Page 95 of His To Erase

One of them yanks me back by the shoulders so hard my breath snaps out of my lungs. Pain blooms along my spine, but I don’t stop watching Frank.

He lunges, and yeah—I knew this was coming. This is the price. But at least this time, it’s mine to pay.

I’m shoved down, and someone pins my shoulders to the floor while the pen is yanked from my grip with a twist so hard it jerks my shoulder, and I cry out.

Frank stands above me, his wrist stained dark now, blood soaking through the cuff, dripping past his knuckles. His hand twitches at his side as his lip curls.

“I gave you everything,” he says crouching down beside me. “A second chance at a life you didn’t earn. And this is what you give me in return?”

He looks at me and there’s nothing there. No warmth, no love. Just pride and hunger dressed up like something close to affection—enough to fool someone who doesn’t know better. At this point, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve wanted to punch myself for ever thinking he had a soul.

“I didn’t ask for a second chance,” I whisper. “I didn’t ask for you.”

The guard holding me stiffens, but doesn’t move.

Frank leans in closer, lowering his voice to something only I can hear. “You keep mistaking my generosity for weakness.”

I meet his gaze, and I don’t blink. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

His expression changes and that’s when I know I’ve won something, because he stands slowly, pressing his fingers into the blood at his wrist. Then turns to the officiant and motions lazily with the same stained hand.

“Do it.”

“I—I can’t,” the man stammers. “She’s not in a fit state. She’s bleeding, and—”

“I said do it,” Frank snaps.

The guards drag me back to the table with a fresh pen.

“Fine,” I rasp. “I’ll do it.” They pause. Even Frank freezes for a half second before he recovers. I lean forward, calm as ever. “I’ll sign,” I say.

Frank frowns. “What?”

I smile, and something in my eye must make him second guess himself, because he takes a step back. The lawyer looks confused and the guards glance at each other.

I laugh. “You knew who I was. You knew what I came from. But you thought all you had to do was buy me and wait for the crown.” I take a step forward. “You never once thought about who I’d become once you did, did you?”

He blinks, and the guards shift a little closer.

“You don’t own me, Frank. You bought a body, not a soul. And you’re about to choke on the difference.”

The table shakes as he slams his hand down. “Enough.”

I shake off the guard with a force that surprises even me. Frank looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have.

“You want to talk about souls?” Frank laughs. “You think I give a fuck who you’ve become? You’re a signature. A means to an end. You’re a bloodline wrapped in tits and a tight little cunt. And I will use every inch of you until there’s nothing left but what I need.”

The guards shift again, but no one speaks. Even the man in the suit is frozen, caught somewhere between horror and denial.

Frank steps closer. “You’re going to sign the papers. I’m going to collect what’s mine. Then I’m going to fuck the fight out of you. Got it, bitch.”

He says it with the kind of calm that sends a chill down my spine.

“I’ll take you upstairs, dress torn, face bruised, and I’ll show every one of my men what happens to a mouth that doesn’t know when to shut.” He smiles. “And then… I’ll make you beg. For mercy. For silence. For death. And I’ll deny you all three.”

I can’t breathe. I’m frozen in something colder than fear, something deeper than pain. It settles low in my stomach, like whatever’s left of me is folding in on itself. And maybe it is rage, but not the loud kind.

I don’t know what’s going to happen next. But I do know one thing—I'm going to make his life a living hell. Every minute he keeps me here, every breath he takes thinking he’s won, I’ll be unraveling the seams.

He can either put a bullet in me or I’ll find a way to burn this place down and walk out through the ashes. Either way, he’ll wish he did kill me. Because once this is over—if I’m still breathing—I’ll make sure he regrets ever learning my name.

Frank reaches down and pulls something from his belt. It’s a switchblade. The click of it snaps through the room louder than anything he’s said. He nods once and the guard behind me moves immediately.

Hands grab my arms—tight—and another slaps over my mouth before I can make a sound. Then I feel the cold metal at my throat.

Frank leans in, so close I can feel his breath as he whispers, “Sign.”

The lawyer whimpers something about duress—but Frank doesn’t flinch. “Sign it, and I might give you the night off,” he says again, pressing the tip hard enough to break skin. I feel the sting and a bead of warmth sliding down my neck.

“I’ll count to five.”

The knife presses harder against my throat as I reach for the pen even though I don’t want to. Every cell in my body screams at me not to. But this isn’t about pride anymore, this is survival. And survival means biding your time.

My fingers curl around the pen and it shakes slightly in my grip, and for a second, I can’t even see the page—only the shimmer of blood on Frank’s wrist, the way his jaw ticks with triumph.

I sign my name and he lets go of me the second the ink hits the paper, and the knife drops from my throat like I’m suddenly not worth the effort.

He claps once. “There she is,” he says. “My perfect little bride.”

The priest stares at the paper like he’s witnessing a war crime, but he signs it anyway. His hand shakes as he stamps the final seal.

“That’s it?” I rasp. “It’s done?”

“I’m never done,” he says, stepping closer. “You think this was about paperwork?” His voice is low now, almost pleasant. “No, princess. This was about proof. I needed to own you legally before I broke you completely.”

My stomach rolls as he leans in, brushing hair behind my ear. “You’re not going back to a pretty bedroom. You’re going downstairs.”

I freeze. “What?”

Basement? What’s in the basement? Oh God.

“The basement,” he says. “Is soundproof. Steel door. One window. No lock on the inside.”

I try to step back, but the guards are already moving. One grabs my arm again as Frank watches me with that same sick smile. The lawyer flinches. “That’s not what we agreed—”

Frank rounds on him, keeping his voice deceptively calm. “Get out. Take your papers and your moral compass and get the fuck out of my house or I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

The man doesn’t move fast enough. So Frank steps in close and drops his voice to something that makes even the air feel thinner. “Do I need to remind you what happens when people don’t finish what I pay them to do?”

The priest’s face drains of color but Frank doesn’t blink. “The last man who didn’t follow through paid the price.” A long pause. “So did his wife, and his poor daughter.”

The priest grabs the briefcase with shaking hands, nodding so fast it looks like a seizure. “I-I understand.”

Frank smiles. “Good. Now get the fuck out before I change my mind about letting you live.”

The guy doesn’t wait—he scrambles, boots echoing down the hall. I jerk against the guard’s grip, but it’s no use. My limbs are shaking now, I need to think of something and quick.

Frank turns to the guards. “Strip her and make her remember who she belongs to.”

My heart drops. Frank doesn’t look at me when he says the next part. He looks at the men with their hands on me.

“And make sure you do it live,” He pauses. “So they know what they’re buying. And start the bidding at one million.”

“No,” I snarl, struggling harder. “You’re not going to touch me. You’re not—”

Frank grabs my chin in one brutal grip, tilting my face up toward his. “Oh, sweetheart. I already did. I touched your life. Your legacy. Your name.” His voice drops into a whisper. “And now I’m going to take your body, too. Slowly.”

I do the only thing I can think of—I bite him. Hard. Right on the hand still locked around my chin. I taste blood and keep going until someone yanks me off. Frank yells, stumbling back with his hand cradled to his chest.

“You bitch!” he roars.

The guard grabs my hair, yanking hard enough to rip a gasp from my throat. Then slams a knee into my stomach so hard I fold, all the air ripped out of my lungs in one ugly, choking sound. I hit the floor hard, pain bursting behind my eyes and I hear him bark the order through the haze.

“Throw her in the basement. No food. No water. Strip the dress. She doesn’t deserve it.”

Two guards move toward me. Grabbing me and dragging me like deadweight toward the hallway. Everything hurts, but I have to fight. I’m not going into that basement, or I'll never make it out.

The second they loosen their grip to readjust, I twist hard—slipping free for half a second, just enough to hurl myself toward the table.

My hand closes around the candle and I don’t think—I just throw it straight at the velvet drapes by the window.

The flame hits, and for a second, nothing happens.

Just this soft whoosh, like the room’s holding its breath. Then it catches.

The curtains go up fast. One breath, maybe two—and then flames are racing up the velvet. Someone shouts behind me. One of the guards releases his grip and the other lunges, but I’m already moving—stumbling backward.

The heat pulses toward the ceiling. Smoke thickens, curling like black silk through the gold light. The velvet warps and peels as the flames lick higher with every second that passes.