Page 53 of The Catalyst

"M.G. meaning Martin Gray?" he presses.

"I guess. I mean, it makes sense now why he thought he had a right to grab my ass the first time I saw him after I moved here. He thought I remembered what happened and was just pretending I didn't. I really don't remember any of it." I meet his eyes. "Are you going to tell Nigel?" I ask and for the life of me I can't figure out why it feels like I'm waiting to be grounded.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks, completely avoiding the question.

“What?” I blanche because his question throws me off that much.

“Did Martin hurt you that night? Did you have any bruises?” he presses, his expression so serious it gives me pause.

“No. I wouldn’t have even known I had sex at all if it wasn’t for the evidence on my thighs in the morning.”

He hums under his breath, but doesn’t explain.

“Why would you ask that?” It’s my turn to push him for answers.

He lets out a long breath. “The guys–Nigel specifically–have had a close eye on Martin Gray for a long time. Any woman who spends any kind of time with him privately is always seen with bruises afterward. Some are even hospitalized. None of them would talk about what happened to them as if they were either paid for their silence or scared of what would happen to them if they talked.”

My eyes widen from this revelation. “You think Martin has been hurting them?”

Oliver quickly shakes his head. “No, I don’t. I never did. He’s harmless. He keeps a mask in place to keep people from seeing what’s underneath, but based on what you’ve said, it’s all the evidence needed to know for certain he’s not the one hurting those women. He was given the perfect opportunity to hurt an unsuspecting victim and he didn’t take it. Any predator would.”

“What does that mean though?” I know what it is, but I need to hear him say it so I know my mind isn’t messing with me.

Martin Gray didn’t hurt me at all. Not the slightest bit.

“He’s not hurting anyone, but he is either protecting the person who isorhe’s a victim himself.”

My heart accelerates as I think back on everything I know about Martin Gray. When he grabbed my ass at the fight, he probably thought it was okay because he had no idea I didn’t remember what happened between us. That’s understandable.

Then, there’s him instigating Nigel in the ring.

I remember my dad once telling me about a patient he had that would pick fights with random people after they were abused by their partner. My dad described it as one of the worst forms of self-harm he had ever seen. Self-harm is horrible, but in a lot of situations it’s a controlled variable. It’s not controlled when you involve someone else in the equation.

It’s true. Martin Gray is a victim of abuse and that leaves me with the sense of him being a kindred spirit.

“You didn’t answer my question.” I move away from the subject of Martin. “Are you going to tell Nigel?”

"And, why would I do that? Telling him doesn't benefit me in any way. I can keep a secret. Plus, I kind of like having you around."

I look up at his face and see his expression still unchanged.

He likes having me around? Why?

We've only interacted a few times and he mostly stays silent around me unless we're alone, like now.

"Are you sure you don't just like fucking me?" I taunt him and his eyes narrow as he lifts a handful of my hair, running his thumb over the strands.

"You're right. Maybe that's it."

God, he's such an ass. He had the chance to say something sweet or disarming, but no, he went with that. I open my mouth, intent on giving some sassy rebuttal that was more likely to get me spanked than anything else, but Oliver's mouth slams down on mine, hard, demanding, and dominating.

My body tenses and relaxes simultaneously as he grips the hair at the base of my skull. He deepens the kiss, taking more and more of any resolve I would've had.

I've never been kissed in such an animalistic way, like he's trying to eat me alive and spit me out when he's done. I shouldn't be accepting his kisses or grabbing him just as desperately. I should push him away.

This is crossing a line and who knows what Nigel would do if he knew his best friend was touching me like this. The threats he has made are prevalent in my mind, but I can't stop. This is everything I've been fantasizing about since the last time he touched me.

Oliver uses his free hand and shoves the stack of clean, ceramic plates off the table. They break against the linoleum and my body jumps from the surprising sound, but the move just presses my body up against his. He growls against my lips as my nails dig into his bare back.

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