Page 209 of His To Erase
A numb, detached kind of horror that hits too fast to make sense, fills my body. A shiver runs down my spine.
Investment?What the actual fuck.
“You think she’s worth all this?” the man asks.
Frank laughs again.
“She doesn’t even know what she’s worth.” There’s a pause. “Not after what happened in Cali. Hell, she barely remembers that night.”
My blood turns to ice and the words hit me like a slap—sharp and sudden, and somehow...familiar? Every nerve in my body stills like I’ve been thrown underwater. The air is too thick. The silence is suddenly too loud.
But Frank just keeps going.
“The club is the cover, it’ll have to work for now.”
I don’t know what the fuck I’m hearing, but I’m going to pretend he isn’t talking about me like it’s not the most brutal thing I’ve ever heard.
His voice picks up again, careless now. “This place was supposed to be about leverage. And she walked right back into it like the good girl I know she is.”
The laugh that follows shatters something inside me. Then, like he’s making sure the man on the other end really gets it—“Worst case,” he says with that same damn calm, “I’ll get what I need, same as the first time. She didn’t remember it then, and she won’t remember it now.”
The words echo, but it’s not the words that split me. It’s the way he says them. And just like that—The smell hits me again. Bleach, cheap cologne, and blood. I’m back in that motel hallway and the fluorescent lights are flickering. The floor is sticky, and my legs are so weak.
Next thing I know, I feel hands on me and I see my ex’s face, his dead eyes and a mouth full of apologies, but this time he’s yelling.
“Let go of me—get the fuck off—” My own voice is screaming, and its cut off with a slap.
Then a man’s voice. Cold and final.
“She’s mine now. It’s done.”
All I see is a gold bracelet with a piece of paper in his hand as he hands whatever it is to my ex with a flash of teeth.
Everything’s coming in so fast. I remember the sound of pen on paper, and some sort of deal being made. They shake on it, but what was it?
Then I’m bleeding and dizzy on the floor, in a room I don’t recognize, trying to crawl. And someone says—“She won’t remember anything. Just clean her up.”
Then nothing.
I jolt out of it, and I’m right back in Frank’s house, with my breath trapped in my throat. My hand is on the wall, and I don’t even remember putting it there.
My fingers curl into a fist, and he’s still in the other room talking like it’s just another day.
My vision tunnels, but I don’t hear the rest. I don’t want to. I’m already backing away from the door, with my heartslamming so loud it feels like it’s echoing in my ears. I think I’m going to be sick.
I stumble down the hallway and duck back into the guest room just long enough to catch my breath.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My chest’s too tight, like my ribs are wrapped in barbed wire and the walls are pulsing in on me. I’m one blink away from either screaming or throwing up. Maybe both.
I promised myself I would never be that girl again. The one who waits. Who plays it safe. Who lets a man talk over her instincts until her silence becomes survival.
I don’t know if he’s talking about me or someone else, but I don’t care.
Never again.
I would rather burn the fucking world down than let someone like Frank rewrite my story. Again.
