Page 190 of Fixation
I slam to a stop.
“Don’t touch her,” I shout before I even leave the car. “Don’t touch her.”
Mine.
They hesitate. Good. I grab Harper and carry her myself.
I call vitals and orders as we wheel her in. CT, pulse, everything I’ve got. When a staff member besides me slips the oxygen mask over her face, I nearly lose it. She has her hands on what’s mine.
Then her beautiful eyes flutter open and my heart warms.
If only for a second.
“Miss Arlington,” says the on-call surgeon, Tate, who’s just run over to join us.
My head snaps up. Jaw clenched.
Bennet brought an intern.
To treatmywoman.
Fine. Fine.Fine.
If her injuries require surgery, he won’t be operating on her anyway. I will.
“Anderson.” Her eyes struggle to focus.
That weak gaze shatters me. It pleads.
She drives a fist through my chest.
This gaping hole won’t close. I won’t ever be the same after today.
This kind of agony changes people.
I’m deformed. Broken. Miserable.
We’ll carry this pain together, as one.
Once Harper is cleared of any internal injuries or bleeding—and she fucking will—I’ll show her the depths of my pain. What she’s done to me.
It won’t be a punishment for being kidnapped. This wasn’t her fault.
Thankfully, this wasn’t Sergey’s work, either. He would’ve gloated by now.
He hasn’t.
Someone just kidnapped her.
My hands, my mouth, my bones, every part of me demands that I reclaim her.
Only once she’s better.
“I’m here,” I repeat. I don’t let my emotions show. Not through my expression or the cadence of my voice. We move past the staff. Patients. Families. People. I squeeze Harper’s hand. Tell her, “I’m here.”
“I’m fine.” She coughs. “No need to take me to?—”
The basement.
