Page 117 of The Catalyst

“You hand out justice. How can anything be far enough that you won’t step in?” I scowl at Charlie in anger. This is sheer bullshit.

“It’s not justice. We punish those who break our rules, not anyone else’s. No one outside of Grove Hill falls under our protection. It doesn’t matter if they’re Ni’s mother and sister.” Oliver’s fingers tap on the arm of the chair, and he never meets my gaze.

I send Nigel a look to tell him to leave the room if he doesn’t want to be traumatized the way I have been. He doesn’t move, though.

Lifting up the recorder, I hit play and toss it on the coffee table. “Let’s see how you feel after listening to that.”

My eyes should be on Nigel as the recording plays, but I can’t look away from Oliver. From the moment her voice comes onto the recording, his body language changes, and gradually, his muscles tense until his knuckles are white and that murderous look in his eyes is on fire.

I’ve never seen him show this degree of emotion before–not genuinely, anyway.

Oliver Doyle is an unfeeling demon most of the time–even when he’s talking to me–except when he listens to Aimee O’Reilly recount her torture, full of as much emotion as she does.

The others, however…Ronan’s face is contorted with pain, while Oisin looks like he’s about to cry. Nigel, the man I’ve learned to love no matter how twisted it is, is devoid of emotion. He’s catatonic at best, staring off into the distance as he listens to the tape.

This is why I didn’t want him to hear it. He loves his sister dearly and wants to keep her safe, but hearing this…I bet it's killing him on the inside. I want to tell him it will be okay, but that would be a lie. I have no clue if Aimee will recover from this, if she’ll ever have a normal life, or if she’ll ever find a healthy connection. What she has been through can change a person forever.

After a few minutes, the tape clicks, and instead of saying anything helpful, Charlie mutters, “Was there a point to that?”

My jaw slacks, and my eyes widen from how insensitive he is. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Oliver’s head slowly turns to Charlie like a demonically possessed doll, so slow it's calculating.

“Like I said,” Charlie starts before crossing his arms like a pissy toddler. “It’s outside of our jurisdiction.”

Out of nowhere, Oliver’s fist connects with Charlie’s jaw, sending him tumbling off the couch with a loud thud. The sound is so loud I jump back in shock, and Oliver stands to his feet, charging toward the hall.

“What the fuck, man!” Charlie yells, but no one else moves. No one even breathes.

Except me.

Without waiting a moment to gather my thoughts, I race down the hall, the sound of breaking glass calling to me, and stop at the entrance to Oliver’s bedroom. The door is open, and it's a rare occurrence. I won’t invade his space, but the way he just reacted…it was completely out of character for him.

Oliver Doyle doesn’t snap out of nowhere. He always calculates his moves.

Oliver’s back heaves as he rummages through the drawer in his bedside table, but I take in the shattered whiskey bottle on the floor at the wall, drops of the brown liquid trailing down the off-white paint peeling. The TV is knocked off his dresser and broken on the floor, along with a lamp and three picture frames.

I doubt many people have seen what it looks like when Oliver Doyle loses it. It's scary and heartbreaking.

“Oliver, what are you doing?” I ask breathlessly. If he is planning to go find Aimee, I won’t tell him where she is. He’s too emotional right now to be anywhere near her.

Suddenly, he speaks with a low and dangerous tone, “What everyone else is too weak to do.” Then, he slams the drawer, and it clicks.

He’s not going to look for Aimee. She’s not even on his radar right now.

“You’re going afterhim, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t respond. Snatching his hoodie off a nearby chair, he shrugs it on, tension evident in each move he makes before he faces me.

“Out of my way before I go through you,” he threatens, and I have no doubt he would, but there is only one problem with that.

“I’m coming with you.”

He blinks at me like I just spoke a foreign language, but then he shakes it off.

“No, you’re not.”

“Oliver,” I warn. He may scare some people, but I’m the most stubborn person in this town and I know him. He may say he’ll hurt me, but he won’t actually do it. He won’t deter me.

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