Page 243 of His To Erase
If he thinks he can keep me here after this, he’s got another thing coming. I don’t care if it takes fire, blood, or what’s left of my sanity—I will burn my way out.
He grabs my jaw, squeezing until it aches. “You’re mine, Anianne. You have been. Even before I bought you.”
He releases me and starts pacing. “I gave your boyfriend a story,” he says. “Paid him off to spin a little fairytale about the two of you moving off to paradise.”
My stomach lurches.
“You don’t remember that part, do you?” He taunts. “Don’t worry. That’s what happens when you get hit hard enough. It all gets a little fuzzy.”
He’s still talking—like this is a bedtime story and he’s tucking me in with a fucking confession. He’s so fucking deranged, he’s acting like I’m supposed to feel grateful he cleaned up my past before wrapping a leash around my throat.
“You were supposed to go with him,” he says, like we’re swapping memories over coffee. “He was paid to deliver you. Nice and easy. A drop-off at the edge of town, nothing more.”
He pauses—just long enough to let the next part hit harder.
“But you got mouthy and started asking questions. Then you tried to run.” His smile is cold. “So we had to improvise and make other arrangements.”
My throat dries up.
Other arrangements?
A spark flares in the back of my mind. I try to grab it, but it’s no use.
“You—” I choke on the word. “What did you do?”
His smile turns razor sharp. “I made sure you landed exactly where I wanted you to.”
The walls start to tilt.
“Your boyfriend handled the paperwork and the bruises.” Frank’s voice turns gleeful. “He fought for a bonus too, selfish bastard.”
The blood drains from my face. I remember a fight, then being slapped. The floor. How cold it was, and the way his voice cracked when he said, ‘She’s your problem now.’
Oh my God.
My legs go numb, but I don’t fall.
“You should’ve seen yourself,” Frank croons. “All scratched up, with blood on your lip, but still swinging like a little street rat. That’s when I knew—I wasn’t going to waste you. You were too much fun.”
I take a step back, but there’s nowhere to go. The room spins, and all I can hear is the sound of my own breath—sharp and ragged. And then I hear something else.
“Please. I don’t want to go.”
My body being dragged, the sting of bleach in my nose, and the reek of cheap cigarettes.
Frank’s voice cuts through the memory like a serrated edge.
“I gave you everything,” he says. “Let you work. Gave you space. Let you breathe a little. But you—you fucked it all up because you had to be a fucking slut.”
My head snaps up so fast it makes me dizzy.
“I’ve been patient, Anianne.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “But one thing I don’t do is share.”
He steps forward. “And I sure as fuck don’t lose.”
My body moves before my mind can catch up. I lunge, grabbing the lamp off the end table and hurling it with everything I have. It misses—shattering against the wall beside his head in a spectacular spray of glass.
“Don’t come near me.” My voice is shaking and so is my grip but I don’t step back.
