Page 210 of Fixation

Shit. His keys.

He left me a spare. Attached it to my keychain.

I forgot it at home, and time is running out.

Tears rise, and I blink them away.

This can’t and won’t be the last time Anderson and I share a moment. Impossible.

Hope wraps tight around my ribs. It’s stronger than my fear. Than the dread.

Anderson and I have made our relationship work against all odds.

He’ll be okay.

I’ll drag that motherfucker back from hell with my own two hands if I have to.

Glass breaks. The sharp sound propels me into action. With my right elbow, I lean my weight on the front door’s handle and…

Yes.

It’s open.

Adrenaline soaks my veins as I step into Anderson’s foyer. The place is dark as always. Unlike any other day, though, his home isn’t silent.

Anotherbam!rattles the walls of the house. It’s coming from below me.

From the basement.

I use my hips to close the door behind me, avoiding the creaking boards and broken glass scattered across the floor. I flinch at the sight of the flipped-over chair.

Then I’m at the door to the basement.

People argue. Shout. The sounds are muffled, just as Anderson said they would be when I was locked up in there.

A sense of possessiveness washes over me.

This ismybasement.

Myman.

No one’s allowed to fuck with either.

I place the blowtorch under my armpit, open the basement door.

“Think…” A man’s voice. His Russian accent is thick, even in that one single word. “Think you can beat me? That you can get out of this? Hell no.”

I’m down four steps.

Five.

They’re fighting. Scuffling. Oblivious to the sight of me going down the steps.

Seven steps left.

“I don’t think.” This is Anderson. Strangled, hoarse, determined Anderson. “I’m sure. I’m fucking”—grunt, and I annihilate those last steps in a sprint—“ending this. You. Today.”

The scene unfolding in front of me is worse than anything I could’ve imagined.