Page 185 of Fixation

Air thins. The car shrinks around me.

I can’t breathe. Can’t even hear the street noise anymore.

“I’ve seen your face, Harper.” We almost bump into a car. “In magazines. On the internet. You and your family. You’re loaded. They’ll pay a lot of to get you back. I’ll be set for life.”

He’s talking about kidnapping me.

Heiskidnapping me.

Fuck that. Fuck him. I won’t let him.

“Set for life?” I scoff.

My time with Anderson must’ve made me reckless or maybe I’m being stupidly brave, considering this guy might not be driving through the bridge.

Traffic is heavier there. I could bang on the window and call for help.

Unless he isn’t heading for the bridge at all. Maybe there’s a warehouse or apartment nearby waiting for me.

“Yeah,” he grumbles.

“Set for life in prison, more like it.” I yank the handle again. Locked.

The other door is locked too.

“You won’t get away with this,” I blurt, my pulse screaming in my throat. “Your only option is to let me out now. If you let me go, we can pretend this never happened.” Lying comes naturally when my life depends on it. “I won’t tell a soul about this. Promise.”

“No.”

“My Cloud is shared with my VP. That means she’ll see where you’re taking me,” I keep trying. “Do yourself a favor and let. Me. Out.”

“Shut up, rich cunt.”

Beeeeep. Beeeeep.

The honking is worse than before, cutting into my panicked haze. The person behind us must hate this driver as muchas I do. And they don’t settle for just honking anymore. He’s speeding up, probably in a road rage.

My phone won’t stop buzzing.

Panic locks my throat, tighter before.

I have to breathe through this.

Losing eye contact with my driver while I get the phone could end up badly for me. He could hit me and knock me out.

On the other hand, if I don’t pick up the phone until we get wherever the hell it is he’s taking me, it could be too late.

I fish for my phone blindly, swiping my thumb on the screen. “Help, I?—”

“Baby. I’m right behind you,” Anderson’s voice comes loud and clear. “I was late to”—beeeeep—“pick you up. This driver isn’t taking you home. He’s kidnapping you, am I right? Answer with a yes or no.”

“Yes.” I won’t let the tears come out. I need my eyes working. My senses. My composure. “Yes.”

The driver cuts to an alley where the traffic is nonexistent. He zooms through it.

A second later, I hear another car speeding behind us.

Anderson’s.