Page 241 of His To Erase
The lock clicks shut.
The silence after Frank leaves is a special kind of loud. It hums under my skin like a static that says he’s not done.
I pace, because sitting still makes me feel caged—and if I stop moving, the panic might catch up.
My cheek still burns where his ring left a message I never asked for. I move toward the window and press my fingertips to the cold glass. Outside, it’s just black sky and that one stubborn star I used to wish on like it was listening.
Did you think I wouldn’t know the difference between someone fucking you and being claimed?
Steven did something to me. Not just touched me—he marked me. He got under my skin in a way that won’t wash off.
But what the hell does Frank know? What does Steven know?
Fuck! I want to scream.
The two men in my life aren’t who I thought they were and maybe they never were. Steven showed up like a storm I didn’t see coming, and Frank slithered in wearing charm like armor.And somehow, I let both of them close. Now they’re circling each other like wolves, and I’m just... in the middle.
How did I end up being something they both want for reasons I don’t understand—and didn’t agree to.
I keep trying to find solid ground, but every answer I get just tilts the world more sideways and all I have is more questions. The drugs in my system are making it hard to focus.
One second I’m breathing, and the next, I’m drowning.
I’m not in this room anymore. I’m small. Eight, maybe nine. It’s hard to tell—time doesn’t move right in this place. There’s yelling, a man’s voice cutting through the air like broken glass, and my mother’s crying. Not the quiet kind either.
The whole room reeks, smelling like something sour, something that burns the back of my throat before I even breathe it in.
I’m holding a folder tight to my chest. It’s thick and heavy. My arms are shaking, but I don’t let go. There’s a bunch of cash, crumpled papers, and a passport I’m not supposed to see.
My name is on it, and suddenly I know—whatever this is...I’m not coming back.
All I remember after that is a hand grabbing my arm, dragging me toward the door.
The voice in my ear is low and urgent, whispered in Spanish. “No mires atrás.”
Don’t look back.
My feet move before my brain does. Then it’s all motion. A car. A plane. A hallway that won’t end.
I can’t hear anything past the sound of my heartbeat, pounding like a countdown I didn’t start. My body’s moving through time, through space, but my mind is frozen in that second—right where everything cracked open.
I snap out of it when I hear a man’s voice in the hallway.
Shit. Frank.
The memory slips through my fingers like smoke as instinct takes over. I don’t move. Not until the door creaks open and he steps inside with that same slow, smug ease he always wears.
He hums under his breath, strolling toward me. His fingers brush my jaw, soft enough to make my skin crawl. I tense and pull away. The thought of him touching me now, makes me sick.
“I told you,” he murmurs, dragging his thumb over the split in my lip. “No one else touches what’s mine.”
The heat behind the words makes my stomach twist, bile licking the back of my throat. But I keep my voice light, because it’s the only thing I’ve got left.
“And here I thought you were a businessman,” I murmur. “Not a fucking caveman.”
The slap comes faster than I expect—and sharp enough to blur the world for a second and paint stars behind my eyes. I bite down on the scream. All I can feel is the rage swelling beneath my skin.
I straighten slowly, licking the blood from my lip. Again.
