Page 111 of Fixation
Anger simmers beneath my skin. Low and consistent.
The underlying threat doesn’t scare me.
But Harper…
She’ll be my wife. I’ll take her out on dates. Walk in and out of our house through the front door and not the back like a fucking coward.
We won’t have that while he’s around.
My nerves are lit, my body soaked in adrenaline. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood on my tongue.
It does little to alleviate the bitter taste in my mouth. The murderous rage surging through my veins is unrelenting.
Me:You’re the one who’s forgetting whoIam. What I can do to you. You should be fucking grateful that I’ve honored Dad’s agreement. When and where. Now.
Sergey:We’ll meet. Once your job is done.
Me:Not good enough.
Sergey:I’m out of town. You can visit me in Colombia. We have a spare room here in the mansion.
He could be lying for all I know. For years, Sergey has climbed the Bratva ladder by stepping on others. And by stepping on them, I mean killing them.
He might be lying. Might be out here.
My heart starts beating louder. A furious tempo takes over at the thought that he wouldn’t hesitate to kidnap Harper to keep me in line.
The rage in my bones is strong enough to crush him into dust.
Me:I’ll see you when you get back.
Sergey:Oh, you will.
I don’t care about him. The pressure that pushes against my ribs, it’s all her. Being without Harper is like missing a limb.
Worrying about her, that’s a whole other story. It transforms me into a violent beast. Clenched Jaw. A growl reverberating in my chest.
A glimpse of her sweet face, I need it.
I open the CCTV app, and immediately images of her home come up on my screen.
For the last two days, when she hasn’t been looking over her shoulder, Harper’s been spending hours in her studio. Back hunched over her workbench, her hands working diligently as she either sketches or melds metals together.
She’s been sketching. Hammering the pieces until she gets the texture she’s after. From her beautiful hands, she’s birthed necklaces, bracelets, and rings between bites of food.
That is, if she eats at all.
My girl forgets to eat when she’s working.
I should remind her of what happens when she neglects her own needs. For a bit longer, I’ll let her enjoy her false sense of freedom. Just before she realizes her life isn’t her own anymore.
It isn’t hers. It’s mine.
There you are, kitten. She’s in her home, out on the second-floor terrace. I can see her through the camera I installed on my terrace, the one next to hers.
A ballsy move on her part. Being so exposed. So close, I could show up there at any minute.
It’s a challenge. Or an olive branch.
