Page 213 of Fixation
“I’ve been your secret weapon for far too long.” Sergey kept him hidden. Didn’t want anyone using his skills against him, so Anderson was basically a ghost. The rest of the Bratva won’t know where and with whom to look for him now. No one will. “This ends here.”
Bam.
Using my hammer, Anderson bashes Stas’s eye in. It’s a satisfying sight, watching his blood trickling down his cheek.
Bam.
The other one.
That does it. Stas is dead. He lies perfectly still, his hand that clutched his wound drops to his side.
Anderson turns to me, letting go of the hammer. Dropping it to the floor.
His steps are just as confident and terrifying as he walks toward me. His eyes burn with something feral.
Except he doesn’t fuck me. He picks me up, places me on the familiar hospital bed—mine—and presses a kiss to my temple.
“Sit tight. Let me handle it.” He grounds me by grabbing my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Understood?”
My hands go to his cheeks. There’s nothing else I’d rather touch. Nowhere else I’d rather be.
“Understood.”
37
ANDERSON
Harper and I have been driving for hours. I’ve taken us through small towns and less-traveled roads.
There was no other choice but to drive that way up north.
Connecticut. Massachusetts. New Hampshire.
Then Maine. Our last stop.
We should’ve arrived sooner.
Except my little patient saw through my exhaustion. We pulled over twice in a secluded area so I could grab a quick nap.
With two bodies rolled up into rugs in my trunk.
She didn’t like that, taking this a short break while I napped.
She begged me to let her drive, to let her help. With her words, then with her mouth. My Harper sucked me off and I let her. I’m fucking addicted to her, I couldn’t refuse her sweet, hot mouth on me.
Such a good girl.
When she was done, my answer remained the same.
No.
I wasn’t lying when I told her I needed to be the one to fix this for her.
Out of everyone I ever treated or stitched together, Harper is the most precious.
I wanted to look after her. Be the one to see this through.
And I have.
