Page 252 of His To Erase
I grab the drive, the med kit, a burner pistol, and a black jacket hanging on the hook behind the door. My hands move without thought—muscle memory built on too many exits. But my mind’s already ahead of me. I need to get to her before Frank puts a ring on her finger and calls it fate.Or worse.
I move through the corridor behind the server room keeping my footsteps silent. The hallway branches left toward what I’m assuming is the exit, and the one to the right goes toward what looks like a private office. I should keep moving. Time’s running out, but something stops me.
That same sick, sharp instinct that’s been twisting under my skin since the second she walked into my life. So I go right.
The door’s locked, but it only takes a few seconds to bypass. I slip inside the small room, and the first thing I see is a wall of screens—feeds, reports, maps. Intel from across the country.
The second is a file left open on the desk. I flip it open and stop breathing. There are two faces that are burned into the back of my mind. My grip tightens until the paper curls, my pulse roaring in my ears.
“You fucking bastard,” I whisper. “There’s no fucking way.”
I snap the file shut and shove it into my jacket, heart pounding like I’m already in the fallout. I take the back stairwell down to the garage and find one of Frank’s men there—leaning against a pillar, smoking, and muttering into a comm.
It’s the same bastard who spit on me during the first round of being beaten. He turns, and freezes. Recognition hits a second too late, but I move faster. My fist slams into his throat, the crunch is satisfying as he stumbles, reaching for his gun, but I’m already behind him. Glock pressed to his spine.
“On your knees,” I say calmly. “Or I break them.”
He drops.
“Please—”
I press the barrel to his chin.
“You want to know what the difference is between you and me?” I whisper.
He nods, shaking.
“I kill for a reason.” I pull the trigger. Twice. One through the head, and one through the heart. Blood paints the pillar behind him and I drag the body to the center of the garage. Stripping off his shirt I carve two words into his chest with the same blade he used to cut my shoulder.
She’s mine.
Ani
The door swings open without a knock and I shoot to my feet, my pulse spikes so fast it makes my vision blur.
Frank walks in wearing a white button-down, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his slacks are tailored to perfection.
“Anianne,” he says, smiling. Drawing my name out like it means something to him.
His gaze drops to my hair. And I see the exact second it hits him. He stops mid-step and just like that, the mask cracks.
My long, dark hair is gone. What’s left is a little choppy. I hacked it off with the razor I found in the bathroom. It barely brushes my jaw, and the ends are a little uneven, but I kinda like it.
“You changed it,” he says. “I didn’t give you permission to do that.” The smile doesn’t drop—but it sharpens. “You think cutting your hair makes you harder to control?”
His voice stays level, but there’s a shadow curling behind it. “That hair wasn’t yours to change, and you’ll be punished for that.”
He takes a step closer. “That hair was mine to look at. Mine to pull. And mine to bury my face in, when you learned how to behave.”
I literally almost barf. Right there on the floor. I try to keep my mouth shut because I don’t really want to be slapped again. He takes another step and the air is folding in on itself, thick with something hot and dangerous.
“You’re still mine,” he says. “Even if I have to rip you apart to prove it.”
I keep my mouth shut, even though every cell in my body is screaming to throat-punch him and set the entire fucking house on fire. But I keep my face blank. Because if I flinch, he wins.
He suddenly glances around the room like he’s here for a goddamn tour. “Anyway, thought I’d come check in,” he says casually. “Make sure everything fits.”
His eyes drop to the red lace that I covered up with a robe and tied shut.
