Page 40 of Fixation
I’m giving it everything I have, which isn’t much.
With a fever as high as this, it’s more than just fighting. It’s as if I’ve gone to a full-out war.
A war I’m losing, losing, and losing all over again.
The doctor who left me here wanted me to recover.
He wanted me to be comfortable. Covered in soft, warm clothes.
None of them is a hospital gown.
I’m bound to this bed.
He did this.
His act of kindness back there in the ER was a lie.
I’m trapped.
A captive.
“Come on.” A tear slips from the corner of my eye. The drop is hot against my feverish skin. I don’t stop—won’t stop—trying to break free. “Come on. Please, come the fuck on.”
“Good morning.”
That voice.
Hisvoice.
I might’ve passed out a second after I heard it in the ER. Doesn’t matter. I’d recognize it anywhere.
Never have I heard a lower, more confident voice.
“Harper.” His tone is sharp. The way he says my name is a command.
He can demand someone else’s attention. Someone he hasn’t kidnapped, for God’s sake.
They might listen.
Not me.
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.
