Page 212 of Fixation

“Harper.”

He’s not dead yet, so no, I’m not done. While I’ve never killed anyone in my life—haven’t hurt a fucking fly—I want this.I crave this.

I’m bloodthirsty and righteous, holding on to that blowtorch as if my life depends on it.

Anderson’s might be.

“Kitten.” Amidst the crazy situation we’re in, Anderson manages to be soft for me.

The man below us howls, grunts, and coughs.

But Anderson is here. He’s called for me to look at him.

Anderson is here to pull me out of the abyss I’m sinking into.

I look up at him. He curls his fingers around my wrist, gentle but firm. “Give me the blowtorch.”

“He hurt you.”

“It’s my job to protect you.” His severe look and the sharpness of his jaw pull me back to him. “I’m not the romantic type. I won’t ever be your knight in shining armor. I’m definitely not a good guy. What I can be is this. I can keep you safe. As strong as you are, I’ve got this.”

“Me too.”

“Baby.” He shoots me a smile while he’s choking a man. The one I’m burning. “I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know for it. Now, baby. Hand me the blowtorch, and step back. Let me protect you.”

I didn’t realize I’ve been crying until now. Now that he leans in to kiss each of my damp cheeks.

His lips brush my ear when he whispers, “Let me.”

The last of my resistance falls.

“Good girl.” Anderson grabs my forearm and helps me until I’m seated on the floor.

I release the blowtorch to him, and he places it somewhere away from me.

He snatches the hammer from my hand and bashes it into Sergey’s head.

Brain matter splatters across the floor. Blood spurts on Anderson’s forearms, chin, and his shirt.

Sergey’s dead.

“Oh, no.” A voice from behind me.

Right. The other one.

“Who is he?”

“This is Stas.” Anderson is half-man, half-animal as he gets up. He hovers over me, his free hand cupping my jaw. “He crawled in here thinking I’d patch him up like I always did. He was sure Sergey wouldn’t release me from my father’s contract. That I still owed them both. Thanks for being an idiot, Stas.”

“Treat me,” he spits out. “Treat me and I’ll make you a king. You’ll be rich. Just fucking fix me.”

“Fuck you and your money,” he hisses.

My boyfriend doesn’t need anyone to crown him king. He already is one. A cruel king. A vicious, sexy one.

He’s exactly that as he stalks over to the withering man. Anderson looks like an almighty god as he twists his hand in the collar of Stas’s shirt.

His smirk is evil.