Page 9 of Fixation

My war against my binds continues, as if this kidnapper isn’t in the room with me. Short huffs of frustration escape my lips.

The cannula shifts inside my vein, and fuck, the pain.

I won’t give in to it.

“Look at me.”

Only a handful of actors could pull off a line like that. Voice calm gravel, alluring and intimidating.

His whole demeanor screams ‘carrot and stick.’

Look at me. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.

Look at me, or this won’t end well for you.

That bastard could be the star of one of the movies my family produces.

But no, he’s not an actor.

He’s a surgeon.

A psycho doctor who lives in my neighborhood.

Who might’ve been stalking me.

Who might not be a doctor at all.

Looking at him will give him what he wants. My submission.

Fuck that.

These restraints are solid. There’s no getting out of them. My fever makes everything ten times harder.

I won’t give up.

Soft footfalls echo in the basement and I hear it. He’s barefoot.

That’s a bad sign. A truly horrible sign.

If he were wearing shoes, I could convince myself this was all a big misunderstanding.

Shoes would’ve meant he had plans to let me out. That he regretted putting me here in the first place. That we were going somewhere else.

The hospital, maybe.

Except he’s walking toward me barefoot.

We’re not going anywhere. I’m never getting out of here.

Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom.

My heart is screaming at me. Each beat is a punch to my ribs.

Get out! Get out! Try harder!

To my complete and utter humiliation, two more tears trail down my temples.

A large hand on my shoulder. A shadow casts over me.

I whimper, hating that his presence grounds me. I hate that one moment, I’m shivering in fear, and the other, I’m sinking into the bed.

“Harper.”

The effect he has on me is infuriating. Humiliating.

I’m comforted by my kidnapper.

There’s a good chance he’s going to kill me after he heals me, then uses me up.

I’ve seen his face.

So no, I won’t feel good about it. About being bound and at his mercy. I won’t be intimidated, either.

No fucking way.

I cut my gaze to his hooded, serious one.

The way he looks at me is as multifaceted as my feelings for him.

He isn’t closed off. Concern wars with something unhinged inside him.

What’s going on here?

Biting the inside of my cheek is the best I can do to stop the tremors.

“You woke up.” His fingers are warm against my shoulder. He squeezes it like a decent physician would, and I could scream. “That’s a good sign. In a couple of days, you’ll be as good as new.”

Despite the fact that he’s still in his green scrubs, he’s the furthest thing from a real professional.

His arms aren’t what makes me think that. While I was out, he took off his undershirt. Now I see the intricate barbed wire ink that goes from his wrist and continues under his scrubs.

They’re just tattoos. He isn’t better or worse at his job for them.

What I’m talking about, trying to at least, is that I’m looking at my kidnapper.

Doctors are supposed to heal people.

Kidnapping a person isn’t helping.

Fear curls around my throat. Anger pounds against my temples.

I want out.

I want out.

I want out of here!

“Let me go.” I’m less loud, less adamant than I would’ve liked. Since monsters feed on fear, I clear my throat before he can get a word in. Lift my chin. “Let me go.”

“In a few days.” He runs his hand down my arm. Stops above my elbow. I almost mess it up. I almost lean into his warm, hard, yet soothing touch. “When you’re better. You need the rest.”

What I need is to wake up from this nightmare. “Why are you doing this to me?”

My kidnapper cocks his head.

He isn’t perplexed about my question. He’s threatening me.

“You mean, why am I helping you?” he finally asks.

My soul orders me to stand up to him.

My body has other plans. I cower into the bed, away from him. By an inch. That’s as far as my restraints allow.

As far as he allows.

“This isn’t helping me.” I snap my chattering teeth shut. My fever and the fear of him conspire against me, dammit.

His eyes flash.

He’s caught me trying to hide how scared I am, and he’s getting off on it.

I don’t get off on his touch. On the barely contained lust in his expression.

Not me.

Not the rational part of me, anyway.

This flu…It’s messing me up. I want things from him.

Things I can’t name.

Things I shouldn’t ever entertain.

I’ve been kidnapped.

Sure, he’s gorgeous, in a rugged kind of way. With his dark brown hair. His day-old stubble. This sculpted jaw and high cheekbones.

He won’t be remotely gorgeous when he’s done with me and chops me to pieces.

Just thinking about it makes me shiver.

He watches me as if I’m the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m not helping you?” His voice is deceptively calm. “What would you call this, then?” He taps on the IV bag.

“Kidnapping.”

At an unnatural speed, he pulls a thermometer out of the pocket on his scrubs shirt. He does it while moving his hand from my arm to my jaw, forcing my mouth open.

“What are you—” I start to wriggle. “No. No, don’t?—”

My protests mean nothing to him.

One push and the thermometer is under my tongue. Before I can spit it out, he snaps my mouth shut, holding the thermometer between his fingers like he’s done it a hundred times before.

With his free hand, he wipes the tears from my temples.

I don’t think I’ve ever opened my eyes this wide.

I’ve never screamed this loud either.

While crying.

“Shh.” A warning. His eyes flare. Narrow. “I’m trying to prove a point. Stay still.”

There’s no fighting him. He’s about six-five. Lean. Sculpted like he came out of a magazine.

I’m here, bound. Trapped. I bet that if he released my mouth, if I screamed, no one would hear me.

I have no other option but to do as he says.

I stay quiet as I cry.

My tears are hot with shame. I’m humiliated for liking the way his thumb draws circles on my jaw.

Who am I?

The thermometer doesn’t care. It beeps once it’s done.

“Let’s see.” In a gentle motion, my kidnapper removes the thermometer from my mouth.

His hand is back on my shoulder. Keeping me in place, as unnecessary as that is.

His eyes darken as he checks my temperature.

“What?” I forget that I’m bound. Helpless. The pain in my sore muscles is a dull ache. It lies far, far away in the back of my consciousness, but my panic is wide awake. Something’s wrong with me. The look on his face says it all. “My fever won’t go down? Is it serious?”

Through my rambling, I’m being seared by his heated gaze. A gaze no doctor should aim at one of his patients.

“Tell me what’s wrong, dammit.” I reach for him, then remember I can’t lift my arm. “I need to go to the hospital, right? Oh, no. Please, if you can’t help me here, take me?—”

The rest of the sentence dissolves on my lips.

Dr. Psycho brings the tip of the thermometer to his lips.

Dips his tongue out.

And licks my saliva off it.

Then he closes his mouth around it, flutters his eyes shut, and sucks.

I’m no longer feverish. I’m on fire. A real, relentless burn that climbs over my skin.

Lust crashes through me. Humiliation, that’s there too.

In spades.

I must smell awful. I’m contagious.

None of that stops him from enjoying this. He lets out another manly hum that reaches down to my toes, before he pops the thermometer out.

His attention is on my face, his hand roaming over my shoulder. The side of my neck.

“You’re embarrassed.” He raises an eyebrow. “Beautiful emotion, though you shouldn’t be. See this wet spot on my shirt?”

Kind of hard to miss now that he’s right there, on his chest. Dark and embarrassing, since it’s obviously either my sweat or my spit.

Whatever.

My lips remain sealed. I won’t play along. Never.

“This is you. You were drenched in cold sweat when you arrived at the hospital.” The humiliation, it’s overwhelming.

A whimper bursts out of me, and he smirks.

Bastard. “I helped you bathe. Came down here to run a wet cloth over you again thirty minutes ago. This is the second time now that I’ve dressed you in clean clothes. Me, on the other hand?—”

“You did what?” This is the worst. He violated me. I could tell someone helped me get clean me, but my mind’s been too groggy to connect the dots until he spelled it out for me. “You did fucking what?”

“Nothing sexual happened. Yet.”

“I hate you.” This damn throbbing between my thighs. Body betrayal is as painful as a hammer dropping on my finger. As a blow torch scalding my flesh. “Let me go.”

“My point being, I wore my sweat-soaked scrubs after our shared bath.” His ability to ignore my pleas is on another level. So is his obsession with my bodily fluids. “I’ve been waiting to have you this close. I revel in it, ergo, you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Waiting?” My brain hurts. The pressure is unbearable. This isn’t happening. This isn’t my life. I was imagining a friendly, harmless stalker. I got this instead. “For how long? How long have you been stalking me?”

“You’ve realized I’ve been doing it for a while on your own, Harper. I saw the recorded feed on my cameras. You called out to me. Clever girl. You’ll find the rest out soon enough. When I”—he raises his voice, slamming a hand to his chest—“decide it’s time. Only me.”

“You’re insane.” Why has no one caught on to that? His professors at med school, his fellow doctors. Anyone?

This unhinged person should never be allowed within one hundred miles of other people, let alone take care of them.

He shouldn’t, yet he is.

Yet he’s here.

Alone in the basement.

With me.

“Look.” His grip on my neck is rough as he puts the thermometer’s digital screen in my face. “102.5. You have any idea how high it was three hours ago when I brought you here?”

“When you kidnapped me.”

“104.3.” When he switches to his self-assured voice, I’m still panicking. I’ll never be reassured around this man, not in the slightest. “That’s why you’re here, in my home. Where I can help you. And you’ll still be here twenty-four hours after the fever is down. Then I’ll let you go.”

“You’re a liar.” For the love of everything holy, I have to stop crying around him. Ugh. Stupid, defiant tears. “It’s not a secret what happens next. I’ve seen your face. There’s no way out of this for me. You’ll kill me. Or keep me forever.”

“Wrong.” The corner of his lips tugs up in a terrifying smirk. “A less confident man probably would. Not me. By the time I release you, you won’t even think about pressing charges.” The thermometer goes back into his pocket. A small syringe comes out of it. “It’s a promise.”

“Like hell.”

The needle of the syringe comes dangerously close to my neck. Not my IV bag.

That small fact only offers me the mildest relief.

Dad explained to me how different sedatives work. He was excited about the horror movie he produced, which taught him about anesthetics.

Some will put you under for hours, like the ones they use in surgeries.

Some take you out for minutes, thirty or forty-five max. Those are usually injected directly into the person.

Once he injects it into me, I won’t be out for long.

I’ll still be out of it. At his mercy.

He can’t do it. I won’t let him. “Wait!”

His long, elegant fingers gently wrap around my bicep. “What is it?”

I flinch at the sharp edge of his tone. At the swift change in him.

Befriending him isn’t something I’ll ever want. But doing so could be my ticket out of here.

“What’s your name? Are you really a physician? What an amazing career choice. Helping people, saving?—”

“Anderson Maguire and, yes, I am a physician,” he snaps, and this time, his harshness sends a thrill through me. My nipples harden. Sick, Harper. So sick. “An ER surgeon. We’ll talk more later. And since you won’t rest on your own, I’m here to help you do just that.”

A surgeon. He said that in the ER.

Which, again—who authorized this? Who in their right mind would let this man cut into people?

The question is pointless. I won’t ever get the answer.

Especially not now.

Anderson empties the needle into my neck.

In less than ten seconds, I start feeling the effects of the sedative.

Pressure builds at the back of my head.

Insane exhaustion pummels into me.

Can’t keep my eyes open.

He strokes my cheek, and it’s so nice…

I have to get him to stop…

“I hope you catch whatever it is I have,” I whisper. “I hope you die.”

“Look at you, already worried about me.” He presses a sanitizing wipe to where he stuck the needle in me. “You shouldn’t be. I’ve got this.”

My loose muscles yield to him and the drug. I have no control over the moan I let out.

I hate it. Hate that I like it.

“I’ve got you.” He must lose some of his control too, because he leans in to press a kiss to my temple. “Rest, kitten. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”