Page 293 of His To Erase
I blinked, becausewhat the actual fuck. “Okay. I have, like, six follow-up questions—but let’s start with the part where he wore a ski mask and you still got horny.”
“Yes! Full blackout. No eye holes. Very mysterious.” She nodded, dead serious. “Like Batman—if Batman had manners and a bigger dick.”
I stared at her for a solid thirty seconds, because I genuinely didn’t know whether to laugh, or stage an intervention.
This is what happens when you leave your best friend unsupervised with Wi-Fi and a vibrator.
“Sarah.”
She blinked, all innocent. “What?”
“You’re dating a voice?”
“Okay, first of all, don’t kink-shame me. Second of all, I did a reverse image search of his profile pic and he passed the vibe check. Third, we’re planning on meeting in person in a few weeks.”
I couldn’t help but stare at her like she’d lost it. “You’re going to meet a stranger from the internet whose face you’ve never seen.”
She grinned. “You dated a mafia wannabe and fell in love with an assassin. Let me have my little mystery man.”
“Touché.”
“I’m serious though. I have a good feeling about this. And you know me—I never have good feelings about men. They’re usually the root cause of my migraines.”
“Still could be,” I muttered.
She laughed. “Not this one. He’s… different. He actually asks questions about my life.Andhe doesn’t send unsolicited dick pics or call me ‘mami’ like that guy from Tinder.”
I ignored the fact that she said unsolicited.
“And you’re sure he’s not a catfish?”
She shrugged, but there’s something soft in her expression. Something almost… hopeful. “If he is,” she muttered, “he’s way too emotionally intelligent for a catfish. Maybe he’s a sea turtle. He has boundaries.”
I couldn't do anything but laugh after that, but I did grab the tequila and get myself a round.
Sarah was in love with a masked man who types like he’s hot. I was busy inheriting a criminal empire and pretending I knew what the fuck I was doing.
It’s fine. We’re fine.
I knew that look she had—wild-eyed, reckless, and a little unhinged. I’d seen it in the mirror once. Right before everything went sideways.
These days, I’ve got backup accounts, burner phones, and apparently a reputation that makes grown men piss themselves. Which is hilarious, considering I didn’t even want the job.
But for some reason, they only listen to me. No matter how many times I try to hand it off, the calls still come to me.
Some mornings, I still wake up wondering if I’ll have to kill someone before breakfast. But I don’t flinch at silence the way I used to—and the coffee’s a hell of a lot better.
I do still sleep with a weapon, only it’s not under my pillow anymore. It’s next to me in bed. And he’s 6’3”, built like sin, and completely unhinged when it comes to me. So yeah. I’m good.
We got another dog somewhere in the middle of it all, and named him Ronald.For obvious reasons.He chews Steven’s shoelaces and worships Bern like she runs the house. Which, to be fair, she does.
My relationship with Steven is obsessive and violent and louder than anything I’ve ever known, but it’s real. And for once, it’s mine.
I stretch, getting tangled up in the sheets as the sunlight filters through the window, making it the kind of morning that makes people want to journal or manifest or drink herbal tea.
Instead, I’m doom-scrolling for unsolved murders while wondering if there’s any chicken and rice left in the fridge.
Steven’s not here, unfortunately. Not that my pussy could handle round six right now. Pretty sure I didn’t fall asleep—I passed out. A girl can only take so many orgasms before her soul starts leaving her body. And after getting edged within an inch of my sanity all night, I’m exhausted.
