Page 292 of His To Erase

His jaw locks, and I’ll bet my life he’s deciding whether to punish me or make me beg for it. That vein in his neck—the one I swear is wired to whatever control he has left, throbs like a promise.

“Ani—”

“Your toothbrush, Steven,” I whisper against his jaw, lips barely brushing skin. “Soft bristles. No lube. Your call.”

The sound he makes isn’t human.Holy fuck, how did I get this lucky?

A growl rips straight from his chest like I just snapped the last thread of his control and I’m in his arms before I can blink. He turns toward the bathroom like a man on a mission.

“You’re fucking insane,” he mutters, laughing.

I bite his neck hard enough to make him grunt. “Keep talking shit and I’ll come before we hit the tile.”

He smiles. “Careful, dear. You forget who you’re mouthing off to.”

Ten weeks later.

Ani

Sarah was mad at me for weeks after I got back. She called every single day just to cry and cuss me out, reminding me—loudly—that she was still pissed I got kidnapped. That she could’ve lost meanddidn’t even get to shoot anyone over it.

Her words. Not mine.

Honestly, I think that last part might’ve been what bothered her the most.

“I’m serious,” she sniffled on the phone, while I was curled up in Steven’s lap and trying not to cry into his hoodie for the fifth time that day. “I thought you were dead. Do you get that? Like—actually dead. In a ditch. Or locked in some psycho’s cage. Or—oh my God—trafficked.Do you even know what that does to a girl?!”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered for the thirteenth time.

“I know,” she sobbed. “I’m just so happy you’re alive. But I’m still mad. And for the record, I knew Frank was a freak.”

We didn’t talk about the worst parts at first. But she sent me a care package with Sour Patch Kids, dry shampoo, and three new shades of black eyeliner, so I knew she got it.

When I finally did tell her the truth—about Frank, about Steven, about everything—I expected tears. Maybe yelling. Possibly a margarita to the face. Instead, she grabbed the tequila and poured herself three shots.

“Okay,” she said after the third shot and one very suspicious egg roll. “I forgive you. Sort of.”

I laughed. “What?”

“You’re back, thank God. Now I’m over it.”

“You’ve been mad at me for a month.”

“Yeah, and I mourned you like a fucking widow—while rage-scrolling your TikTok and threatening to delete every ugly photo I have of you. That’s how mad I was.”

She stole my Sprite without breaking eye contact. “But also? I love you. Obviously. Now shut up, because I have tea.” She paused just to be dramatic. “I think I’m in love with a man I’ve never met.”

I choked on my drink. “I’m sorry?”

“I know. I know. Don’t say it.” She fanned herself dramatically, leaning back like it was a confessional. “But it’s true. He’s funny. He’s smart. He gets me. And he’s hot.”

“You’ve actually seen this guy?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not technically. He FaceTimed me once, but he was wearing a ski mask. I heard his voice though—and I swear, Ani, it had daddy energy.”

I snorted. “What does that even mean?”

“It means he probably looks like he drinks espresso in a three-piece suit and could ruin my life with one look. So obviously, I’m in love.”