Page 142 of The Catalyst

Thankfully, the direction my mind went provided a good distraction because the next thing I know, the guard comes out with a clipboard in his hands.

“Visitor for O’Reilly!” the burly man with skin paler than mine yells, and I quickly jump up from my seat, shoving my headphones in my pockets.

“I’m here for Nigel O’Reilly,” I say, but the pissy guard just scowls at me before nodding through the door. I walk through, and he closes the loud, metal door.

“Hand over your phone and any other electronic devices you have on you,” he instructs, and I quickly follow his instructions to a T, handing him my phone and iPod. He nods and places them in a blue plastic tub before sliding it into a slot in the desk next to the door. “Put your hands on the wall and spread your legs.”

My eyes widen, and I glare at him, but he gets a sinister look across his face. “Either do this the easy way, or I can just strip-search you.”

I have the nagging feeling that if he got me naked, I wouldn’t leave in one piece.

Fucking prick.

Biting my tongue to keep from saying some smartass remark, I press my hands against the wall and slightly spread my legs, instantly regretting that I went with a skirt today. The predator with a badge nudges my legs further apart until he is satisfied.

Before I have time to prepare myself, his hands run up my stomach and cup my breasts, squeezing them painfully. I wince and struggle not to snap at him. “These are really nice, Ms. Mercer.”

“If my boyfriend knew you were admiring them, you’d be dead already,” I hiss.

“Are you threatening a public servant?” he growls as his hands move down my legs and under my skirt. Then, his filthy hands cup me through my underwear. My instinct screams to fight, but that would end with me behind bars.

“I don’t know. Is it a threat to explain the relationship between cause and effect?” I suck my lips between my teeth when his fingers move into my underwear, and I nearly break. Is he really going to assault me in a hall where anyone could see or hear me call for help? Of course he would because he thinks he can get away with anything.

“Well, soon, your boyfriend won’t be able to protect you anymore. The Grays want Nigel O’Reilly dead. He won’t make it past the month.”

My heart twists as that knife stabs into me, cutting up my insides.

I try to push the guard away, but he has me pinned in place, and when I fight him, he slams a finger inside me, a stabbing pain radiating from my core at the intrusion.

“And, when that happens, I’m going to tear you apart from the inside out, Bastard Whore. I’ll enjoy breaking you and taking what belongs tohim. It will be the perfect icing on an already spectacular cake. O’Reilly will be dust, and I’ll have his bitch as a plaything.”

I’m crying on the inside even as my expression remains impassive.

“Nigel isn’t the only one protecting me. Heis the least of your concerns because the town psychopath would do worse.”

When you saythe town psychopathin Grove Hill, everyone knows exactly who that is.

He pulls away in less than a breath, like my flesh burned him. Yeah, take that motherfucker.

“Keep in mind,” I mutter as I fix my skirt and turn to him, anger radiating from me. “Nigel may throw punches, but my Ollie erupts volcanoes with his wrath. I’ve seen it, and you bet you’re ugly, misogynistic ass that it’s not pretty when it's targeted at you. Not to mention, he’s sitting right outside waiting for me. I might just tell him what you did and said to me.”

The words are barely out of my mouth before the guard fumbles over his words. “First door on the right.”

This fucker is scared shitless of Oliver, and I can’t say I’m surprised. I was afraid of him, too, until I realized he was no threat to me, just everyone else. I feel bad using Ollie like a weapon, but if he knew what this fucker just did to me, he’d be so pissed his head would explode. He’d be proud of me for using him to get this fucker’s hands off of me though.

Turning on my heels, I head straight for the first door on the right. Through a small window, I see a man in an orange jumpsuit handcuffed to the table.

“Nigel!” I cry his name as I throw open the door and go straight to him. His head snaps around, and a grin spreads across his face as I throw myself into his lap. He groans, but his arms quickly wrap around me, squeezing me against him even as the handcuffs restrain him.

“Butterfly,” he mumbles against my skin as I cry into his shoulder. I was so worried about him. He smells like…nothing. He doesn’t smell clean, dirty, or sterile. Just bland as fuck, and I hate it. I could take it if he smelled like a sewer, but not this.

It’s like Shawn all over again, but Nigel is still here. I can feel his heart and hear him breathing.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers against my ear.

A sob crashes through my mouth. “I’m fine. I had a concussion and some whiplash, but you were right. Your truck kept me safe, and Ollie got me out before it could go over the bridge.”

My heart aches as his arms tighten around me. “Thank God you’re okay.”

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