Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

explosive connection, and lodges in the wall behind it; glass shards fly off the
frame, the force knocking the pendulum off balance, and I watch as it crashes
to the floor, one arm breaking off, finally falling silent.
“Do you hear me, Anderson?” Rafe asks. “You have two choices: money,
or your sworn fucking loyalty in the form of services. Otherwise, you’re
dead.”
Pulling the phone from my ear, I tuck my gun back inside its drawer and
hang up.
I FIND Elena in the back yard a little later, hauling sacks of soil out of a
cardboard box and dragging them over the grass to where she’s set up a
makeshift workspace against the hedges.
Marcelline stands a few yards over, steeping a tea bag in a blue ceramic
mug while she watches.
Brushing a sweaty piece of hair from her face, Elena turns to survey our
yard, putting her hands on her hips. The lavender dress she has on perfectly
outlines the heavy swell of her ass, and as I approach her I’m flooded with
the memory of grasping it while pulling her onto my cock.
For a moment, I can forget about the other things going on and lose
myself in her presence. She’s like a cozy spring afternoon, recent blossoms
and fresh sea air carried across a breeze, and it wraps around me, blotting out
the ugly reality of everything else.
I’ve never been the kind of man to run from adversity, but as I stand there
staring at the woman before me, the one I’ve dragged into my mess, I find
myself wishing I could. Wishing this could be the life someone like Elena
deserves.
“Don’t be mad,” she says before I’ve even reached her, spinning to face
me. There’s a look of elation cast over her delicate features, a softness
erasing deep-set rigidity. An afterglow I can only explain as a residual effect
of mind-blowing sex.
“Why would I be mad?” I ask, reaching out to frame her cheek with my
palm. My thumb grazes the underside of the bruise around her eye, noting
that the swelling and purpling has gone down significantly since last night.
“I’m about to fuck up your yard,” she says, pointing to the bags of soil.