Page 84 of His To Erase
I flip her off, and grab the trash, heading for the alley before she can say something worse.
It’s close enough to closing that she can handle the rest without me. The air outside smells like grease, sweat, and something vaguely sour, but it’s better than inside, where the oxygen felt too thick and he felt too close.
I hurl the trash bag into the dumpster with unnecessary force, like it’s going to magically make me feel less like I’m crawling out of my own skin.
Spoiler… it doesn’t.
My boots echo off the bricks as I storm down the alley. Normally, I’d cut across the lot and down 7th. But tonight, my skin itches, and my instincts are too loud. And maybe—just maybe—I’m still pissed at the smug bastard inside, watching me like I’m his to fuck.
So I turn right instead. Screw routine, and screw him.
I’m halfway down the next block before I realize I’m still clenching my jaw, and replaying every stupid look he gave that girl.
God, I hate him.
The streetlight above me flickers before stuttering to life in a burst of sickly yellow that bathes the alley in rot. Every instinct I have goes rigid as I shift my bag on my shoulder.
I feel the itch at the base of my neck, and the weight of something off slithering down my spine, coiling around my ribs like it already knows how I’ll scream.
I freeze mid-step as the air catches halfway up my throat and stays there.
I glance over my shoulder but don’t see anything but cracked pavement, a rusted dumpster, and a strip of shadow that feels too still to trust. My fingers inch toward the pocket of my jacket, brushing the hilt of the blade I swore I’d never walk alone without again.
Something is very fucking wrong.
Two seconds too late, I feel a hand steel around my arm and I’m yanked sideways so fast the world spins. My back is slammed into the brick hard enough to rattle my teeth.
“Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t walk alone,” a voice sneers, hot and rancid against my skin.
The stench of him—sweat, smoke, and something sour hits me harder than the wall and I choke on it. Panic rises like acid in my throat.
I twist hard, elbow slicing through the air on instinct. It cracks against his cheekbone and the shock of it punches up my arm like a warning flare. He grunts, stumbling half a step back, but the bastard doesn't go down.
He doesn’t let go either. That would be too easy.
No, he just fucking smiles, split lip and all. He’s got blood in his teeth and he’s looking at me with a crazy look in his eyes.
God, I’ve seen that look before. Nothing good can come from this.
He tightens his grip on my arm until I swear I hear something crack. His hand crushes over my mouth. “Told him I’d be able to find you easily,” he growls.
Him?
Who the hell is he talking about?
I scream, but it doesn’t make it past his palm. I dig my nails into his forearms, desperate for leverage, for something—anything—but he’s already jamming a knee between my thighs, pressing all of his sick weight into me.
“You’re gonna be a fun little bonus,” he breathes, his other hand sliding to my throat, cutting off the air in jagged pulses. “No one said I couldn’t have fun first.”
My blood turns to ice. And then it fucking boils.
Because no.Fuck no.
I’m not some obedient little girl anymore. There’s no fucking way I’m going down without a fight.
My lungs scream for air, and my vision dances at the edges—but I fumble to find my pocket and wrap my hand around the knife, and I twist just enough to get my arm loose and jam it up toward his face.
The blade slices across his cheek with a deep, satisfying gash that blooms red and trails down his jaw.
