Page 278 of His To Erase

Frank rounds on him, keeping his voice deceptively calm. “Get out. Take your papers and your moral compass and get the fuck out of my house or I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

The man doesn’t move fast enough. So Frank steps in close and drops his voice to something that makes even the air feelthinner. “Do I need to remind you what happens when people don’t finish what I pay them to do?”

The priest’s face drains of color but Frank doesn’t blink. “The last man who didn’t follow through paid the price.” A long pause. “So did his wife, and his poor daughter.”

The priest grabs the briefcase with shaking hands, nodding so fast it looks like a seizure. “I-I understand.”

Frank smiles. “Good. Now get the fuck out before I change my mind about letting you live.”

The guy doesn’t wait—he scrambles, boots echoing down the hall. I jerk against the guard’s grip, but it’s no use. My limbs are shaking now, I need to think of something and quick.

Frank turns to the guards. “Strip her and make her remember who she belongs to.”

My heart drops. Frank doesn’t look at me when he says the next part. He looks at the men with their hands on me.

“And make sure you do it live,” He pauses. “So they know what they’re buying. And start the bidding at one million.”

“No,” I snarl, struggling harder. “You’re not going to touch me. You’re not?—”

Frank grabs my chin in one brutal grip, tilting my face up toward his. “Oh, sweetheart. I already did. I touched your life. Your legacy. Your name.” His voice drops into a whisper. “And now I’m going to take your body, too. Slowly.”

I do the only thing I can think of—I bite him. Hard. Right on the hand still locked around my chin. I taste blood and keep going until someone yanks me off. Frank yells, stumbling back with his hand cradled to his chest.

“You bitch!” he roars.

The guard grabs my hair, yanking hard enough to rip a gasp from my throat. Then slams a knee into my stomach so hard I fold, all the air ripped out of my lungs in one ugly, chokingsound. I hit the floor hard, pain bursting behind my eyes and I hear him bark the order through the haze.

“Throw her in the basement. No food. No water. Strip the dress. She doesn’t deserve it.”

Two guards move toward me. Grabbing me and dragging me like deadweight toward the hallway. Everything hurts, but I have to fight. I’m not going into that basement, or I'll never make it out.

The second they loosen their grip to readjust, I twist hard—slipping free for half a second, just enough to hurl myself toward the table. My hand closes around the candle and I don’t think—I just throw it straight at the velvet drapes by the window. The flame hits, and for a second, nothing happens. Just this soft whoosh, like the room’s holding its breath. Then it catches.

The curtains go up fast. One breath, maybe two—and then flames are racing up the velvet. Someone shouts behind me. One of the guards releases his grip and the other lunges, but I’m already moving—stumbling backward.

The heat pulses toward the ceiling. Smoke thickens, curling like black silk through the gold light. The velvet warps and peels as the flames lick higher with every second that passes.

Ani

The room breaks apart around me. Shouts come from every direction as men burst through the door. Furniture crashes to the floor. The sharp, hollow crack of wood splitting somewhere off to my left. I hear the rush of footsteps scrambling over marble, as voices call for water, for anything that might stop this from turning into what it already is—ruin.

Beneath the chaos, I hear something else. Shouting erupts in the hall, then I hear a gunshot. One single crack that ricochets off the marble. Boots hammer against the tile, fast and closing in. More people are coming this way.

My breath catches as fight or flight kicks in and heat rushes down my spine. I’m about to run when a hand fists in my hair and yanks. Pain explodes across my scalp, sharp and blinding, ripping the air right out of my lungs.

The flames haven’t even reached the other wall before a guard returns with a fire extinguisher. Another one yells something I can’t make out, and there’s a blur of motion, thensmoke chokes the air. The curtains fall in a heavy, steaming collapse. And just like that, the fire is gone.

No.

I’m being drug backward—rougher this time, like now that I’ve shown them my teeth, they don’t have to pretend I’m breakable.

My legs fold before I can stop them and I hit the floor hard and the guards don’t bother lifting me this time. Frank stands a few feet away, his face a twisted mix of rage and amusement. His hair is messed up, his shirt half-untucked, but he’s still smiling. He knows I’ve got nothing left.

And when I look around—at the wet floor, the burned drapes, the scattered papers—I know it too.

I lower my head, but I don’t cry, I don’t even know if I can. I sink somewhere deep. Somewhere hollow. Because if there’s no escape through fire… then there’s only one way out left. And right now, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to take any more of it. My body is wrecked. My throat is raw. And my legs barely feel real beneath me.

Frank doesn’t notice. He’s still lost in his own rage, pacing and spitting fury while his hand clamps around my throat like he’s trying to grind me into the floor with it. He’s not even talking anymore—just snarling threats, half-formed words, violence bubbling through his teeth.