Page 50 of Fixation

HARPER

T he car I’m in drives fast. Really fast.

Someone—a man I don’t know and don’t want to know—maneuvers it through the city.

He’s taking me.

Emersyn will be able to locate my phone. She—she doesn’t have Anderson’s phone number. He won’t be able to find me.

He won’t be able to save me.

Oh my God.

“Help!” I scream, banging on the window. Pleading with strangers to do something. “Help, I’m being taken against my will!”

“Kitten.” A large, warm hand covers my mouth. Silencing me.

The man on top of me smells good. A woodsy scent. A clean one. His palm is familiar.

I twist my head to look at him.

The moon’s silver beams illuminate Anderson’s dark eyes.

“You’re safe,” he whispers in a hoarse, sleepy voice.

Nevertheless, my frantic gaze darts around the room. I remind myself of where I am. That it’s safe in Anderson’s bedroom. The safest.

This is the seventh night in a row that I’ve slept here with him.

That I’ve been waking up from terrible nightmares.

“You’re safe,” Anderson repeats, slipping his hand off my mouth. Curling it around my throat in a possessive, grounding grip.

Thin layers of clothes separate our bodies as he flips us so we’re both on our sides then he presses my back to his front.

Slivers of relief trickle through the panic as my back molds to his firm chest.

His lips are on my shoulder, grounding me. “Was it him?”

He could’ve asked, Was it him again ?

He didn’t. Waking up to my screams isn’t tedious for him. He isn’t exasperated by it. Not once has he sighed or groaned or told me to go back to bed.

Anderson hasn’t just been patient with me.

He’s done so much more than that.

Together, we sat with our lawyers and detectives. He held my hand while I recounted my version of the events. I told them the truth, that if Anderson hadn’t done what he did, I wouldn’t be here.

Through it all, Anderson was by my side, his fingers laced through mine.

Once they realized the gravity of the situation, the detectives told him the case was closed. Once that was settled, Anderson asked everyone to kindly fuck off.

Since then, he’d taken care of me in every sense of the word.

He doted on me, keeping me in his bed all day.

When my doctor cleared me to return to work, he brought me my phone and laptop. He assisted me with my phone calls and emails. There were so many of them. More than usual, since arrangements had to be made for the launch of my new collection.

Thanks to him and Emersyn, orders are being fulfilled, and my customers are happy. The business is running as it should.

My soul and body were in the best shape they had ever been. I was bathed, fed, and kissed.

I let him love me. Let him hug me.

Let him tie me up.

Like I did earlier tonight.

When I offered him my wrists. They’re now bound to the front of my body with an IV tube.

He likes it that way. And if it makes him feel like he owns me, then I love it too.

“It was him, yes.” My eyes water. A groan rises in my throat.

Anderson might not be frustrated about the whole situation and the recurring nightmares, but I am.

“I don’t want this memory to haunt me for the rest of my life.” I scowl. “I don’t want this.”

“Nothing but me will haunt you, Harper,” he deadpans, not an ounce of warmth in his voice. I don’t need it. I actually feel safer when he’s mean like that. “I’ve got you. You’re my brave girl. Nothing can harm you.”

“He was…” The nightmare still has its claws in me and I shiver. I feel trapped. The bindings at my wrists suddenly feel unbearable. Now. Now. Now . “He was there.”

I fight against the binding, my hands rubbing together.

Anderson flips me to my other side so that I’m facing him. My panic rises despite the confidence in his eyes.

“Let me go.” I rub my hands faster, trying desperately to break free. “Let me out of here. I’m fucked in the head. Can’t you see that?”

“You aren’t.” He’s patient. How can he? I’m not the same woman he met weeks ago. “You’re my perfect girl.”

“I’m not!”

“Yes, you fucking are. And you’re done crying over him.

” Anderson’s hate toward the man who hurt me is palpable.

A thriving, vengeful emotion that shares the air with us.

He’d kill the guy all over again if he could.

“You’re mine. Your pain is mine. Your tears are mine.

Soon, we’ll have babies together. You’ll see, it’s all going to work out. ”

The overwhelming sense of belonging makes me cry. Makes me weep.

He stares at me, and I see it in the dark. His murderous glare. His hopelessness.

He’d shove his hands into my body and claw the pain out by force if he could.

He would.

“Please,” I beg him, not for the first time. It won’t be the last. “Please.”

“I’ve got you.”

I feel his promise down to my marrow.

Then I feel his hands all over me.

The IV tube is gone. My wrists are free.

He hugs me to him, one hand on the back of my head, another firm on my back.

He’s my source of warmth.

He’s the epitome of power.

He’s mine.

Despite wearing clothes, my soul feels bare to him.

That’s why I tell him what he has to know.

“Anderson.”

A kiss to my forehead. “Yes, kitten?”

I shiver. Then I whisper, “I’m on the pill.”

“No, you aren’t.” His gaze is pure depraved desire. “You haven’t been on the pill for months. Ever since I moved into the house next door, you’ve been taking mints.”

“I…”

“You what?”

I’m about to say something. To tell him he’s out of his mind, but that I want him anyway.

Impossible. I can’t deny what I’m feeling. Can’t pretend I’m not as sick as he is.

He’s infected me, and I don’t ever want to be okay again.

I crave his nearness, his touch, his obscenity more than anything.

I want him. I tell him the only thing that matters. The only thing he wants to hear.

“I’m yours.”