Unveiled(134)

When he’s done, I see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he casts his eyes upward to me. “Are you okay?” he asks, looking down to my tummy. “Tell me you’re both okay.”

My palm meets my stomach without thought. “We’re fine,” I assure him, earning a sharp nod of acknowledgment.

“Excellent,” he breathes, a huge amount of relief apparent through his formal reply. I know what he’s doing. He’s detaching himself, and I know why. He’ll be walking out of this house, oozing his usual aloofness and power, not prepared to let any one of the sinful bastards downstairs see any scrap of weakness. I’m more than happy to let him have that.

He approaches me, and when he’s nearly touching my chest, he slides his hand onto my nape and massages firmly into my strung muscles. I don’t miss the slight wince when he registers my cut cheek. “I’m so incredibly in love with you, Olivia Taylor,” he whispers hoarsely, letting his forehead fall delicately to mine. “I’m leaving this house my way, but once I’m out that door, I’m yours to do whatever the hell you want with me.” His lips push firmly into my forehead, his hand squeezing my nape.

I know what he’s trying to tell me, but I don’t want to do whatever the hell I want with him. I just want him. I’d never enforce anything on him, not after everything he’s endured up to this point in his life. He’s free now, and I’m not about to slap conditions, demands, or restrictions on him. He can do whatever the hell he likes with me. I pull away and smile when I see his wayward curl back and misbehaving. I leave it exactly where it is. “I’m yours—no conditions attached.”

“Jolly good, Miss Taylor.” He nods agreeably and gives me another kiss, this time on the lips. “Not that you have any choice in the matter.”

I smile, and he winks. It’s beautiful, despite the abnormal darkness of his eyes. “Go,” I prompt, pushing him away.

His lips tip a little as he takes backward steps, pulling at the lapels of his jacket until he turns and strides out of the room, leaving the door open for Gracie and William, who are waiting cautiously outside. Both look at Miller as he passes, like he’s been resurrected. He has. I smile a little on the inside as William follows Miller’s perfect form around the galleried landing, shaking his head on a little huff of laughter before he catches up with him and flanks him as he takes the stairs.

I follow on, not even flinching or objecting when I feel an arm settle around my shoulders. I look to see Gracie gazing down at me. “He’s going to be fine, Olivia.”

“Of course he is.” I smile and let her lead me down the stairs behind William as he escorts the Special One away from this sinister place, but as we get to the front hall, my contentment wavers. I see Charlie propped up against the wall outside his office. He’s beaten to a pulp, and when one of his men turns to us with a sneer on his face, my contentment slips away completely.

This isn’t over—not by a long shot.

I glance to William and Miller, but neither look fazed.

“Evening.” The gruff voice doesn’t come from William or Miller or any one of the mean slimeballs flanking Charlie.

Every set of eyes in the room divert to the doors, the atmosphere thickening further. There’s a beast of a man filling the doorway. Huge. He’s silver haired, the skin of his face pitted. “You broke our deal, Charlie.”

The Russian.

I look to Gracie when she settles a shaky hand on my arm, seeing her eyes centered on the ominous being holding everyone’s attention.

The unease that creeps over Charlie and his men is visible. I can feel it.

“I’m sure we can renegotiate, Vladimir.” Charlie tries to laugh, but it comes out more like a wheeze.

“A deal is a deal.” He smiles, just as he’s joined by an army of men, all suited, all as large as Vladimir and all focused on Charlie.

It’s quiet.

Charlie’s men step away from their boss, leaving him unprotected prey.

Then all hell breaks loose.

William yells and makes a grab for Miller, who’s now charging at Charlie, murder etched on every piece of his face. No one will stop him. All of Charlie’s men move farther away, clearing the path, giving Miller clear access to the immoral bastard.

I display no shock or worry. Not even when Miller lifts Charlie from his feet by his neck and slams him into the wall, so hard I think the plaster could have cracked behind him. Charlie is showing no fear or shock, his face straight, but that evil glint has disappeared. He expected this.

“See this?” Miller asks, his voice low and dripping with violence, running a finger along the scar on Charlie’s cheek, all the way down to the corner of his mouth. “I’m going to get them to complete this Chelsea smile before they kill you.” He jerks Charlie against the wall, slamming him harder into the plaster. A loud clatter resonates around the hall when a picture jumps off the wall and hits the floor as a result of the vibrations. Yet I still don’t move a muscle and Charlie remains straight-faced, taking what Miller is giving. He has no fight in him. He’s defeated. “Slowly,” Miller whispers.