Page 71 of His To Erase

My blood turns to ice and the words hit me like a slap—sharp and sudden, and somehow...familiar? Every nerve in my body stills like I’ve been thrown underwater. The air is too thick. The silence is suddenly too loud.

But Frank just keeps going.

“The club is the cover, it’ll have to work for now.”

I don’t know what the fuck I’m hearing, but I’m going to pretend he isn’t talking about me like it’s not the most brutal thing I’ve ever heard.

His voice picks up again, careless now. “This place was supposed to be about leverage. And she walked right back into it like the good girl I know she is.”

The laugh that follows shatters something inside me. Then, like he’s making sure the man on the other end really gets it—“Worst case,” he says with that same damn calm, “I’ll get what I need, same as the first time. She didn’t remember it then, and she won’t remember it now.”

The words echo, but it’s not the words that split me. It’s the way he says them. And just like that—The smell hits me again. Bleach, cheap cologne, and blood. I’m back in that motel hallway and the fluorescent lights are flickering. The floor is sticky, and my legs are so weak.

Next thing I know, I feel hands on me and I see my ex’s face, his dead eyes and a mouth full of apologies, but this time he’s yelling.

“Let go of me—get the fuck off—” My own voice is screaming, and its cut off with a slap.

Then a man’s voice. Cold and final.

“She’s mine now. It’s done.”

All I see is a gold bracelet with a piece of paper in his hand as he hands whatever it is to my ex with a flash of teeth.

Everything’s coming in so fast. I remember the sound of pen on paper, and some sort of deal being made. They shake on it, but what was it?

Then I’m bleeding and dizzy on the floor, in a room I don’t recognize, trying to crawl. And someone says—“She won’t remember anything. Just clean her up.”

Then nothing.

I jolt out of it, and I’m right back in Frank’s house, with my breath trapped in my throat. My hand is on the wall, and I don’t even remember putting it there.

My fingers curl into a fist, and he’s still in the other room talking like it’s just another day.

My vision tunnels, but I don’t hear the rest. I don’t want to. I’m already backing away from the door, with my heart slamming so loud it feels like it’s echoing in my ears. I think I’m going to be sick.

I stumble down the hallway and duck back into the guest room just long enough to catch my breath.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My chest’s too tight, like my ribs are wrapped in barbed wire and the walls are pulsing in on me. I’m one blink away from either screaming or throwing up. Maybe both.

I promised myself I would never be that girl again. The one who waits. Who plays it safe. Who lets a man talk over her instincts until her silence becomes survival.

I don’t know if he’s talking about me or someone else, but I don’t care.

Never again.

I would rather burn the fucking world down than let someone like Frank rewrite my story. Again.

I’ve played nice. I smiled and nodded while my body screamed. I’ve folded small enough to fit inside someone else’s fantasy, and I swore I’d never make myself that small again.

Now I get it. Now I fucking remember what this feels like. This rage. This itch beneath my skin. It’s not fear anymore, it’s the crackling static of something waking up inside me.

Something that was buried so deep, I forgot it had claws.

I move fast, heading out the door and down the hall. I don’t let myself second-guess it, don’t let my breath hitch or my heartbeat slow. I just move.

Outside, the air is cooler than I expected, biting at the edges of my sleeves as my feet hit the stone steps. The wind cuts across my cheeks, sharper than it should be, but I don’t stop.

The gates shift open with a slow mechanical groan as I walk past, the second I’m through, I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath for days. I don’t stop walking until I’m down the street and around the corner.

Inside, the bar’s already pretty busy. Sarah’s behind the counter with her signature bun, two braids knotted through it like a spell that says fuck around and find out.

She’s mid-pour, flipping a bottle in one hand and jabbing the tap with the other, when a guy at the corner nearly wipes her out with an elbow.

She doesn’t miss a beat—just glares at him and hisses, “Do that again and I’ll wear your liver like a purse.”

Then she sees me and her whole face lights up. “Oh, thank Christ. I was one crypto bro away from lighting a ceremonial fire and disappearing into the woods.”

I let out a dry laugh and slide behind the bar, catching the apron she throws at me.

“You would’ve had to leave me a note,” I mutter. “Or a blood trail.”

“I was thinking smoke signal. Maybe a coded message in limes.”

The second I’m in motion—stacking glasses, wiping down the counter, dodging elbows and pickup lines—the static in my head quiets just a little.

The next few hours blur as the rhythm takes over. I flirt just enough to double my tips and avoid every man who thinks a wink is a personality trait. And through it all, I keep checking the clock.

By ten-thirty, my shirt smells like citrus and regret, and Sarah slides up beside me with two shot glasses and a look that says spill or I swear to God, I’ll hex your shampoo.

“You gonna tell me where the hell you’ve been,” she says, handing me a shot, “or am I gonna have to summon the dead?”

I sigh. “Can I plead temporary insanity?”

“You can plead whatever you want. I still know you’re full of shit.”

We clink, then throw them back and it burns just enough to make me human again.

“Okay,” I exhale. “Frank flew me to Taos for dinner.”

Sarah’s head jerks like I slapped her. “You what?”

“It was just for dinner,” I say quickly, “but I stayed the night.”

Her eyes narrow. “You stayed the night? Ani—”

“Nothing happened,” I cut in. “At least, I don’t think it did. I was exhausted. He said I practically passed out at the table and didn’t want to put me back on the plane.”

“Okay but... are we sure he didn’t drug you, or did he just charm you into a blackout?”

“I don’t know.” My voice drops. “That’s the part that’s got me all twisted up.”

She doesn’t press. Just pins me with a look only your best friend can give you—the one that says I’m here even if I want to slap you.

“So, what about the tattooed sex god?” She asks eventually, sipping her drink like it’s casual.

I blink. “Steven?”

“Unless there’s someone else you haven’t told me about. Then I’ll be pissed and demand you tell me where mine is waiting. The one with the jawline carved by vengeance and a stare that could burn through kevlar. You know, that Steven.”

My laugh comes out a little too fast, and too shaky. “Jesus.”

Sarah just smirks. “What? I’m not blind. The man looks delicious in leather. I bet if you said the wrong thing during sex, he’d punish you and somehow make it your idea.”

I snort into my glass. “That’s not inaccurate.”

“Please tell me he’s mean.”

“He’s awful.”

“Ugh, thank God.”

I grin, but it slips too easily. “He’s… intense. And dangerous. He watches me like I’m either his last meal or a threat to be neutralized. Sometimes both. And he’s way too good at knowing when I’m about to lie.”

Sarah hums. “Sounds feral.”

“He is.”

“But?” she prods.

I sigh, dragging my nail along the rim of my glass. “But I think I trust him more than I trust Frank.”

Sarah blinks. “And yet... you flew out with Frank.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “I know.”

She doesn’t say I told you so. She just leans her arm into mine, silent and solid in the way only she can be.

“Are you done with him?” she asks softly.

“I think I’ve been done,” I sigh. “I just… didn’t want to believe it. He makes everything sound so damn reasonable. Like I’m the one who forgot what I said and I’m always two steps behind a conversation I never agreed to.”

“Yeah,” she says. “That’s called manipulation, babe.”

Before I can reply, some guy stumbles up to the bar, waving a ten-dollar bill like it’s a VIP pass and shouting over the music, “Can I get two J?ger—”

Sarah doesn’t even break eye contact. “I’m catching up with my best friend, Devin,” she says calmly, like she’s explaining something to a small child.

“You see that? You see the talking that’s happening?

” She gestures between us like she’s conducting a ceremony.

“That’s sacred. That’s girl code in action.

You’re on very thin fucking ice, my guy. ”

Devin falters and slowly lowers the bill. “Oh. Uh. Okay.”

She narrows her eyes. “Do I look like a woman who’s about to pour you J?ger, or do I look like a woman who’s five seconds away from banning you from this bar forever?”

Devin backs away like she just threatened to key his soul. “It’s cool. I’ll come back later.”

“You do that,” she says sweetly, turning back to me. “Anyway, where were we? Right, murder crush. Has veins in his neck like Greek columns. What’s that like?”

I stare at her, blinking. “Jesus.”

“What?” She shrugs. “You don’t interrupt girl talk about murder crushes. It's the law. I’ll get it tattooed if I have to.”

“You’re insane.”

“Unmedicated,” she corrects. “And thriving.”

I laugh into my drink. “You threatened a man over J?ger.”

“I did. And I’d do it again.” She smirks. “Also, J?ger? In this economy?”

I shake my head. “God, I missed you.”

“Of course you did. I’m a delight. Now tell me more about Steven and the way he undresses you with his serial killer eyes,” she says, resting her chin in her hand, and her eyes are practically glittering with dangerous curiosity.

I take a slow sip of my drink, but it doesn’t help.

“He looks at me like he’s already fucked me six different ways,” I say finally, my voice low. “Like he’s deciding whether to bend me over the counter or drag me into a dark alley and make me beg.”

Sarah lets out an actual whimper. “Okay, ma’am. Continue.”

“And it’s not just the stare,” I go on, eyes unfocused now, because the second I start thinking about it, it’s game over. “It’s the way he talks. Calm. Cool. Collected. But filthy. Like the devil would blush filthy.”

Sarah raises a brow, fanning herself with a bar napkin like we’re in church. “Is this safe for work?”

“No,” I whisper. “It’s not safe for anything. This man spit in my fucking mouth.”

She gasps like I just confessed to arson. “Shut the actual fuck up.”

“I crawled for him, Sarah,” I hiss. “Like, willingly. On hands and knees.”

Sarah slaps the bar again, eyes wide with reverent horror. “My last situationship didn’t even make eye contact during sex and this man’s got you crawling? You’re living my literal wet dreams right now. I have FOMO. Look—I’m literally getting chills.”

She sticks her arm in my face like that proves her point, and yeah, we both lose it.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore. He looked at me and said, ‘You don’t get to come till I tell you,’ and then railed me like vengeance had a dick.”

She shrieks. “Is that even legal?!”

“It shouldn’t be,” I mutter. “He had my thighs shaking so bad I forgot my own name.”

“Jesus Christ, Ani.”

She presses a hand to her heart like she’s witnessing a love story. “You’re telling me your murder crush is a full-time Dom with God-tier dick and Olympic-level stamina?”

I nod slowly, “Like if Daddy issues came in six-foot-three and wore black.”

She groans, forehead to the counter. “I want one. I want your ghost to haunt me and tell me bedtime stories about this man.”

I sip my water. “He called me a good girl and I practically climaxed out of spite.”

“I’m gonna need to lie down.”

Someone tries to get our attention—some guy waving a credit card and mouthing vodka soda—and without missing a beat, Sarah flicks a death glare in his direction.

“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something with my emotional support whore? BACK UP.”

The guy vanishes like he felt the wrath of a thousand ex-girlfriends.

I blink at her. “Yup, insane.”

She shrugs. “You crawled, Ani. The friendship contract requires respect.”

I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t pop out. “Okay, well, we’re both still on the clock and I’m two tequila shots away from actually saying ‘sir’ out loud again, so let’s not.”

“God forbid.” She grabs a stray lime wedge off the bar and tosses it into a trash can. “Back to work, slut.”

We fall into motion with her taking a round of beers to table seven while I cash out a regular. It's mechanical and easy, the kind of rhythm you only build by bleeding side by side through summer rushes and blackout holiday weekends.

By the time I wipe down the last spill and pocket a folded twenty from a guy who thinks tipping makes him charming, my fingers are already twitching toward my back pocket.

I pull out my phone and check it, noting all the messages that currently give me immediate anxiety.

I glance over my shoulder toward Sarah, who’s mid-sarcasm with Devin again.

UNKNOWN: So brave behind other people’s doors. Let’s see how brave you are alone.

FRANK: Could’ve sworn we had plans. Let me know when you’re off.

STEVEN: Ani. Pick up your fucking phone.

I haven’t talked to Steven since I left his house. Since he said things I can’t unhear, and I said things I can’t take back.

But still—he’s the one I want to respond to, and that’s what makes this worse, because if I text Frank, I’m playing into whatever he’s trying to spin. If I text Steven, I’m letting him back in.

And if I do nothing, I’m going to explode. My thumb hovers over Steven’s name, but I just shove the phone into my pocket and keep working.

As for the unknown numbers, it’s the same shit different day. So I do what I always do, and don’t respond. I just sit there, spiraling with my fists clenched, so I don’t do anything stupid.

“Yo.” Sarah leans across the bar and snaps her fingers near my face. “You good, or are we planning a murder? Blink once for unalive.”

I force a breath and shake my head. “Nah. Just tired.”

Which is only partly true. I am tired—bone-deep, soul-level, emotionally dry-heaving tired—but mostly, I just need to get the hell out of here before I say something I can’t take back. I can’t involve her, it’s not safe.

I clock out ten minutes early and tell Sarah I’ve got cramps, which is both a lie and not. She narrows her eyes like she knows, but lets it go. She just tells me to text her when I get home and reminds me not to crawl for any man unless he’s buying us both brunch afterward.

I fake a laugh, shoving open the back door, and request the Uber before I hit the alley. By the time I’m outside it’s already waiting.

The make and plates match the text, so I yank the door open, slide in, and slam it shut harder than I need to as the car starts moving.