Page 86 of His To Erase

Ani

The door swings open without a knock and I shoot to my feet, my pulse spikes so fast it makes my vision blur.

Frank walks in wearing a white button-down, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his slacks are tailored to perfection.

“Anianne,” he says, smiling. Drawing my name out like it means something to him.

His gaze drops to my hair. And I see the exact second it hits him. He stops mid-step and just like that, the mask cracks.

My long, dark hair is gone. What’s left is a little choppy. I hacked it off with the razor I found in the bathroom. It barely brushes my jaw, and the ends are a little uneven, but I kinda like it.

“You changed it,” he says. “I didn’t give you permission to do that.” The smile doesn’t drop—but it sharpens. “You think cutting your hair makes you harder to control?”

His voice stays level, but there’s a shadow curling behind it. “That hair wasn’t yours to change, and you’ll be punished for that.”

He takes a step closer. “That hair was mine to look at. Mine to pull. And mine to bury my face in, when you learned how to behave.”

I literally almost barf. Right there on the floor. I try to keep my mouth shut because I don’t really want to be slapped again. He takes another step and the air is folding in on itself, thick with something hot and dangerous.

“You’re still mine,” he says. “Even if I have to rip you apart to prove it.”

I keep my mouth shut, even though every cell in my body is screaming to throat-punch him and set the entire fucking house on fire. But I keep my face blank. Because if I flinch, he wins.

He suddenly glances around the room like he’s here for a goddamn tour. “Anyway, thought I’d come check in,” he says casually. “Make sure everything fits.”

His eyes drop to the red lace that I covered up with a robe and tied shut.

“I didn’t pick that one for no reason,” he adds, looking me up and down, smiling like some pervert. “It’s my favorite.”

I snort, because there’s no way I’m keeping my mouth shut through this bullshit.

“Are you always this desperate to see a woman in lingerie, or is that just why you had to buy one?”

He laughs like he’s delighted I’m still fighting and he enjoys it more this way, but I see the twitch in his eye.

“Oh, sweetheart. I didn’t buy you for your sass.” He pauses for a beat. “But it’s a fun bonus. For now.”

He steps forward causing me to step back. His voice drops as he closes the distance.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “I’d hate to restrain you again so soon.”

I smile. “Try it.”

For a moment, his expression cracks. Then he laughs. “You always were feisty.”

He walks over to the table near the window as someone brings in a tray. He lifts the silver dome and reveals a steak, some mashed potatoes, and champagne.

I haven’t eaten in… well, all day, and suddenly feel lightheaded. Apparently being abducted, threatened, and handed a drawer full of crotchless lace takes more energy than I remembered.

My stomach growls loud enough to echo, and I roll my eyes, because of course my body would betray me right now. Really?

I eye the food suspiciously. It smells incredible, which only pisses me off more. He would make the meal a five-star plate while the room feels like a coffin with designer throw pillows.

“You thought of everything,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “All that’s missing is a tiara and a cyanide pill.”

I look over and he’s smug as usual, like he didn’t orchestrate a whole goddamn hostage fantasy and cast himself as both captor and romantic lead.

I scowl. “I thought you said we were leaving.”

He tilts his head slightly, and the look he gives me sends shivers down my spine. He looks like he’s about to snap.

“I changed my mind,” he says. “New plans.”

“That fast, huh?” I raise an eyebrow. “So what—you’re just gonna keep me here? Feed me? Dress me up like a sex doll until I forget what it smells like outside?”

His smile tightens a little more. “Dramatic much?”

“Delusional much?” I take a step forward, dropping my voice. “You don’t get to just play house, Frank. You don’t get to slap me around, lock me up, and then change your mind like we’re rescheduling a lunch date.”

He’s still for a beat too long, then he throws his head back and laughs.

“You’re right,” he says, crossing to the table and setting down the silver lid with theatrical calm.

I blink. Wait—what? I am?

“I don’t get to touch you. Or choose for you. Or make you mine.” He lifts the champagne flute, holding it out like he’s about to make a toast. “I already did.”

I’m going to fucking kill him. I stare at the glass like it might explode, then I look at the food again.

I’m so fucking hungry I could cry, but what if it’s poisoned? What if this is the test—wait me out, starve me down until I’m desperate enough to eat whatever they hand me… and it kills me. I hate that he thinks he’s winning, and right now, with the way my stomach is growling, he is.

Fuck it.

I walk toward the table, picking up the knife, and slide into the seat like I’m the one in charge. I slowly cut the steak, never breaking eye contact. He watches me with a pleased look on his face, and yup, I still want to throat punch him. But I want to survive more.

“Don’t get comfortable,” I say before taking a bite.

“We’ll start fresh tomorrow.” He chuckles, setting down the champagne, and walks to the door. “And we’ll deal with the hair. Actions have consequences, Anianne. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

The door clicks shut behind him and I’m left chewing a perfect piece of medium rare steak with murder in my heart and a knife still in my hand. I’m actually surprised he left me with a knife.

I’m not above eating the enemy’s food. I’ll take his dinner. I’ll wear his lace. I’ll swallow his champagne and smile while I plan how to gut him with the dessert fork. But if he so much as touches me, I’ll do whatever I have to do.

I polish off the steak and leave the champagne untouched, cuz yuck. Then I sit back in the chair, staring at the empty plate wondering if I just played right into his hands.

I stand and start pacing. I need to figure out how to get out of here. And now. I’m now so familiar with this room that I know there’s eight steps from the bed to the door, ten if I drag my feet.

I do it again, and again. Talking to myself the entire time, trying not to crawl out of my skin.

“Well, Ani,” I mutter, dragging my hands through my hair, “you’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

I glance around the room. Frank’s version of luxury is all marble and male fantasy. Barf. I check the camera in the corner again, and it’s still blinking. “Hope the view was worth it, you sick fuck.”

I check the whole bathroom for cameras, but don’t find any. So they're either hidden, or there aren't any.

“We’re going to survive this. And when we do... we’re going to burn this place to the fucking ground too.”

I wake up to the smell of coffee and clean linen and for a moment, I forget where I am. I don’t remember falling asleep.

I look over to see a tray on the dresser and pull off the lid to find croissants, strawberries and some scrambled eggs. With a fucking mimosa. Because apparently I’m in captivity at the Ritz.

I roll my eyes.

“Oh good,” I mutter, stretching. “Room service. Is this where the robe comes with a monogrammed collar and a bullet in my spine?”

The camera blinks, and I flip it off again. The door opens without any warning, startling me enough that I almost fall out of bed.

He’s dressed like he’s hosting another brunch instead of holding me hostage in his cream sweater, dark pants, and his sleeves casually pushed up.

“Good morning, Ani.” His voice is warm. Back to the Frank I’ve known for months. The one who played prince charming, who brought me gifts, and flirted relentlessly with me at the bar.

I pull the blankets up slowly, trying to hide as much of me as I can. “Wow. The romantic breakfast tray. Did you get that idea from the same handbook that says to slap a woman before bed?”

His smile barely flickers. I really should stop provoking him, but honestly, I just can’t help it.

“You must be starving,” he says instead, stepping in like he owns the breath coming out of my mouth. “I thought we could eat together. Talk.”

“Talk?” I echo, sliding my legs off the bed and planting my bare feet on the cold floor. “About what? Whether I prefer ropes or zip ties next time?”

He laughs. And for just a second—I almost see the man I once thought I liked. He gestures toward the tray. “You still like strawberries, right?”

I glare. “Cute. Did you look that up before or after you had me kidnapped?”

He takes a slow breath, and I can tell he’s trying to stay calm. “You don’t have to fight me, Ani. This can be easy.”

I smile, but inside I’m picturing all the ways to stab him. “Easy?”

“You know, I’ve been patient,” he whispers. “More patient than you deserve.”

“That supposed to scare me?”

“No,” he says, and the mask finally cracks. “But this should.” He backhands the tray, and the food goes flying, crashing against the far wall.

I flinch as he steps closer, eyes dark now—real Frank in full fucking bloom.

“You want to talk back like a brat? Fine. But don’t forget—you’re here because I let you stay breathing.”

My throat tightens. But I smile anyway. “Maybe you should just finish the job.”

He grabs my face, and his fingers dig into my jaw hard enough to bruise.

“You still think you’re tough, don’t you?” he chuckles. “You think this is some power struggle?”

His breath is hot against my cheek now. “This is your life now, Ani. You are mine. And you will obey.”

For one horrifying second, I see something unhinged in his eyes. He lets me go with a shove, and I stumble back.

He straightens his sleeves like nothing happened.

“We’ll try again later,” he says calmly. “I’m sure you’ll be more… cooperative by then.”

He leaves without another word and I realize something I should’ve known from the start. I underestimated him.