Page 84 of His To Erase

Steven

The room is too quiet. It’s pressing in on my ears and now even my own breath sounds wrong. It’s slow and not nearly as shallow as it should be considering I woke up in a pool of my own blood.

Again.

The light above me flickers. They’ve been drugging me—needle to the neck, needle to the thigh—until time turns to soup. But I’m pretty sure it’s been at least three days—give or take a few hours.

The light shifted twice through the crack in the ceiling. The guard’s only changed three times. Same footsteps. Same routine. Predictable fuckers. That’s how people die.

They haven’t brought in any food. Just water. Every second that passes is one more that she might be in his fucking hands.

My hands are still cuffed behind the chair, and my ankles are strapped to the legs—tighter this time. I guess they learned their lesson after I snapped the zip ties, broke one guard’s windpipe and caved in the other’s skull with a rusted pipe.

My ribs are bruised to hell. My face is split open and my right eye’s swollen shut. I can still taste the blood in the back of my throat from when they broke my nose—again.

I’ve had worse. But I’ve never been this fucking angry.

I flex my wrists again as the cuffs bite into skin that’s already flayed open. But it doesn’t matter. Pain’s a language I speak fluently. I try the same move I’ve used six times—twist, breathe, rotate my shoulder down and out—but the angle’s wrong. The chair doesn’t budge.

Fuck.

I close my eyes, and she’s there. Burned into the backs of my eyelids like a brand I’ll never get rid of. That smart fucking mouth, always running until I shut it the only way she really wanted. That sharp, wicked smile—half brat, half dare—begging me to lose control.

I see her crawling for me, chin tilted, eyes blazing like she knows I’ll break her for it and wants it anyway.

I hear that little whimper she makes when she’s trying not to beg.

The one that ruins me. The one I’ve been hearing every time the drugs wear off and I’m stuck in this body that won’t fucking move.

I can still feel her. The heat of her cunt wrapped around me. The tremble in her thighs. The way her fingers clawed at my chest like she wanted to tear me open and live inside the wreckage. I see her flushed and breathless, whispering mine like she forgot it wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

I think about how she looked at me that night on the cabin floor—like I was the only thing holding her together and the only thing tearing her apart. I didn’t mean to care. I didn’t even notice it happening until it was too fucking late.

I think about how I got here—drugged, bleeding, chained to a wall—wondering if she’s okay. Wondering if he’s hurt her. And for the first time in years, I’m not thinking about revenge or blood or the goddamn plan.

I’m thinking about her. And that’s when the pain stops registering as pain. That’s when it turns into something meaner.

She has no idea what he is. No clue what he’s capable of. Hell—she doesn’t even know who she is.

But I do.

I yank harder, and pain screams up my arm, white-hot and electric, but I don’t stop. Blood slicks my wrist because of the cuffs that are currently rubbing my skin raw.

Let it fucking hurt. I need the pain. It’s the only thing anchoring me to the present. If it hurts, I’m awake. If I’m awake, this is not some hallucination bleeding into my head like the nightmares that haunted me after the warehouse.

I should’ve called Travis back. Should’ve looked harder. Dug deeper. There were signs—and I fucking missed every single one of them because I was distracted.

Looking back, all the signs were there. The cracks in her voice. The way she flinched when she thought I wasn’t watching. But I ignored all of it—too far gone, already drowning in the feel of her.

God, I was so fucking sure I had him.

And if Frank—

My head jerks up as the door opens. I straighten immediately, and the blood from my lip slides down my throat, but I try to keep my heartbeat level.

Frank steps into the room wearing dark slacks, and a tailored shirt with the sleeves rolled up. There’s no visible weapon—but I know better. He always hides his teeth until it’s too late. That smile curves over his mouth and he looks like a fucking psychopath.

“Stevie,” he says, like we’re catching up over drinks. He clucks his tongue. “You’re not looking so great.”

He starts to circle the chair like a shark scenting blood in the water.

“You’re probably wondering how long it’s been,” he muses. “What you’ve missed. Who you’ve failed.”

I keep my face blank, but my jaw locks tight enough to grind bone. Every second she’s not in my arms is another second I’m counting in bullets.

“Don’t worry,” he says, stepping toward the table across from me. “I’m not going to kill you today.”

He taps something on the table, and a screen flickers to life on the far wall. It’s grainy at first. Then—

Fuck.

My chest caves in as Ani appears—standing dead center in the bedroom, her back to the camera. She’s not moving much, but then she reaches for the robe.

No. I don’t want to see this, yet I watch every second of it. Helpless. Bound. Breathing like I’ve been stabbed in the lungs while she shrugs out of her clothes.

My pulse claws at my throat as she steps into a red outfit, sliding one strap up her shoulder with a grace that makes me feel like I’m being gutted from the inside out.

I know her. Whatever he’s threatened her with offscreen was enough to get her to change, and it makes me sick.

I’ve killed men for less than watching her like this.

Frank isn’t watching the footage. He’s watching me, smiling.

“I didn’t think she’d wear it either,” he says. “She held out, you know. For days. She’s got fire, that one.”

My body stays still because it has to. But inside—I’m burning.

“She looks so delicious,” Frank adds, a little too casually and too fucking pleased with himself. “I’d even go as far to say she likes it here. Then again, she always did have a thing for powerful men.”

I keep my expression locked down. But it costs me. Every second I don’t look back at that screen costs me something I’ll never get back.

I want to drag him across this room and beat the truth out of his teeth.

He watches me, waiting for any type of reaction or weakness, anything he can use. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the screen cuts to black.

“She’ll be prettier when she cries,” he says, light as air. “They always are. But I’ll give it a few days. Soften her up. I’ll enjoy breaking her a little slower.”

Frank sighs and circles me again, and I can tell that he’s pissed he’s not getting the reaction he wanted.

“You know,” he says, “I was going to kill you right away. Honestly, that was the plan all along. Drug you, bleed you out, and dump what’s left.” He leans in closer. “But then I thought… why not let you watch?”

I keep my eyes on the concrete. On the blood. On the bolts holding the chair in place.

“I think I’m going to let you sit here for a few more days. Give you a front-row seat. Maybe pipe in the audio when she begs. Maybe show you what she looks like when she finally calls me sir, and learns her place.”

There’s something that crosses his face—sharp and fleeting, but I catch it. Cold, barely-leashed frustration. The kind that comes from trying to tame something that refuses to break. He needs her alive. That’s the problem. And it’s written all over his face.

“She’s going to learn to love the cage I give her.” He steps back, brushing invisible dust off his cuff.

“You know what the best part is?” he says, pausing at the door. “She still thinks I bought her to fuck her.”

He shrugs. “Sweet, isn’t it? That little thread of hope she’s still holding onto.”

He pauses in the doorway, smile spreading slowly like he knows exactly what he just detonated.

I’ve never wanted to kill a man more than I do right now.

“Her grandfather wasn’t just some rich old man in Puerto Rico. He ran half the criminal underworld from a cliffside villa with ocean views and a wine cellar full of severed fingers. Every drug route, every arms deal, every bribe and contract—they all went through him.”

He lets that hang, like he’s savoring the reveal.

“She doesn’t just own a little money or a beach house.

She owns it all.” He leans in closer, voice barely a whisper.

“She’s the heir to a multi-billion dollar empire.

Blood, land, and all the control. And the best part?

” A cruel smirk curves his mouth. “She has no fucking idea who she really is or what she just inherited. What I will inherit.”

He taps two fingers to his temple, looking smug.

My spine goes ice cold. I swear if this mother fucker keeps talking, I’m going to make him wish he was dead when I get my hands on him.

“And that, Steven, is why you’re still breathing.” He tilts his head, almost like he’s explaining a simple math problem. “Because if she sees your dead body too soon, she won’t cooperate as easily."

He straightens, brushing his knuckles along his jaw like he’s admiring himself in a mirror. “Get some rest. You’re going to need it for the finale.”

The lock clicks behind him, and this time, the silence doesn’t stretch. It settles. Heavy and final. Like a grave.

The words hit, but it’s the way he says them—like he knows her. He thinks she’s soft, he believes I’m nothing more than leverage to twist her into submission, but he has no idea. No idea who she is when she snaps. No idea what she’ll do if he pushes her too far.

If she breaks—it won’t be into pieces. It’ll be into something worse. And I’ll have to watch the girl I’m falling for burn the fucking world just to make the pain stop.

That’s what he’s not ready for. And that’s the only reason I’m still alive.

I let my head fall back against the chair, eyes locked on the far corner—where the last camera blinked out three hours ago. I killed the first guard they sent in here with my fucking teeth.