Page 90 of His To Erase

Then he throws me back onto the bed and walks out the door.

I curl into myself, arms tight, heartbeat detonating in my chest. For the first time since he took me—I’m not sure I’m going to make it. My time is up.

He’s going to take me out of this house, to God knows where, and the only thing worse than staying—is going.

My legs shake as I climb off the bed.

I need to get dressed, the last thing I want is for him to follow through with his threat and drag me out of here naked.

I stumble to the closet, flinging it open. Every option stares back at me like a threat. They’re all dresses with slits so high they should come with a warning label.

I dig through it like salvation’s hiding in the back somewhere and end up picking a dark green dress with long sleeves and a neckline that only dips a little. It hits mid-thigh and clings to everything I don’t want anyone looking at, but it’s going to have to do.

I just need to be covered.

Seconds later, there’s a knock. Or rather, three sharp bangs. That’s the only warning I get before the door swings open. And for one heart-stopping second, I brace for Frank.

But it’s not him.

It’s a new guard I haven’t seen yet. This one’s taller. Broader. He looks younger than the last one. He’s grinning as his eyes crawl down my body like they’ve been waiting for this moment all day.

Ew.

“Eyes up, perv. You’re not my type unless I lose a bet and go blind.”

He snorts—and backhands me. Hard.

My head jerks to the side as blood goes flying out of my mouth. My cheek flashes white-hot, then settles into a burn. I look up, eyes watering but still locked on him.

“Oh, good,” I rasp. “So you’re not just a perv. You’re predictable.”

I don’t even see Frank come in. One second the guard’s stalking toward me, smiling like he’s about to pounce, and the next—bang. Blood sprays the door, my face, the walls. It’s everywhere.

A scream rips out of me before I even know I’m doing it—raw and automatic, torn straight from my throat as the shot rings out and the man drops like a sack of meat in front of me.

I flinch hard, scrambling back until I hit the wall, searching for anything solid to hold onto. My spine presses into cold plaster hoping it might swallow me whole. Frank steps through the doorway, gun still raised.

His eyes burn black, wild with something that doesn’t look like rage—it looks worse. His chest heaves with slow, controlled breaths. He doesn’t even glance at the body before he steps over it, turning the gun on me. Every cell in my body is vibrating, screaming for me to move, but I can’t.

“What did I tell you,” Frank says, eerily calm, “about letting people touch what’s mine?”

My throat tightens. “It’s not like I asked him to hit me.”

Which was apparently the wrong thing to say.

He takes one step, then another—and that’s all the warning I get.

The calm drops and his mask shatters. In a flash, his fingers clamp around my wrist like a vice, twisting hard enough to make something pop.

I cry out, stumbling forward, but he doesn’t stop.

His other hand slams across my face right where the guard just did, and I can feel blood drip down my face.

The room tilts as my knees hit the marble.

“You ungrateful little bitch,” he snarls, yanking me back up by my arm like I’m a disobedient dog. “I give you everything—shelter, food, a fucking future—and this is how you repay me?”

I try to twist away, but he grips harder, dragging me in closer until I can smell the bourbon on his breath. His eyes are wild with unchecked rage—and he's gone. Whatever version of Frank that was there before is dead.

“You don’t get to talk back. You don’t get to fucking speak unless I say so.”

He shoves me again. My back slams against the wall and the wind goes out of me.

“I don’t need you to be healthy,” he says, dropping to something dangerous. “I just need you breathing.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, hard enough to split skin. Because if I don’t—I’ll scream.

His hand tightens again. Then he yanks. My shoulder jerks back with a sickening twist and I stumble as he drags me forward. I dig my heels into the floor, trying to brace against the wall, but it doesn’t matter. He’s stronger.

“Walk,” he barks. “Or I’ll make you crawl.”

The floor blurs as he drags me out into the hall, still covered in the man's blood. My wrist is throbbing. My spine knocks into the edge of a side table hard enough to leave a bruise, but Frank doesn’t stop.

He steps right over the corpse like it’s just an inconvenience, yanks the front door open, and drags me into the cold.

A black car is waiting at the curb and two men stand beside it in suits with their guns holstered.

Their faces are blank, but they don’t look at me.

They don’t look at the blood. They don’t even glance at the body behind us.

They just keep their eyes forward, stiff and silent. Obedient and dead in a different way.

Cowards.

Frank doesn’t slow down. Just wrenches the back door open and shoves.

“Get in.”

I hesitate.

His grip tightens on my wrist and he throws me into the car like I’m a rag doll. I hit the floor first, hip slamming hard, hair in my face, and my bloodied dress bunched around my waist.

I scramble to get up, choking on the need to scream. I pull my legs in, slide into the seat, and press my hand to the throbbing spot where his fingers were.

He gets in after me, suddenly calm again. The door slams shut, and the silence is worse than the yelling.

My wrist is already swelling and I can feel it throbbing with every heartbeat. I curl it into my lap and stare out the tinted window, biting the inside of my cheek until I taste copper again.

“You know what your problem is?” he mutters, causing me to jump.

I don’t answer.

“You think you’re untouchable,” he goes on. “You think because I didn’t break you the first time, I won’t.”

I shift, just enough to look at him.

“And you think hurting me will fix that?”

His smile is cold. Cruel. “No. But it’ll make me feel better.”

“Right. Because that’s what this is all about. Your feelings.”

He lunges, grabbing a fistful of my hair and slams my head sideways into the window with enough force to make the glass sing.

Pain detonates behind my eyes, sharp and instant, as the taste of blood floods my mouth.

My vision goes out in a violent flash, and I recoil hard, slamming into the door with a choked breath.

One hand clutches the side of my skull while the other stays limp and useless in my lap.

I stay curled in the corner, trembling. My ribs tighten around my heart like a cage, and even through the fog of pain and fear, one thought digs in so deep it feels carved into my bones. If I survive this... I will kill him.

That’s the last thing I remember before the pain kicks in, and everything goes dark.

I wake to the sound of turbulence and the pressure shifting in my ears. A low ding cuts through the hum of engines, and cool air brushes against my skin.

I blink slowly.

Everything hurts. My head’s pounding, my throat’s dry, and it feels like I’ve been chewing on metal and regret.

It takes five full seconds before I register the leather seat beneath me. The seatbelt strapped tight across my hips, the blanket that’s covering me, and the zip ties.

My arms are restrained beneath the fabric like I’m part of the luggage. I turn my head—and there he is. Scrolling his phone like this is a business trip and I’m just carry-on.

My mouth’s too dry to form words at first. I try again, quieter this time. “Where are we?”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even glance over. He just keeps scrolling, perfectly at ease while my stomach flips and my pulse tries to claw its way out of my chest.

The plane dips and the floor tilts beneath me. I think I’m going to be sick. I press my head back against the seat and close my eyes. Maybe if I’m lucky, he’ll think I’m unconscious. At this point, that might be the only card I’ve got left.

The hum of the engines deepens and I hear the landing gear drop with a metallic thunk that vibrates through the floor and straight into my spine.

The cabin pressure shifts again, and my ears pop.

My head throbs in response—thanks for that, by the way—but I don’t move.

I just sit here. Breathing slowly and counting every sound, every detail, every goddamn second—because it’s the only control I have.

The zip ties around my wrists are a real buzz kill. The blanket is draped over me like an afterthought, and I can’t even fix it. Must be nice to underestimate me this much.

Outside, through the slit in the shade, I catch a flicker of green. Palm trees, maybe?

I squeeze my eyes tighter as the wheels hit the ground hard. My body jerks in the seat and I risk the smallest peek through my lashes.

He’s lounging across from me with one leg crossed over the other, phone to his ear, keeping his voice low. Whatever he’s saying is hushed, but urgent.

We step off the plane into heat thick enough to chew. It clings to my skin instantly, wet and heavy, crawling into my lungs and settling there like smoke. It’s not just hot—it’s humid and familiar in a way that makes my stomach pitch sideways and my skin prickle with something close to dread.

Frank’s hand clamps around my upper arm the second my foot hits the tarmac. Tighter than necessary.

As if I have anywhere left to run.

There’s no sound beyond the echo of our footsteps and the hum of the engines cooling behind us. The runway is deserted, except for one sleek black car parked fifty feet ahead. There’s two men standing guard beside it—suits, guns, and not a single blink between them.

There’s nothing but heatwaves rising off the concrete and the blinding white glare of the sun reflecting off every surface. It hurts to look at—but I do anyway. Because then I see it.

Aeropuerto Internacional Fernando Luis Ribas Dominicci.

Puerto Rico.

My chest tightens. Something pulls at the base of my spine—deep and unexplainable.