Page 34 of Fixation

HARPER

T he pipes hum. Water pressure shifts behind the wall.

I blink up at the ceiling, wide awake.

I must’ve slept, technically. But it doesn’t feel like it.

It feels like my body’s just been…waiting.

Truth is, it has.

I’ve tried to resist it throughout the day, ever since he shoved his fingers down my throat.

In record speed, I had my last two custom orders packed and ready to ship. After they were done, I sketched, soldered, and polished pieces from my new collection.

Anything to keep my hands and mind busy.

I should be happy. Everything’s coming along nicely. So much so that the collection is almost done.

I am happy.

I’m also hyperaware of how my obsession with Anderson has become a real thing.

How, between one piece and the other, I’ve checked the time to see how much longer he’d be at the hospital.

How I looked at each new sketch and felt like I didn’t just want it out there. Like I wanted to birth it.

Our love child.

It’s insane. And true.

The type of silver I use is steel gray, darker than usual. Every design has a cutting edge to it. Every piece has crimson and black gemstones embedded in it.

The color of my hair intertwined with his dark eyes.

His darker presence.

I’ve missed him.

“Enough is enough.” Yet my eyes can’t help but snap to the wall that connects our houses. A frustrated groan ripples from me. “No. More.”

At this point, any distraction will do.

I’m out of bed, ready to start the day early.

Then a low, manly sound stops me in my tracks.

Anderson.

It shouldn’t matter what he’s up to.

It doesn’t.

What I should do is keep going. Ignore this pull I have toward this monster. A man who deals with other monsters; who could ruin my life if I only let him.

“Fuck.”

That one, muffled, barely audible word, and I’m already there, in my bathroom. Drawn, addicted, wanting .

Water must drip over his lean body as he stands beneath the showerhead, the same one I stood under days ago.

When I was his captive.

Run.

I stay.

I do even worse.

A few steps and my ear is pressed to the tiles.

Heat and shame make my cheeks burn.

They make me wet for him.

He’s there. Isn’t cursing. Isn’t saying anything anymore.

What I hear from Anderson’s house is a symphony of sounds. Dulled moans and groans. Feral noises that I’ve come to recognize as his.

He sounded exactly like that when he defiled my mouth. When he robbed me of my virginity and told me he couldn’t stop.

I can’t stand the fact that I’m not repulsed by it. By my kidnapper’s pleasure. By having him there, his fist around his cock, jacking off in the shower.

I hate that I’m jealous of his hand.

For no real reason.

He’s allowed to fuck his hand. Even I think it’s hot.

Fuck it. I’m doing this. My panties are soaked. I feel it as I slip my hand beneath the waistband to relieve the pressure.

I shove two fingers into my pussy, dragging the wetness over my clit. Rubbing and panting. Needing him.

My forehead presses to the wall, my other hand pinching my taut nipple under my shirt.

Just…I’ll touch myself just to take the edge off. To fill the void he’s left in me when he went to work.

I don’t want him.

I need him.

I need him really, really, really bad.

His groans grow louder, making my knees wobble. My breath hitches as I turn around to lean my back against the tiles. I twist my head so that my ear is as close to the wall as possible, pinching my nipple harder like he would.

His teeth were there , I remember, moaning in pain. I stroke my clit faster, in the circular motion that—ah, fuck, yes—gets me closer to my orgasm.

That’s what his tongue did to me.

My body is too small to contain these emotions. This heat. This want. This clawing lust.

They’re pushing, pushing, pushing while I touch myself. While Anderson is there, groaning in the shower.

Pleasuring himself.

Thinking about…me?

“Oh God,” I whisper. I’m assaulted by this good, floaty feeling that I’ve only ever had with Anderson. “Oh God.”

He grunts like the beast he is, and my body responds. I clench my thighs and rock my hips, biting my bottom lip to silence the sounds of my release.

“Fuck, Anderson.”

I let out a sigh, looking at the tiles as if he’ll break our walls down any second now.

While I clean myself. the fog in my head is still heavy. My legs are shaky, my chest too tight. I force myself into a new pair of panties, black leggings, and a gray T-shirt anyway.

Time to tackle the day.

On my own.

To distract myself further, I play music on the speakers in my kitchen. My favorite playlist is on, and I start my coffee. My breakfast. Two scrambled eggs, bread with butter. The eggs heat, and in the meantime, I check my emails.

Emersyn’s the most recent one from two hours ago.

No body text, just the subject line— DON’T FREAK OUT.

My brow furrows. This isn’t like her. Even when her favorite movie star’s agent contacted us about custom designs for her premiere, she was cool about it. Hopped and clapped her hands in the office, but her emails betrayed none of her excitement.

It was the middle of the night in California when she sent me an email. Why was she even up this late?

Before I get to click on the email, her caller ID flashes on my screen.

Again, it’s too late. Or too early.

This can’t be anything good. My thumb trembles before I hit the accept button.

“Did you see my email?” This abruptness is nothing like Emersyn, either.

“I was just about to open it.”

“I didn’t want to call and wake you, so I emailed. You wouldn’t answer, and I couldn’t sleep, and—anyway. Sit down,” she instructs, her voice hoarse.

She never orders me to do anything.

“What’s going on?” I take the eggs off the stove. I don’t dare pour coffee into my mug.

Her call feels serious. My heart’s stuttering like it’s bracing for impact.

It feels like maybe…

No. Anderson wouldn’t post naked pictures of me. That isn’t the kind of humiliation he gets off on.

Yeah? You think you know him that well? Do you even have the slightest idea about what he did to you when you were drugged and at his mercy?

None.

My ass lands the seat in my dining area. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

“There’s no easy way to say this.” She inhales, and my elbows hit the table. Something has to hold me upright before I drop to the floor. If he posted pictures of me naked…No. He wouldn’t. “Werner is dead.”

The relieved sigh that bursts out of me is disrespectful to the core. It can’t be helped.

I’m not relieved for long, though.

My father’s contract. My debt is about to come to an end.

The dangerous people looking for Anderson.

What kind of debt is it?

What kind of man is he ?

A terrible one.

This isn’t a coincidence.

Darla and I talked about Werner and how obnoxious he’d been. I emailed him back and said as politely as I could, stating that I wasn’t interested.

Now he’s dead.

My breath catches. It doesn’t make sense. It can’t?—

“Harper?”

“How did he…uh…” My mind scrambles to piece everything together.

Anderson looked normal yesterday. As normal as he’s capable of looking, anyway. How could he, if he murdered someone?

“How did Werner die?”

“His PA is a friend of mine and he called me last night with the news. Said Werner never logged on to their 2 a.m. meeting with Southeast Asia. He never does that, so the PA went over there half an hour later and found him dead. They said it was a heart attack. Can you believe that?”

“No.” And yes.

He was young. Thirty-five-year-old, I think he told me when I met him this one time after I moved out here.

He looked healthy. Vibrant.

Anderson is the most vibrant of them all.

Holy fuck.

“Wait…” I blink, remembering some of the movie research my parents have done over the years. “How’d they even get the autopsy back so fast?”

“His PA called in a favor. Mentioned something about having connections at the coroner’s office,” she says quickly.

I’m relieved by that. If she asked them the same thing I did, that means my question doesn’t look so suspicious.

“They rushed one of those rapid drug panels. Just the basics, nothing in-depth. Took a few hours, tops to get the preliminary report. Anyway, the cops also checked out his place. Nothing was taken. No drugs in his system, either. His heart just stopped. He just… died.”

Just died.

Just died after asking me out.

Anderson. He must’ve found out about the emails. He killed him. Had to.

My hands are trembling so badly that I nearly drop the phone.

And yet it’s still Anderson I want, despite him being a murderer. Allegedly. Probably.

My lungs seize. My chin quivers.

“I’ll call you back.” I’m up on shaky feet with a clamoring heart. “Send his family flowers from Harper’s when you wake up. And work on finding a new web designer ASAP.”

“Gotcha.” Her concern is genuine. So is her yawn. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” No. Absolutely not. How can someone be attracted to a monster and be remotely okay? My head is spinning. And somehow, heat’s blooming between my legs. “Yes. Go to bed. We’ll catch up later.”

I hang up, and my phone drops from my hand.

The man I slept with actually killed another person. I believed his threats this morning, I just never thought he’d…

I don’t know what I thought.

The more time passes, the less air filters into my lungs.

Answers, he owes me those. He owes me comfort.

My doorstep hardly registers as I cross it. I descend the cool, concrete steps barefoot, looking down to avoid stumbling and face-planting in the street.

I’m pretty sure I locked my house, but who knows?

I do. The keys are in my palm.

Good, good.

And bad.

This is the most messed up I’ve ever been. Most disoriented.

Anderson will know what to do. What to say to calm me.

“Watch out!” A voice. A wind gust blowing in my face.

A force slams into me.

Pain slices through my ankle as I hit the ground.

My elbow. The side of my body.

Someone knocked me over and, fuck, it hurts.

Twisting my head is just as painful. I try to look up to see who did this to me.

A person—a man?—on a bicycle blocks the early morning sun is staring down at me. I can’t make out his face. His features are blurred. Maybe he has blond hair?

“Hurts.” Blood trickles down my arm. Something isn’t right with my ankle. It’s throbbing.

“Fuck,” the same voice says. He sounds young. Really young.

A second later, the kid splits. Leaving me alone.

Utterly alone.

No one else is crouching by my side, asking if I’m okay. If I need assistance. An ambulance.

My ankle keeps shooting pain through my leg.

It’s a good thing that I’m being ignored. I don’t think any of them would be of any help.

My neighbors. Any passersby.

The doctors at the hospital.

They won’t care.

He will.

There’s one doctor, one surgeon, whom I trust with my body. With my life.

It should terrify me that I crave the hands of a man who might kill me the second I walk through the door.

But…

A tear trickles down my temple, landing in my hair.

Only Anderson. Only Anderson can help me get better.