Page 96 of His To Erase

Ani

The room breaks apart around me. Shouts come from every direction as men burst through the door.

Furniture crashes to the floor. The sharp, hollow crack of wood splitting somewhere off to my left.

I hear the rush of footsteps scrambling over marble, as voices call for water, for anything that might stop this from turning into what it already is—ruin.

Beneath the chaos, I hear something else. Shouting erupts in the hall, then I hear a gunshot. One single crack that ricochets off the marble. Boots hammer against the tile, fast and closing in. More people are coming this way.

My breath catches as fight or flight kicks in and heat rushes down my spine. I’m about to run when a hand fists in my hair and yanks. Pain explodes across my scalp, sharp and blinding, ripping the air right out of my lungs.

The flames haven’t even reached the other wall before a guard returns with a fire extinguisher. Another one yells something I can’t make out, and there’s a blur of motion, then smoke chokes the air. The curtains fall in a heavy, steaming collapse. And just like that, the fire is gone.

No.

I’m being drug backward—rougher this time, like now that I’ve shown them my teeth, they don’t have to pretend I’m breakable.

My legs fold before I can stop them and I hit the floor hard and the guards don’t bother lifting me this time. Frank stands a few feet away, his face a twisted mix of rage and amusement. His hair is messed up, his shirt half-untucked, but he’s still smiling. He knows I’ve got nothing left.

And when I look around—at the wet floor, the burned drapes, the scattered papers—I know it too.

I lower my head, but I don’t cry, I don’t even know if I can.

I sink somewhere deep. Somewhere hollow.

Because if there’s no escape through fire…

then there’s only one way out left. And right now, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to take any more of it.

My body is wrecked. My throat is raw. And my legs barely feel real beneath me.

Frank doesn’t notice. He’s still lost in his own rage, pacing and spitting fury while his hand clamps around my throat like he’s trying to grind me into the floor with it. He’s not even talking anymore—just snarling threats, half-formed words, violence bubbling through his teeth.

The door blows open. No warning, no dramatic speech—just a deafening crack of splintered wood. Steven walks in first. Calm and deadly like he’s done this a thousand times. Two men file in behind him, all shadows and guns like they’ve been waiting for this moment. And just like that, the air shifts.

He doesn’t yell when he enters. He doesn’t even glance at the guards or at Frank—who’s still got his hands around my throat like he owns me.

His eyes find mine and they don’t waver. Not once.

And that’s all it takes for something inside me to snap. A sound I don’t recognize rips from somewhere deep, somewhere raw. I’m shaking, and sobbing without sound.

I don’t care that I look wrecked. I don’t care that I’ve lost every inch of dignity I had left. He’s here.

He came.

Steven looks at me like the world could burn and he’d still walk through the ashes just to find me in the middle of it.

I was seconds away from giving up, from letting the silence swallow me whole.

But he came.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel like I can breathe. A single tear rolls down my cheek and my chest does something hideous—because the second our eyes lock, nothing else exists.

Just him. And the fury in his silence that promises he’ll kill for me.

I see what looks like relief flash through his eyes. The sharp, desperate, possessive kind of relief that belongs to a man who’s been living in hell–and just clawed his way out.

It’s probably only seconds that pass, but they feel like hours. My chest barely rises. My lungs don’t seem to know what to do. I just stare back at him, praying he doesn’t disappear.

And then—he moves with something far more dangerous. Purpose. He takes one step, then it’s chaos.

The first shot lands clean. A guard drops without so much as a sound. Another step. Another shot. Point. Pull. Drop. The world narrows and all I can do is watch.

It’s not fear that keeps me still. It’s not even the shock of the gunshots or the blood staining the floor.

It’s him.

It’s the way he walked straight into my ruin without flinching. I’ve never seen him like this before. A reckoning, shaped in flesh and vengeance, carved out of silence and rage. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t shout commands or call attention to himself. Every step he takes screams louder than bullets.

I understand—somehow, through the fog in my head and the blood on my lips—I understand exactly what he is.

He’s not here to save me. He’s here to destroy anyone who tried to take me. And in that moment, I know without a shred of doubt that he would burn the world to the ground if it meant I was still standing on the other side of the fire.

He’s covered in blood, his shirt’s soaked in it. I’ve never seen him look so dangerous and so fucking delicious at the same time and I think that might be a sign I’ve fully lost it.

He’s the kind of man you don’t walk away from—you burn for him, or you don’t come back at all.

God, he’s beautiful.

His hair is damp with sweat, his jaw is tight, and he’s breathing heavy, but it’s his eyes that make him look like a God on a war path.

Steven sweeps the room with his gun still raised, eyes scanning like he’s expecting another threat to rise from the shadows.

Whatever softness was in Steven a second ago, it disappears the second his eyes lock on Frank.

His entire body shifts into a cold, lethal stillness. Frank’s got his arm locked around my ribs now, holding me like a shield. Like I’m the fucking insurance policy that’s going to save his life.

But Steven doesn’t raise the gun. He just tilts his head, and I can see him already measuring the distance between Frank’s heartbeat and the floor.

And then he speaks—low, and terrifyingly calm. “Let her go.”

Frank doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He’s too arrogant and too stupid to realize Steven’s not threatening him, he’s deciding where to bury the body.

But I see it.

Steven steps forward, and Frank’s lips part, like he’s about to say something but Steven doesn’t let him.

“I said, let her go.”

He aims his gun, standing dead center in the room, blood still streaking down his face, breathing like he’s holding every last ounce of violence inside and waiting for a reason to let it out.

And I can’t stop staring at him. My body’s still humming from the sight of him. From the way he moved. From the way he looked at me like I was his and nothing else mattered.

I should be afraid—Frank’s arm is still locked around my throat, and Steven’s here with blood on his face and a gun in his hand.

But I’m not. I know he won’t shoot. Not if there’s even a chance I could get caught in the crossfire.

God help me—I’m soaked by just the way he walked in and made murder look like devotion.

Frank wipes blood from his lip with the back of his hand, smiling through it like a villain who thinks he still has the upper hand.

“Touching,” he says. “Really. You always did fall for the wrong things. First it was Lauren, now Ani? But at least you’re consistent.”

Steven doesn’t flinch, but I do. My head snaps toward Frank. “What did you just say?”

His voice drips with smugness, like I’m just now catching up to the joke he’s been laughing at for weeks. “He didn’t tell you?”

Steven’s jaw ticks and Frank moves us forward, even with the gun still trained on him. “Let me give you a little history lesson, sweetheart. The man you’re looking at? He’s not your savior. He’s been watching you since before you ever met. Isn’t that right?”

Steven shifts, his stance tightening as he keeps the gun trained on Frank without so much as a blink.

The tension in his arm doesn’t waver. Not even a tremor.

And I don’t know why he hasn’t pulled the trigger yet.

I can see it in Steven’s jaw—how close he is to ending it.

How much he wants to. But something’s holding him back.

“He used to work for me,” Frank says, almost fondly. “Until he got soft. Broke rank, and took something that didn’t belong to him, making a call that wasn’t his to make and thought he could disappear without consequence, so I found the one thing I knew would bring him back.”

Steven looks at me—and for the briefest second, everything inside him shifts. If I’m reading him right, it’s like he’s pleading for something I don’t understand. And then it’s gone.

“She meant everything to him, you know. He would’ve died for her. Hell, he did.” He laughs. “He loved something that belonged to me. She always belonged to me.”

“That’s not true,” Steven growls.

“No?” Frank asks, leaning in so his mouth brushes my ear. “Why do you think you caught his eye so fast, doll? Why do you think he was always there, always watching? He didn’t fall for you, Ani. He used you. I made sure of it.”

My breath catches as I look at Steven and for the first time… I’m not sure what I see.

“Is that true?” I whisper.

He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t look away either.

His jaw ticks once, but before he can speak, the hallway door creaks open, and then she walks in.

A tall, blonde woman. My pulse stops and my brain feels like it just tripped over itself trying to catch up.

My vision tunnels, and I think I might pass out.

My brain trips over itself trying to make sense of what I’m seeing, like it’s buffering reality in slow, broken chunks.

No. It can’t be.

Frank smiles wider. “There she is, the woman of the hour.”

Steven keeps his gun trained on Frank like it’s an extension of his will. But one of the men flanking him lifts his weapon and points it straight at her.

My stomach drops and the whole room freezes in that single, suspended heartbeat.

“Lauren,” Steven says, like the name burns on his tongue.