to the other end and begin packing the bags, but I’m spared that task, too, when Miller takes up position beside me and begins to remove and repack everything. So I stand like a spare part while he does his thing. His jaw is a constant source of ticking, his hand movements fast but ever precise as he shoves our buys into carrier bags before dumping the full ones in the trolley. He’s trying to restore some calm into his crumbing world.

After paying a dopey-eyed cashier, the trolley and I are reclaimed and we’re being pushed on firmly until we escape the confines of the bustling supermarket. But Miller’s unease doesn’t lessen, though I’m uncertain of the main cause now – me and my shocking revelation or that creepy man and his unnerving surprise visit.

At that thought, my eyes start darting everywhere.

‘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!’

‘Hey, hey, hey.’ He swiftly discards his empty glass and slaps a palm on the bar as leverage to flip himself over to my side. He clears it with ease and finesse, his feet landing silently in front of me. ‘Calm down,’ he placates me, cupping my hot cheeks and pulling my face up to his, scanning my welling eyes. ‘Nothing about my life has been right, Olivia.’ Spreading my thighs with his knees, he moves in close, lifting my face farther to accommodate him towering over me so our eyes can remain locked. ‘I’m too fucked up, sweet girl. Nothing can help me. Me and my club are gold mines for Charlie. But it isn’t only my profitability and the convenience of Ice for his dealings that dictates things. It’s the power trip, too. It’s principle. Show weakness and the enemy will have you by the bollocks.’ He breathes in deeply as I take it all in. ‘I’ve never considered quitting because I’ve never had reason to,’ Miller goes on. ‘He knows that. And he knows if I were to ever walk away, there would be good reason.’ His lips straighten and his eyes blink lazily, an action I usually find comforting, spellbinding. Not today, though. Today it’s just adding to my trepidation because that slow blink, accompanied by another deep inhale, is an attempt to gather the strength he needs to utter his next words. When he drags his lids open, I hold my breath, bracing myself. He’s looking at me like I’m the most precious thing in his universe. Because I am. ‘They will eliminate that good reason,’ he finishes quietly, punching the breath from my lungs. ‘One way or another, he wants you out of my life. I haven’t been acting like a neurotic lunatic for nothing. I belong to him, Olivia. Not you.’