Page 240 of His To Erase
This one feels personal.
The sound cracks through the room like a whip, sharp enough to sting the air itself. My head snaps sideways and pain rips through my jaw as copper floods my tongue.
God, I’m so fucking tired of bleeding for men who can’t handle rejection.
For a second, all I see is white. And then he’s got me by the hair, yanking so hard my knees almost give out. I suck in a breath through my teeth, but I don’t cry out.
“You think mouthing off makes you brave?” he growls, his breath is rancid against my face. “You think just because I didn’t break you when I had the chance, I won’t do it now?”
I laugh. “Wasn’t sure you had the balls,” I rasp, dragging my gaze back to his. “Especially in front of an audience.”
The man behind him clears his throat, shifting his weight like he doesn’t want to get involved, but Frank doesn’t let go.
“You want answers?” he hisses. “Start remembering. Because next time I lay my hands on you, sweetheart—it’s not gonna be your cheek that bruises.”
His grip finally loosens and I stumble back, breathing like I’ve just surfaced from drowning. But I don’t cry, or scream. I just smile.As if I’m going to let him know how much he got to me.
Inside, though, I’m cracked open. There’s this sharp, crawling feeling under my skin like everything I thought I understood just burned down and I’m standing in the ashes, still trying to pretend it’s smoke and not fire. This isn’t about temper or jealousy—this is control, and I’m the prize he thinks he owns.
My eyes dart without moving my head. The door is still cracked open behind them. Frank follows my glance, like a lion watching a rabbit twitch before it bolts.
“Don’t bother,” he says softly, and the threat under that one word slices clean, but I’m already moving.
I duck low, slamming my elbow into his ribs hard enough to hear the air leave him, and bolt for the door—only to get yanked back by the hood of my sweatshirt.
“Fuck—” My feet leave the ground as I crash into the wall, my breath knocking out of me in a wild gasp.
Frank’s hand grips my jaw as he leans in, calmly. “I let you play pretend,” he says, his voice filled with fury. “Let you run. Let you lie. I even let you fuck him.”
He tilts his head like he’s listening for the sound of my dignity shattering. “I can see him on you, doll.” His thumb drags slowly down the side of my neck—taunting me.
“The bruises on your skin. That look in your eye like someone finally touched you and meant it.” He leans in, dragging his tongue up the side of my face. “Don’t insult me by pretending I don’t know the difference between getting fucked and being claimed.”
A pause, and then—“And if you want him breathing by tomorrow? I’d stop testing how far I’m willing to go.”
My stomach lurches. No. No, no, no. He can’t mean—my blood runs cold, but I don’t react.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I whisper, and I hate how soft it sounds, but still trying to play it off.
Frank smirks. “You really thought he was different?” he asks, almost pitying. “Sweetheart… he’s been lying to you since the first night you met him.”
And just like that, the world tilts sideways.No. No, that can’t be right.Every breath, every glance, every fucking whisper in the dark—None of it was real? He has to be lying.
My chest tightens, like my ribs are trying to fold in on themselves. Was I the game?
He steps back and starts pacing, he’s clearly enjoying every second of this breakdown.
“Oh, he didn’t tell you why he came here? What he was looking for?” He shrugs, casually. “He’s not yours, Anianne. He’s mine.”
It slides under my skin before I can stop it, hooking into something tender. I laugh—sharp and breathless, but it sounds wrong in my own ears. “Bullshit.”
“Believe what you want,” he says with a shrug. “But you’ll figure it out. Just like before.”
Before? Before what?
Something stirs behind my ribs. But before I can ask, or rip the truth from his throat—he nods to the man behind him and turns toward the door.
“I’ll give you some time,” he calls back effortlessly. “Get your head on straight.”
