Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

there is bloody terrible at introductions.”
He hooks his thumb in my direction, and I feel the barrier between my
patience and my lack thereof waning the longer he stands here, defying me
openly.
“How about I introduce you to the inside of a casket?” I say, unhooking
my gun from where it’s strapped at my waist, cocking the pistol and loading a
magazine into the chamber.
Pointing it directly at Jonas’s kneecap, I let my index finger ghost over
the trigger, counting down in my head to see how long it takes him to move.
He ignores me, giving Elena a conspiratorial smile. “Not the most polite
fella, is he?”
“Not really,” she quietly agrees, shifting her eyes to mine; the heat from
before slowly morphs to something duller, something needy.
There’s a discomfort hidden in her depths, and it takes me a second to
recognize how walking back in here after being attacked might make her feel.
That although it’s been weeks, she might still need to ease into it, and by
barreling inside to confront me, maybe she’s skipped a few important steps of
recovery.
Even the strongest glass cracks under enough pressure.
“Goodbye, Jonas,” I snap, pinching one eye closed to better my aim. Just
as I start to pull back on the trigger, uncaring that there are customers outside,
he yanks open the door.
“All right,” he says, waving the folder in my direction, nodding at Elena.
“Again, pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Elena. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you
soon.”
She nods, not breaking my stare, and then he’s slipping from the room
without another word, pulling the door shut behind him.
“Lock the door, and walk to me slowly,” I command, crooking my index
finger in a come-hither gesture.
It takes her a moment, hesitation flickering across her features for a
breath, but then she turns, obeying with shaky hands. Her throat bobs hard
over a swallow as she starts toward me, pressing her palms into her stomach,
more demure and submissive than I’ve ever seen her before.
The contrast is almost startling, the girl who burst into the office just
minutes ago not even comparable to the one standing in front of me.
“Now,” I say, putting the gun on the desk as I sit up straight and smooth
my hands over my thighs. “Have a seat.”