Page 22 of His To Erase

Frank’s eyes scan the room, and just like that, the moment’s gone.

He just sits there—arm slung over the back of the booth like he owns the fucking underworld. And I’m just the girl lucky enough to breathe in it.

That little flicker of unease spreads through my chest like a bruise. What am I doing here?

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” I say, already sliding out of the booth before he can say something that makes me want to throat punch him—or worse, agree with him.

He doesn’t stop me, he just nods once.

I push through the crowd fast—dodging the swaying bodies, sweat, and spilled drinks.

The hallway near the restrooms is quieter, but not by much. I lock the door behind me and grip the edge of the sink, trying to slow my breathing.

What the hell am I doing here?

It’s not just the word mine that made my pulse spike. It’s how he said it.

I turn on the faucet and splash water on my face.

“Get it together,” I mutter at my reflection.

But the girl staring back at me looks pale. My eyeliner’s smudged and my lips are pressed so tight they’re practically colorless. I look like I’m about two seconds from bolting.

And then—I hear a soft thud behind me.

I jolt, heart in my throat, eyes snapping to the mirror, looking behind me, but the stalls are empty. It’s just me and my own stupid panic in here.

“Cool,” I whisper. “Let’s just add bathroom jump-scares to the list of red flags tonight.”

I step into the hallway, forcing myself to walk slowly, like I didn’t just splash water on my face and talk myself out of crawling out the window.

When I round the corner, Frank’s on his feet with one hand clenched into a fist, and the other fisted in the front of some guy’s shirt—some guy who looks two seconds away from pissing himself.

His mouth is moving, but the music’s too loud to catch the words. Doesn’t matter. Whatever he’s saying works, because the guy nods like his life depends on it—then stumbles backward and bolts for the exit like hell’s on his heels.

Frank exhales, rolling his shoulders as he adjusts his sleeves. And then he sees me.

The grin he gives me is calm. It’s the same grin he’s worn all night, only it’s a little off putting that he looks like he didn’t just scare the soul out of someone.

He strolls back to the booth and I just stand there, pulse thudding, while something cold twisting beneath my ribs. Because for the first time since I met him... I wonder if maybe I don’t actually know who the hell Frank really is.

“You good?” he asks casually.

I nod once and slide into the booth across from him. But something about Frank tonight feels… different. Sharper around the edges.

I don’t have time to ask him about it before the waitress shows up. She still won’t look at me as she drops another round of drinks off and vanishes.

Frank lifts his glass like nothing happened. “To finally getting that date.”

I hesitate, then raise mine too—because not clinking glasses with a man who acts like he owns half the damn city seems like the kind of mistake that gets you a missing persons report.

I set my glass down slower than necessary, studying him. “Where’d you disappear to when you left town?” I ask.

“Business,” he says. The same non-answer he always gives. His fingers curl around the rim of his glass like he’s holding a secret—and enjoying every second of it.

I arch a brow. “That vague response is doing all the heavy lifting tonight, huh?”

His grin gets wider. “Are you asking because you care?”

I scoff, but it’s a beat too late.

“I’m asking because people don’t usually disappear for weeks.”

He lowers his voice so I have to lean in just to hear him. “Didn’t know you were keeping track.”

“I wasn’t.”

He hums. “Could’ve fooled me.”

I roll my eyes, settling back into the booth—only for his hand to land on my thigh under the table.

I go still.

“That wasn’t a no,” he murmurs, voice dipping low enough to send a chill down my spine. “You’re curious. Finally.”

I lift my drink, just to keep from saying something I’ll regret—or worse, something honest. But he doesn’t stop.

“I knew this date was a good idea,” he adds, smiling. “One night out and you’re already trying to peel back my layers.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I mutter, ignoring the way my pulse skips when his thumb starts drawing lazy circles just above my knee.

He leans in, closer than necessary, cologne and danger bleeding into the air between us. “Too late, doll. I’m feeling very flattered right now.”

His gaze drops to my mouth—when the waitress comes up asking if he wants anything else. Something like anger across his face at the interruption before he blinks it away. I take the out, straightening, and brush his hand off like it didn’t short-circuit my common sense.

“So, hypothetically… if someone wanted to know what the hell you actually do for a living—where would she even start?”

His smile doesn’t slip. Not even a crack. “You could start by asking what I like in a woman,” he says smoothly. “But I think you already know.”

God. He’s insufferable.

I snort. “Right. Because that’s definitely the first thing I want to know about a man who might be the mayor or something.”

His eyes spark, but he just shrugs.

“I’m not the mayor,” he says, brushing his thumb along the rim of his glass. “That would suggest someone else has a say in how things are run.”

I blink. “Oh good. A man with a God complex. That’s fresh.”

He laughs, but underneath, it’s all steel.

“Relax,” he says, leaning in. “I work in investments. Management. That sort of thing.”

I stare at him. “Vague as usual. Classic.” I tip my head, keeping my voice flat. Can’t have him think I care too much or it’ll go to his head. “What kind of management? Clubs? Restaurants? Hitmen?”

He hums, tilting his head like he’s deciding how to answer me.

“Let’s just say I know how to keep people in line. And I’m very good at collecting what I’m owed.”

Something cold skates across my spine. I blame the lighting and the bass vibrating under my boots like a second heartbeat. But deep down, I have a feeling it’s none of those things.

“I’m still waiting for the part where this isn’t a crime drama,” I mutter, half into my drink.

Frank leans in closer, his fingers grazing my knee. “Come on, baby girl. You’re smarter than that,” he says, smooth enough to pour over ice. “You think I’d bring you somewhere like this if I knew you weren’t safe?”

“Is that what this is?” I ask, tilting my head. “A safety demonstration?”

His grin widens. All teeth and no humor. “You haven’t even seen what I’m capable of yet.”

My stomach twists, because some dark, broken part of me wants to know. Just to see if he’s bluffing. Just to see what kind of monster he thinks he is underneath the cologne and cufflinks.

The lights strobe across his face, painting him in flashes of red and blue. He looks carved out of something hard, and I’m about to push again—asking another question I won’t get a real answer to—when he stands and holds out a hand.

“Come on.”

I stare at it. “Why?”

His smile curls at the edges. “Because if you sit here any longer, you’re going to start asking questions I’m not going to answer. Which will ruin our date.”

I stand up, without taking his hand as we make our way down the hall. We stop at a side door near the back—one I didn’t even realize was there, as he types something into a keypad, and the lock releases with a soft click.

“You got a panic room in there too?” I ask, arching a brow.

Frank chuckles as he pushes the door open. “Not yet. But I could be convinced.”

How he managed to make that dirty, I’ll never know.

Every nerve is buzzing, and my pulse is climbing for reasons I don’t want to name. “That supposed to impress me?”

He steps in, crowding me back slowly until my spine hits the wall. His hands don’t touch me, but his breath ghosts across my cheek, close enough to make me shiver.

“I don’t need to impress you, doll,” he murmurs. “You’re still here.”

My jaw clenches. “Because you’re good at playing games.”

His mouth curves. “I don’t play games.”

His hand lifts, and his fingertips brush along my jaw before sliding into my hair and tugging just enough to tip my head back. The move is slow and deliberate, like he’s testing what I’ll let him take.

I should push him off, and say something cutting. But instead—I let him. For what reason I’ll never know.

“You think I don’t know what this is?” I whisper. “You think I haven’t seen men like you before?”

His mouth lowers to my throat, the words a hot promise against my skin. “No, doll. You haven’t.”

His tongue flicks over my pulse point, and I swear my knees almost buckle, but not for the reason you’d think. “Frank—”

“I’ve been patient,” he says, voice dropping to something darker, more possessive. “Too fucking patient. You wanna pretend you don’t feel it? Fine. But don’t lie to me about what this is. Don’t lie to yourself.”

His hand slides under my jaw again, thumb brushing my lower lip, and I hate that my mouth parts instinctively.

He leans in closer—so close I can’t think—his lips brush mine, with a feather-light touch. He kisses me slowly, like he’s finally staking a claim he thinks he’s earned and when he finally pulls back, he’s breathing like he’s the one who just got wrecked.

“You should go home,” he says roughly. “Before I stop pretending I can be good for you.”

What does he mean pretend? I arch a brow, as he steps back just enough to break the contact.

The air between us still hums but I force my voice steady. “I didn’t ask you to do anything,” I say coolly. “That’s your fantasy, not mine.”

His mouth curves, but it’s not a smile. It’s something sharper. “Is that right?” he murmurs.

I nod once, holding his gaze. “You think one kiss means I’m yours? That I’m gonna fall into your lap like every other girl in this place?”

His silence is louder than anything he could say.

“I’m not a fucking prize, Frank,” I whisper. “And I sure as hell don’t belong to anyone.”