Page 104 of His To Erase

Yeah. No.

Immediately fuck that.

My fingers twitch around the strap of my bag as I consider turning around and getting right back in the car.

“Evening,” I mutter, sliding past the bouncer, but he doesn’t reply, he just stares at me as I walk past.

I pause just past the entry, letting my eyes adjust. He said we wouldn’t stay long, but from the second I stepped out of that car, everything about this screamed performance. The club smells like money, liquor, and desperation wrapped in designer cologne. There are bodies pressed into each other on the dance floor, moving to the bass like it’s church.

I slip past a velvet curtain tucked just far enough to suggest privacy and there he is, sitting in a booth with his spine straight, and one arm draped casually over the backrest. He’s laughing at something the man across from him said—but there’s no joy in it. He looks pissed.

I’m close enough to hear him when he speaks, but barely. I’ve never seen Frank like this.

“…if he doesn’t deliver, you know what to do.” There’s a pause. “I don’t want excuses this time. I want blood.”

Something cold runs the length of my spine. The man nods once, then Frank leans back like he didn’t just order someone’s death with the same tone most people use to order a drink.

He hasn’t seen me yet. And for one breathless second—I get to see his mask slip.

When his eyes lift mid-sentence, and he sees me, everything shifts. The man across from him is still talking—something clipped and serious—but Frank doesn’t even glance his way. Just lifts a hand, silencing him mid-word.

The man follows the gesture, turns, takes one look at me, and walks away without another word.

I don’t move, because if I do, I might run.

Frank’s gaze drags down my body, slow and possessive, like he’s taking inventory of something that already belongs to him. I roll my eyes, and his mouth curves into that familiar, disarming smile—the one that used to make me feel safe.

Now it just makes me want to slap it off his face.

He stands—fluid, and polished. Every inch the man who gets what he wants.

“Ani,” he says, all warmth and practiced charm. “You look…” His eyes sweep me again, slower this time. “Dangerous.”

I tip my chin. “Yeah? So do you. Especially when you’re ordering hits over whiskey.”

His smile doesn’t waver. Not even a twitch. If anything, it spreads into something cooler, more calculated.

“Come on,” he says, waving it off like I accused him of stealing a parking spot. “It’s not as serious as it sounds.”

Not serious. Right. Totally casual.

I arch a brow. “You sure? Because it sounded pretty fucking serious from where I was standing.”

He chuckles, and it grates on something buried deep in my spine.

“Business, baby. Sometimes people need reminding.”

There’s that word again.Baby.

A week ago, I might’ve laughed. I might’ve even let him. But I’m not the same girl he took to dinner last time. Not after what happened in the alley. Not after Steven. I still don’t know what the fuck to do about him or whatever the hell is clawing at the back of my brain like it wants out. Ever since I met Steven, there’s this side of me that I’m not sure what to do with.

Still, I smile, even though it’s fake as hell. I still don’t know where Frank and I stand anymore, but I’m inclined to think I need to stay single forever.

Frank extends a hand like the perfect gentleman. “Come on, baby. Our table’s ready.”

I hesitate, glaring at him. Only for a second, but I make sure he sees it. Something flickers in his eyes, like he’s humoring me.

The music swells behind us, and his fingers brush the small of my back with just enough pressure to feel like possession.