Page 97 of The Catalyst

That place was just toxic. The only good thing about it is that now I have Martin. In a way, he’s a better companion than Delaney or Teigan. I still miss them, but he knows me in a way they never did.

I collect my tips and stuff them in my pocket before Miss Irene asks, “On your way out, could you be a dear and take out the trash under the register?”

“Sure.” I do as she asks before walking out the back door, throwing the trash bag into the dumpster. I whistle to myself as I walk around the side of the diner and come face to face with…Earl Porter. He used to be a nice man, but he’s become a drunk in the past few years and nobody likes this fucker now.

“Bethany!” He grins wide and I watch him warily.

“Hi, Earl. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get home,” I say as nicely as I can.

I don’t want trouble and he sure as fuck won’t like what happens if he makes trouble for me.

“Now, wait a minute, young lady,” he grumbles, a hint of anger on his face. “I wanted to have a conversation with you.” The hint of alcohol on his breath is nauseating.

“Sorry, but like I said, I need to get home. I’ll see you tomorrow and we can talk then if you want.”

He’s a regular at the diner and if I’m in the same section then, I’ll have no choice but to talk to him. If he’s being creep like he is now, I might have to get Miss Irene involved.

I try to move around him, but his fingers dig into my arm and he slams my back into the wall. I let out a hiss of pain from the impact on my head.

That hurt like a bitch, but I’ve been through worse. Seriously, my mom slaps harder than that.

“You really don’t want to do this,” I warn.

“Come on, Bethany. You’re all grown up now,” he hisses in my face as he keeps a firm grip on my arm. “I just wanted to–”

He is yanked back by way of his hair by a dark figure bathed in shadows created by the trees on the other side of the fence. I’m blinded by the sun but there is no mistaking the voice coming from the shadow.

“She said no, motherfucker.”

Oliver.

I wasn’t imagining things when I saw the Mustang.

He’s here.

He found me.

The sound of crunching bone is followed by squelching and the gurgling associated with someone choking on their own blood.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I curse under my breath before stepping out of the direct ray of light so, I can actually see where he is and what kind of carnage he inflicted on poor Earl. He was no match for me and he sure as hell was no match for Grove Hill’s town psychopath.

Once out of the light, I see Earl on the ground in a pool of his own blood. His head is bent backwards, the bones in his neck pushed out through his flesh, and the man takes his last breath as I slowly shake my head at the sheer brutality.

The man suffered, but not for long. Such a shame. I would’ve made it last longer, but Oliver is impulsive and he’s not bound by the Bastard rules as long as he’s not in Grove Hill.

Oliver’s icy blues blaze into me as I notice his hands are covered in Earl’s blood and the splashes on his shirt.

He looks livid.

“Just fucking great!” I growl. “You know, I didn’t need the assistance. I had everything under control.”

He rolls his eyes. “Sure, you did. In case it wasn’t clear from your perspective, he had his hands all over you.”

“And?… What do you care?” I huff and see no change in his expression. So typical. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you better clean this up. In case it wasn’t clear, this is my job, how I make money to support myself and I’m not going to let you ruin it for me.” I walk around him, stepping over Earl’s corpse and the blood beneath him. I really don’t need to explain to Martin how I got blood on my shoes. Plus, some deep seated part of me wants to keep this secret for him.

I fuckinghateOliver. He hurt me, betrayed me, cut me so deep that my head has only remained above water because of Martin’s kindness. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to associate him with anything other than hate, but there’s still that part of me that holds onto a small part of him.

“Wait,” he calls out from behind me.

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