Page 26 of His To Erase

Ani

Fuck him. I mean that in the throw-him-off-a-cliff-with-his-own-ego kind of way.

Fuck. Him.

He’s the one who’s ever wrecked me so thoroughly I’m still finding pieces of myself in places I didn’t know were cracked. And then had the audacity to show up at my bar like he didn’t say ‘Don’t let anyone else put their hands on you.’

Right.

Real fucking rich, considering I caught him chatting it up with some giggling blonde with legs for days and a laugh that made me want to shatter a pint glass with my teeth.

I’ve spent the last hour refusing to look at him. Refusing to give him the satisfaction. I even sent Sarah to take his order like the petty bitch I am. And now I’m supposed to act like none of it happened?

Nope. Fuck this. I’m going home.

I shove past Sarah on my way to the back. “I’m going home. You good?”

She side-eyes me without looking up from the drink she’s mixing. “Sure. I’ll just close solo and pray I don’t get murdered in the parking lot. Totally chill.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

She glances up, pausing just long enough to smirk. “I’ll tell Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Possessive to quit staring like he’s auditioning for a restraining order.”

“I’d rather tell him to choke.”

She grins. “Kinky.”

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.

He rears back with a snarl, hand flying to the cut. The second of shock is all I need—I shove him off with everything I have. My knife falls to the ground, skidding across gravel, too far to reach.

“You fucking bitch!” He roars, yanking my arm and slamming me into the wall at a twisted angle—hard enough to make the joint tear free with a sickening pop.

Pain cracks through my shoulder like a gunshot and I don’t even hear the scream—it’s already lodged in my throat, splintering into a gasp that doesn’t make it all the way out.

White-hot fire tears through my shoulder like my body’s trying to rip itself in half. Fuck that hurts.

My arm dangles at my side, limp and wrong, as I try to breathe. Every inhale feels like there’s glass in my ribs, and the only thing louder than the pain is the voice screaming inside my head.

I need to move but my body doesn’t listen. His hand fists in my hair ripping my head up and my spine screams, but I don’t make a sound.

“What I have planned is nothing. You’ll wish for me, though, when he has you.”

My stomach flips. He?

“Didn’t say what shape you had to be in though.”

The metallic click of his belt makes the world go still.

No no no—my good hand fumbles around, hoping for anything sharp, anything at all.

“You should’ve behaved,” he growls, pinning me down. “I was going to make it quick. But now? I’m gonna make sure you remember me.”

I see a flash in the dark, glinting once before pain explodes through my body. A tearing, blinding heat rips through my side—just beneath my ribs—and the breath flies out of me like I’ve been punched by lightning.

My mouth opens around a scream, but nothing comes. Just a raw, choked sound as the pain sears up my spine and makes the world tilt. For a second, I don’t even understand. I’m just… burning.

Slick warmth spills down my hip. Wet and hot. I look down and see the knife.

He fucking stabbed me.

The ground tilts sideways as I stumble, my hand flies to my side like I can hold myself together with pressure alone. The shock is worse.

The sick bastard grins like it was foreplay as he leans in, and his breath—sour and rotted—grazes my cheek. “You should’ve been a good girl.”

My hand scrambles to my side, slick with blood and panic, while my fingers fumble through shredded fabric, searching—until I feel it. Still lodged there.

I wrap my hand around the handle, gripping it tight and yank.

Pain detonates behind my ribs, and the scream tears out of me this time, but I don’t stop. I drive the blade straight into his thigh, right above the knee and he howls, staggering.

His grip on me slips just enough, and for a second—a tiny, gasping second—I think I’ve won.

I don’t see his boot coming before it collides with my ribs. All the air leaves my lungs in a strangled burst as I slam back against the ground. Stars explode behind my eyes, and something cracks deep in my chest and I can’t tell if it’s bone or just the last thread of hope I had left.

Everything hurts.

I can see the knife’s still in his leg, and there’s blood all over the pavement. My vision blurs, but I need to get up or I’m going to die here in the dark.

“Hey!”

That voice.

That fucking voice.

It crashes into me like the first breath after drowning. Familiar and furious. The man above me freezes. I see it in his eyes—the flicker of fear. Then a shadow barrels into him from the side, all force and vengeance.

He staggers, trying to recover. But he’s already swinging again, fists landing with sickening, wet sounds—rage given form.

I don’t know how long it’s been or if he’s still here, but I try to sit up—stupid, but I try. The moment my shoulder shifts, white heat flares through me, and a cry escapes before I can swallow it.

“Shit,” a voice growls.

He drops to his knees beside me and I can feel him—his body heat, the sharp tension radiating off him in violent waves.

His voice slices through the dark, laced with ice. “You planning to bleed out here, or is this just your new way of getting attention?”

My whole body screams, pain pulsing from my shoulder like a siren, but somehow, I manage to lift my head.

“What’s the matter?” I rasp. “Jealous someone else got to throw me around first?”

A muscle twitches in his jaw and under the dim streetlamp, I catch the flicker of his expression—he’s furious. But the light blurs, and the last thing I see before it all fades is the hard set of his mouth… and something behind his eyes I can’t name.

And then it all goes black.

The first thing I feel is pain. Hot and sharp, like someone injected fire straight into my shoulder. I try to move, turns out that’s a bad idea. My body protests like it’s been hit by a truck, as I try to crack one eye open.

This bed isn’t mine.

The sheets are too smooth, and the mattress is too soft. The whole room smells like expensive cologne, smoke, and the kind of leather that probably has a criminal record.

I push myself up, or try to, with my good arm—barely making it onto one elbow before a fresh wave of nausea threatens to take over again. I don’t puke. Yet. But I want to.