Page 244 of His To Erase
Rage coils in my gut, terror climbs up my spine, and bile rises in my throat—each one trying to claw its way out first, like there's not enough room for all three.
Frank’s expression darkens. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
I lift my chin, even though every part of my body is screaming. My lungs. My legs. That small, broken part of me that wants to disappear before he can say whatever comes next.
“I don’t belong to you.”
“You do, actually.” His tone is calm. Almost gentle. And that’s what makes it worse. He reaches into his jacket and tosses something at my feet. It flutters once, then lands face-up.
I stare at it, and in the photo there’s a man holding a gun, and I can see Frank’s face is blurred in the corner. I’m standing in a hallway, bleeding, and my eyes are wide and terrified.
I stop breathing.
My brain tries to reject it, telling me it’s fake, or doctored somehow. I remember that hallway. I remember the blood. I remember being dragged like a fucking rag doll while men talked about me like I wasn’t right there.
No. No, no, no.
The wordnobeats in my chest like a war drum, over and over, but I don’t move. I just stand there—shaking and silent—because for the first time, I don’t know if I’m going to survive this.
I don’t know what’s worse, the memories… or the fact that he’s been sitting on them this whole time, pretending to be someone he wasn’t.What else did he lie about?I feel used. I feel violated. And I feel so fucking stupid for not figuring it out sooner.
“This was supposed to be our new beginning,” he murmurs, like he’s reminiscing about a love story instead of a fucking crime scene. “But thenhecame in. Meddling prick thought he could outplay me.”
My eyes snap to his face.
Frank smiles, but he ignores me. He crouches down and picks up the photo, brushing it off like it’s a memory worth keeping.
“Don’t worry, baby girl,” he says softly. “He won’t touch you again.”
The words don’t hit all at once. He’s talking about Steven. My stomach flips, but I don’t give Frank the satisfaction of reacting.
“Where is he?”
Frank’s smile turns to a blade. “That depends,” he says, tilting his head. “Are you ready to be mine again?”
I move before I think—pure instinct. I lunge like a cornered animal, but he’s faster. His hand clamps around my wrist and squeezes. Pain flashes white behind my eyes. I choke on it, biting back a scream, but my knees give out when he yanks me forward and slams me into the wall.
“You’ve got one chance to make this right,” he growls, breath hot on my skin.
I look him dead in the eye and spit in his face. His hand lashes out, and the slap, which honestly feels more like a punch lands with a sickening crack. Pain detonates across my cheekbone, and I drop like a stone. I hit the floor hard. My palm scrapes against the wood and beneath the pain, as rage coils straight through my bones.
“Oh, baby.”
I don’t move as he rushes over and falls to his knees beside me, breath ragged with false remorse.
“I didn’t want to—fuck.” His hand trembles as it reaches out. “You just… you push, Ani. You always push.” Like it’s my fault he keeps hitting me.
Warm fingers graze my shoulder and I flinch, the reaction automatic. He pauses. Not in guilt—he doesn’t have the wiring for that—but like a man recalibrating a role he’s played.
One hand smooths down my spine, slow and deliberate. The other hovers near my waist, suspended like he can’t decide whether to touch me again… or snap me in half.
“You know how I get when you lie to me baby doll,” he says softly. Like he’s soothing a child. “It’s your fault I have to be this way.”
God. The audacity of this man could power a small country.
Then—like we’re in a fucking rom-com—he helps me up gently. One arm braced beneath mine, the other cradling the back of my head. He wipes the blood from my lip with his thumb, so sweet it curdles.
His fingers rest on my jaw and when his mouth brushes my cheek, my stomach rolls. I almost throw up right on him.Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake.
