Page 141 of Fixation
The captor who humiliated her.
The doctor who healed her.
“Come here.” Something clatters on the floor when I gather her in my arms. Sounds like her keys.
I don’t give a fuck about her keys.
Only Harper.
Picking up a wounded patient is something I’ve done hundreds of times. Lifting them in my arms. Rearranging them to avoid aggravating their injuries.
Except Harper isn’t just any other person.
Harper is my everything. Mine. Forever.
Her tears soak through my T-shirt, her hands clawing at the fabric.
While I’m walking, I glance at her ankles. One of them is at the early stages of swelling.
I don’t like it one fucking bit. That, and her bare feet. “Where are your shoes?”
We’re at the door leading to the basement. Harper’s eyes fly open.
“No. No, Anderson. Don’t take me down there.”
What a relief, seeing that she’s well enough to fight me. Well enough to fear me. Still wild enough to want taming.
I’m still furious that some reckless fucker hurt her. But she’s in my home, pressed to my body. That’s all that matters.
“Anderson, there’s plenty of space to treat me here.”
“Dr. Maguire. Say it.”
“No,” she gasps. Swallows. Her hand comes up to her mouth. “Not again.”
I open and close the door behind us before she lets out a scream.
“Calm down.” My boots pound the stairs, my eyes pinned to her wide ones. “Remember? There’s no use in yelling. No one will hear you.”
“Don’t lock me up again.” Punching on my chest gets her nothing other than my cock thickening. She must see it on my face, how turned on I am, because she stops. “Don’t drug me again. It’s just my ankle.”
Sweet little liar. She wants it more than she admits.
“If it were just your ankle, you would’ve gone to the hospital. You fell. You need my medical attention.” The uncomfortable truth makes her shift in my hold. My sweet Harper isn’t sure whether she wants to hide her face in my chest or scramble as far away from me as possible. “I won’t, though. Drug you.”
We reach the basement. The air still smells of her. Of the days she spent here.
Harper notices it.
Then her eyes see it. The rumpled sheets on the bed. The IV pole that’s stayed in the exact same place. The half-empty bag of saline.
“You’ll do worse.” All the red drains from her face. She claws at me, wide-eyed. “You’ll kill me.”
I ache for her hands. For the way she fights me like it’s a game she’s already lost.
I also want to keep my job.
If I show up with scratch marks all over me, chances are, I’ll get fired.
