Page 145 of The Catalyst

“You need to leavenow.”

“No,” I refuse as I pull my arm from his hold. “I know you’re just trying to protect me and I appreciate that, but if I can fix this whole situation just by talking to your father, I’m going to do it. This is my fault anyway.”

His eyes narrow with confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ll explain later, okay?” Actually I won’t, but I bet he won’t think to question me about the slip up then. Turning on my heels, I leave Martin in the dust and continue following the butler from hell.

* * *

This house is sobig my toes are starting to cramp from walking so much, but the butler doesn’t seem to be losing any steam until we make it to an open door, where I hear shouting.

“Come on, Dad! I never ask you for anything. Just let him off the hook. He’s spent a week in jail. Isn’t that enough for you?”

Michael?

He’s standing up for Nigel and fighting his case.

“It’s none of your concern, Mikey. Now, be a good boy and run along,” a more gruff voice responds dismissively.

“This isn’t over.” Then, Michael steps out, and his eyes widen when he sees me standing with the butler from hell. A few blonde strands fall in his face as he moves closer. “He won’t budge. I’ve been trying to convince him for days to release Nigel, but he’s not listening.”

“I’ll do what I can. We’re not going to give up, okay?” Reaching out, I take his hand and give it a tight squeeze to show my gratitude for him being so loyal to his friend. Then, Michael walks around us and dashes down the corridor like a man on a mission.

Me, too, Michael. Me, too.

The butler nudges me toward the door, and I glare over my shoulder before I knock on the open mahogany door.

“Enter,” the man inside calls out, and I take a deep breath before strolling inside.

I don’t think I’ve ever been in a more egotistical room. White sparkling tiles cover the floor with a bear rug next to a massive fireplace with a crystal table top coffee table that makes up most of the room except for the glossy cherry oak desk that looks out the glass wall to the perfectly manicured lawn. The only thing more gaudy than the bear rug is probably the fully stocked bar on the wall opposite the dead animal skin.

Nolan Gray stands up from behind the desk, fixing a button on his suit jacket like he just came home from a day at the office.

And, like that, the familiar sensation of snakes slithering across my skin returns, a sensation I never wanted to feel again. I have to do this though.

“Please, have a seat, Miss Mercer.”

His blue eyes scan my frame like he’s trying to figure me out using those cold, calculating eyes. He gives not a single emotion away as I move to the sofa, and instead of joining me, he walks behind me, and shortly after, I hear a door click shut.

My anxiety picks up as all the conversations with Martin about his abuse flashes through my mind. People call Ollie the town psychopath, but that title is more fitting of this creature. I don’t know him well, but I don’t need to. He hurts his own family for no real reason–not that any reason would ever be good enough.

My head snaps around as he strolls across the room like he’s above everything and everyone, his head held high like he’s the King of England and this is Buckingham Palace.

“What can I do for you, Miss Mercer?” he mutters as he walks to the bar. “May I offer you a drink?”

“Um, thank you for the offer, but no. I’m fine.”

I’m cautious of the words I use. I know how to deal with an abusive person. I’ve spent enough time with my mother and being aware of someone who could snap at any moment has its advantages.

His head snaps around, and a brow lifts as he assesses me again before giving me a curt nod. “Very well. Do you mind if I get a drink for myself?”

Why is he asking me this? “Not at all.” I offer a small smile, but he doesn’t pour himself a drink. Instead, he continues to watch me like he’s calculating how many pounds of pressure it takes for my face to move, like he’s looking at me but not at the same time.

Finally, he grabs the decanter and an empty whiskey glass before filling it halfway with the amber liquid. He pauses for a second with the lid to the decanter in his hand before placing it where it goes. That intermission is enough to put me on edge. I have no clue what is going through this man’s head, but I can guarantee it has nothing to do with cute brown bunnies and fluffy-tailed fawns. Bambi and Thumper should be so lucky not to ever be faced with the likes of Nolan Gray.

He turns with the glass in his hand,walks straight over, and sits on the couch opposite of me. “What did you want to see me about, Miss Mercer? I’ve received quite a few visits from your mother in the past, but never you. If I remember correctly, the last time you came here it was to see Martin, right?”

I nod.

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