Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

“Jesus,” the man says, wrenching my hands behind me, pulling so I’m
flush with his chest. His breath is hot in my ear, and I squirm violently as I
try to get away, wondering why the other people in the bar aren’t helping me.
“Stop moving, bitch,” he grunts, shaking me a little.
“Let go of me and I will,” I spit, strands of hair sticking to my face. Sweat
beads along my hairline, fear wedging its way into my heart even though I’ve
been in this kind of situation before.
With Mateo, I always knew how it would end, with bruises and chipped
teeth. By the time he was seventeen, Mateo had had two oral surgeries and at
least four veneers put in.
But this is a stranger, in a foreign place, and I don’t necessarily know any
of his potential weaknesses. In the position I’m in, arms pinned to my sides,
doubled over with him pressed on top of me, my normal defense mechanisms
are skewed at best.
Still, I manage to slip one arm free, balling that hand into a fist and
swinging it over my shoulder; I hear it connect with bone, feel it split beneath
the force, and my assailant drops me, clutching his nose and hissing a string
of profanities.
“Fuck! This bitch just broke my nose!” he moans, cupping his palms over
his face. His chin-length, dark blond hair falls over his eyes as he stoops over,
trying to catch his breath.
“Dr. Anderson finds out you called her a bitch, and I guarantee he’ll
break more than just that,” Gwen says from behind the bar, stopping at the
tap to fill a glass.
The few other customers milling about have either managed to somehow
miss the scuffle or are trained to ignore commotion, because no one even bats
an eye as I distance myself from my attacker. After I have a second to collect
myself, I recognize him as the man behind the bar when we first walked in,
the gold chain around his neck giving him mobster vibes.
His boat shoes, however, do not.
“He’s the one who asked me to keep an eye on her,” the man grumbles,
narrowing his eyes at me. “Should’ve known he was just setting me up. I bet
he thinks Violet calling in is my fault.”
Gwen rolls her eyes. “As much as you love playing the victim, Vinny, I
doubt he thinks you had anything to do with Violet not showing up. That’s
just the way seasonal hires work. He knows that; you can’t own half the
island and be unaware of how business is.”