Page 17 of The Catalyst

I turn my head to look at him and the way he glares at me should make me run and hide, but I'm probably an idiot on some level.

"Excuse me?" My eyes widen.

"I said, your business—your money—is no good here. Find another shop," he demands, venom on his tongue.

What is his problem? He didn't have a problem with me at the party. As a matter of fact, he seemed quite interested in my presence in general. Now, he looks like I kicked his puppy.

"Why?" I press, holding my head high.

"Because," he hisses. "I fucking said so."

I glare at his stupid, drop dead gorgeous face. "Oooo, I'm so scared," I mutter sarcastically before rolling my eyes. "What authority do you have? I doubt you own this shop and I don't think your boss would appreciate you turning away business."

His eyebrows drop, darkening the already intimidating look he gives me. "Everyone fucking listens to me because they don't want to see what will happen if they don't. Leave. Now." He turns his eyes to the receptionist who cowers with fear potent in her eyes. "Don't fucking check her in."

"Ye-ye-yes, Oliver." She is practically shaking in her boots as he walks away. "You should listen to him, dear. I've seen him pissed off and trust me when I say you don't want to witness it." She offers a smile before glancing over her shoulder at him retreating into the shop.

I don't move. I cross my arms over my chest before smirking at her.

"Can you get me your boss, please?"

I'm not going to put up with him throwing a fit, even if he is scary as hell. I'm not afraid of asking for a manager. I will gladly do it and getting him fired might just make me feel a bit giddy before he kills me.

"Miss—" she starts, the fear ticking up in her eyes.

"Please," I press, but she just sighs before pressing a button on her desk.

"Mr. Vargas, there's a young lady who would like to speak with you."

I watch through the door as Oliver's head snaps around and his eyes land on me completely unmoved. I lift my hand and give him a little finger wave. The look on his face is enough to say he isn't used to people defying his orders.

Checkmate, asshole.

His face turns red as he charges for the door and I take one deep breath, knowing I just loosened the valve on whatever restraint he has. I ready myself for him to burst through the door, strangle me, beat me—whatever he chooses, but when he pushes the door open, he charges at me and presses his shoulder into my waist, throwing me over his shoulder.

I scream from the shock and kick him in the stomach, but it doesn't stop him at all. Instead, he carries me out the back door as if I weight nothing.

He has fucking lost his mind.

"Put me down, you fucking neanderthal!" I smack his back and, in response, he slaps my ass so hard I yelp and feel the vibrations of my spanking all the way down to my toes and as deep as my cunt.

I never thought I would be into being spanked, but I was wrong. I'm so fucking wet and it's beyond inappropriate for this situation. I'm definitely not fucking this psycho.

"Shut up before I fuck you with the wrong end of my blade."

My eyes widen. Did he just threaten tostabme in my pussy?

"What is your problem?" I knee him in the chest again, which just earns me another hard slap on my ass. I have no control over the surprised moan that falls from my lips as he throws open the back door and carries me out. The back of the shop is just cars for the employees, I assume that's who they belong to, and a ten foot high fence that can't be seen through.

Worst of all, we're alone—completely and utterly alone. I'm trapped with this psycho and there is no one coming to save me.

He reaches a black Mustang and slams my body into the hood, the pain vibrating through all of me. I hiss from the ache and immediately jump into fight mode as he grabs for my legs. I claw at his perfect face and he grabs my wrists, slamming them against the hood of the car.

"Fuck you!" I growl at him with the same intensity I find in his angry eyes.

"I said, shut up. Don't you know how to follow simple instructions?" he presses, but I just snap my teeth at his face to show I'm not the docile little flower like he might think I am. Everyone underestimates me. Why would this idiot be any different?

"Oh, I'm sorry, Oliver. I don't roll over for toxic masculinity. Sorry, not sorry."

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