Page 2 of His To Erase
"You’ll what?" His voice drips in mockery. "Shoot me? Please. Let’s be real, I own this town." His eyes flick to her. "But, hey, I’m a reasonable guy. Drop the gun, and she walks."
I know it’s a lie.
I know it down to my goddamn bones. But she’s staring at me, silently pleading, and my hands feel like iron around the gun.
I drop it.
The second it hits the ground, he moves.
My eyes are on her, so I don’t see his guy come up behind me. A fist slams into my ribs, hard and unrelenting.
Another cracks across my jaw, snapping my head to the side. Pain detonates, and stars burst behind my eyes.
I barely get my footing before he’s right in front of me. His knee drives into my gut and I double over. A boot slams into my ribs, and my body hits the ground.
The taste of blood floods my mouth as he crouches next to me, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back, forcing me to look at him. His breath is hot against my face, his smirk dripping with amusement. I know there’s nothing I can do to fight back, or he’ll kill her.
"You stupid, stupid motherfucker." He clicks his tongue, feigning disappointment. "Dropped your gun over her? Really? Thought you were smarter than that."
I don’t answer. I can’t. My lungs are barely able to drag in air. He sighs like this is all so tedious.
"And here I thought you’d be a challenge."
Then I hear a gunshot, and I feel the next one fired off as white-hot agony tears through me as my body seizes.
Above me, he shakes his head, wiping the blood from his mouth. "This could’ve been so much easier," he muses, stepping back. "But hey—I love a good tragedy."
The world is slipping. My pulse is a dull, slow drum, while blood is pooling around me.
I force my head up, jaw tightening against the pain. And then I spit right on his polished shoes.
He stills. For the first time, his smirk twitches. I can see his mask slip for a second. Then he laughs. A deep, smug chuckle, shaking his head like I’m the dumbest son of a bitch he’s ever met.
"You should’ve just shot me when you had the chance," he says, almost disappointed. "Now look at you."
He lifts his boot, walking away.
And then—darkness.
Ani
Ishould’ve walked away. I should’ve just let someone else find him bleeding out in that alley, letting fate decide whether he lived or died, but I didn’t.
Obviously, because I’m not a monster.
Now, months later, I’m standing behind the bar, wiping down a glass like it’s going to confess something to me if I rub hard enough, pretending he’s not watching me like I’m the most fascinating thing in the room.
We’re… seeing each other, I guess?
He’s pursuing me, that much is obvious, but I never committed to anything, nor will I, but he keeps showing up. He’s all charm, slow smiles and expensive whiskey poured like a promise.
But I’m still undecided.
Not because he isn’t attractive—he is. In that curated, dangerous way that makes girls mistake danger for depth. ButI’ve learned that interest isn’t the same thing as safety and attention isn’t the same thing as caring.
So I let him chase me, and keep pretending I’m not deciding whether I’ll run or let him catch me.
Franklookslike the kind of man who gets what he wants, whenever he wants it.
