Unveiled
Page 73
‘I promise you,’ I murmur, without thought or consideration, for reasons I may never know, but Miller’s small smile and then the tender kiss he places on my lips tells me he doesn’t believe me.
‘You never cease to amaze me.’ My hand is clasped and I’m led to the couch, unbothered by my nudity. ‘Sit,’ he instructs, leaving me to make myself comfortable while he wanders over to a cabinet and opens a drawer. He pulls something out before he slowly strides towards the TV. I can only watch in silence as he takes a DVD from a familiar envelope and loads it into the player. Then my eyes follow his path back to me. He hands me a remote control. ‘Press play when you’re ready,’ he instructs me, thrusting it forward gently until I take it. ‘I’ll be in my studio. I can’t watch . . .’
Again.
He was going to say that he couldn’t watch it again. He shakes his head and dips, taking each side of my head in his palms and placing his lips on top of my head. The deepest breath is inhaled, like he’s trying to siphon off enough of my scent and spirit to last him forever. ‘I love you, Olivia Taylor. Always will.’ And with that, I watch the distance between us grow as he leaves me alone in the room.
I want to scream for him to come back, to hold my hand, or just hold me. The remote control in my hand is burning and the urge to throw it across the room is overwhelming. The screen of the TV is blank. A bit like my mind. Starting to spin the control in my hand, I sit back, widening the distance between me and something that’s going to send my already crumbling world into complete obliteration. I know it. Miller has confirmed it. So when I stop spinning the gadget in my hand and my finger pushes down on the Play button, I only stop to wonder what the hell I’m doing for a split second before the image of an empty room stops me from finishing my thought process. I frown and inch forward on the couch, taking in the plush space. It’s boasting antique furniture at every corner, including the huge four-poster bed, and there’s no question that it’s all original. Wood panelling dresses every wall, and detailed paintings of countryside landscapes are hanging randomly, each mounted with intricate gilded frames. It’s so posh and I can pretty much see the whole room, which tells me the camera is in a corner. It’s empty, quiet, but when the door opposite the camera suddenly opens sharply, I fly back on the sofa, dropping the remote control to the floor.
‘Jesus!’ My startled heart is racing in my chest as I try to get my erratic breathing under control. I don’t have to try for long, though, because my heart practically stops beating when a man appears in the doorway. My pulse slows in my veins and my blood turns to ice. The man is naked – naked except for a blindfold over his eyes. His hands are also held behind his back, and it doesn’t take me long to figure out why. He’s restrained. My poor eyes feel like they could bleed.
He’s young, middle or late teens, perhaps. There’s no lean muscle on his chest, his legs don’t look powerful and strong, and his stomach is flat – no cut abdominals or shadows from the protruding muscles in sight.
Yet there’s no mistaking who this young man is.
Chapter 22
‘No!’ My eyes flood with tears and my hand covers my mouth. ‘No, Miller. No, no, no.’ He’s pushed into the room and the door shut firmly behind him, and then he just stands there, still and silent. There’s no sound whatsoever. Not even when the door closes. I try to force my eyes shut; I don’t want to see any more, but it’s like a vice is holding them open, denying me any hope of hiding. My mind scrambles. Find the remote control. Turn it off. Don’t watch!
But I do. I sit like a statue, immobilised by shock, only my eyes and mind functioning. My brain is relentlessly demanding I find a way to stop this – not just now, but stop it back then. He drops to his knees on the floor. I could be having an out-of-body experience. I can see myself standing to the side, screaming my anguish. Miller’s head is dropped, and I gasp when a man appears from the bottom corner, his back to the camera. I let out a sob when he grabs Miller by the throat. He looks well dressed, a black suit adorning his tall body, and though I can’t see his face, I know with perfect clarity what his facial expression is. Supremacy. Power. Arrogance in the worst possible way.
I continue to torture myself, telling myself that this is a breeze compared to what my love is enduring. The unknown man continues to hold Miller by the throat as he yanks at the belt of his trousers. I know what’s coming. ‘You bastard,’ I whisper, rising to my feet. He takes a hold of himself, shifts his other hand to Miller’s cheeks, and squeezes until he’s forced to open his mouth. Then he rams himself past Miller’s lips and begins to thrust like a deranged madman. I bite my lip as I watch Miller, my strong, powerful man, being violated in the worst possible way. It goes on and on and on. No amount of my tears and gut-wrenching sobs stop the hideousness playing out before me. My stomach turns when the stranger’s head drops back a little and he slows down, circling into Miller’s mouth like it’s so very normal, my tummy twisting further when I actually see Miller swallow. Then like nothing has happened, the guy zips up, pushes Miller roughly to the side, and strolls out.
Every scrap of breath leaves my lungs on a quiet whimper as I watch Miller lie motionless on the floor, not a whistle of his mental state clear. His cautious approach to me taking him in my mouth and his violent reaction when he woke to me pleasuring him in New York is so clear now. I’m shaking with rage, sadness, every emotion possible, and it’s all for him. I sniffle and sniff, willing him to get up and leave. ‘Run away,’ I beg. ‘Leave.’
But he doesn’t. Not for the longest time. He only moves when another man appears from the same place as man number one. He’s back on his knees. ‘No!’ I yell, watching the new man stalk slowly forward, again in a suit. ‘No, Miller, please!’ The man follows the same string of sickening movements as the previous guy, except this one strokes Miller’s cheek. My hand is back over my mouth, holding back the nausea. He starts to undo his trousers. ‘No!’ I swing around, searching for the remote control. I can’t watch any more. My hands work like demons, throwing pillow after pillow across the room. ‘Where are you?’ I yell, beginning to sweat – a mixture of exhaustion and desperation to kill what’s playing out on the screen behind me. I pull up and scan the floor, spotting it under the table. Dropping to my knees, I grab it and swing around, aiming it at the television, but my finger doesn’t stab at the stop button. It just hovers above it, twitching as my wide eyes watch Miller’s hands come from behind his back and yank his blindfold from his head.
I choke and heart palpitations send me falling back to my arse. His eyes are revealed. They’re hollow. Empty. Dark.
Familiar.
The man staggers back in shock, frantically working at his trousers as Miller rises to his feet, danger coming from every naked pore. He said he killed a man. This man here. My arm goes limp, my finger relaxing as my hand falls to the floor. Now I really know what’s going to happen and I can’t even be sorry for the sadistic thrill I know I’m going to get from watching it play out. Miller in this footage may not be as physically lean and cut, but it would be foolish to underestimate the sheer violence radiating from him. He starts to stalk slowly forward, his face straight, no hint of anger evident at all. He looks completely composed. He’s a robot. A machine. He looks lethal.
‘You never cease to amaze me.’ My hand is clasped and I’m led to the couch, unbothered by my nudity. ‘Sit,’ he instructs, leaving me to make myself comfortable while he wanders over to a cabinet and opens a drawer. He pulls something out before he slowly strides towards the TV. I can only watch in silence as he takes a DVD from a familiar envelope and loads it into the player. Then my eyes follow his path back to me. He hands me a remote control. ‘Press play when you’re ready,’ he instructs me, thrusting it forward gently until I take it. ‘I’ll be in my studio. I can’t watch . . .’
Again.
He was going to say that he couldn’t watch it again. He shakes his head and dips, taking each side of my head in his palms and placing his lips on top of my head. The deepest breath is inhaled, like he’s trying to siphon off enough of my scent and spirit to last him forever. ‘I love you, Olivia Taylor. Always will.’ And with that, I watch the distance between us grow as he leaves me alone in the room.
I want to scream for him to come back, to hold my hand, or just hold me. The remote control in my hand is burning and the urge to throw it across the room is overwhelming. The screen of the TV is blank. A bit like my mind. Starting to spin the control in my hand, I sit back, widening the distance between me and something that’s going to send my already crumbling world into complete obliteration. I know it. Miller has confirmed it. So when I stop spinning the gadget in my hand and my finger pushes down on the Play button, I only stop to wonder what the hell I’m doing for a split second before the image of an empty room stops me from finishing my thought process. I frown and inch forward on the couch, taking in the plush space. It’s boasting antique furniture at every corner, including the huge four-poster bed, and there’s no question that it’s all original. Wood panelling dresses every wall, and detailed paintings of countryside landscapes are hanging randomly, each mounted with intricate gilded frames. It’s so posh and I can pretty much see the whole room, which tells me the camera is in a corner. It’s empty, quiet, but when the door opposite the camera suddenly opens sharply, I fly back on the sofa, dropping the remote control to the floor.
‘Jesus!’ My startled heart is racing in my chest as I try to get my erratic breathing under control. I don’t have to try for long, though, because my heart practically stops beating when a man appears in the doorway. My pulse slows in my veins and my blood turns to ice. The man is naked – naked except for a blindfold over his eyes. His hands are also held behind his back, and it doesn’t take me long to figure out why. He’s restrained. My poor eyes feel like they could bleed.
He’s young, middle or late teens, perhaps. There’s no lean muscle on his chest, his legs don’t look powerful and strong, and his stomach is flat – no cut abdominals or shadows from the protruding muscles in sight.
Yet there’s no mistaking who this young man is.
Chapter 22
‘No!’ My eyes flood with tears and my hand covers my mouth. ‘No, Miller. No, no, no.’ He’s pushed into the room and the door shut firmly behind him, and then he just stands there, still and silent. There’s no sound whatsoever. Not even when the door closes. I try to force my eyes shut; I don’t want to see any more, but it’s like a vice is holding them open, denying me any hope of hiding. My mind scrambles. Find the remote control. Turn it off. Don’t watch!
But I do. I sit like a statue, immobilised by shock, only my eyes and mind functioning. My brain is relentlessly demanding I find a way to stop this – not just now, but stop it back then. He drops to his knees on the floor. I could be having an out-of-body experience. I can see myself standing to the side, screaming my anguish. Miller’s head is dropped, and I gasp when a man appears from the bottom corner, his back to the camera. I let out a sob when he grabs Miller by the throat. He looks well dressed, a black suit adorning his tall body, and though I can’t see his face, I know with perfect clarity what his facial expression is. Supremacy. Power. Arrogance in the worst possible way.
I continue to torture myself, telling myself that this is a breeze compared to what my love is enduring. The unknown man continues to hold Miller by the throat as he yanks at the belt of his trousers. I know what’s coming. ‘You bastard,’ I whisper, rising to my feet. He takes a hold of himself, shifts his other hand to Miller’s cheeks, and squeezes until he’s forced to open his mouth. Then he rams himself past Miller’s lips and begins to thrust like a deranged madman. I bite my lip as I watch Miller, my strong, powerful man, being violated in the worst possible way. It goes on and on and on. No amount of my tears and gut-wrenching sobs stop the hideousness playing out before me. My stomach turns when the stranger’s head drops back a little and he slows down, circling into Miller’s mouth like it’s so very normal, my tummy twisting further when I actually see Miller swallow. Then like nothing has happened, the guy zips up, pushes Miller roughly to the side, and strolls out.
Every scrap of breath leaves my lungs on a quiet whimper as I watch Miller lie motionless on the floor, not a whistle of his mental state clear. His cautious approach to me taking him in my mouth and his violent reaction when he woke to me pleasuring him in New York is so clear now. I’m shaking with rage, sadness, every emotion possible, and it’s all for him. I sniffle and sniff, willing him to get up and leave. ‘Run away,’ I beg. ‘Leave.’
But he doesn’t. Not for the longest time. He only moves when another man appears from the same place as man number one. He’s back on his knees. ‘No!’ I yell, watching the new man stalk slowly forward, again in a suit. ‘No, Miller, please!’ The man follows the same string of sickening movements as the previous guy, except this one strokes Miller’s cheek. My hand is back over my mouth, holding back the nausea. He starts to undo his trousers. ‘No!’ I swing around, searching for the remote control. I can’t watch any more. My hands work like demons, throwing pillow after pillow across the room. ‘Where are you?’ I yell, beginning to sweat – a mixture of exhaustion and desperation to kill what’s playing out on the screen behind me. I pull up and scan the floor, spotting it under the table. Dropping to my knees, I grab it and swing around, aiming it at the television, but my finger doesn’t stab at the stop button. It just hovers above it, twitching as my wide eyes watch Miller’s hands come from behind his back and yank his blindfold from his head.
I choke and heart palpitations send me falling back to my arse. His eyes are revealed. They’re hollow. Empty. Dark.
Familiar.
The man staggers back in shock, frantically working at his trousers as Miller rises to his feet, danger coming from every naked pore. He said he killed a man. This man here. My arm goes limp, my finger relaxing as my hand falls to the floor. Now I really know what’s going to happen and I can’t even be sorry for the sadistic thrill I know I’m going to get from watching it play out. Miller in this footage may not be as physically lean and cut, but it would be foolish to underestimate the sheer violence radiating from him. He starts to stalk slowly forward, his face straight, no hint of anger evident at all. He looks completely composed. He’s a robot. A machine. He looks lethal.
