Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

bleeds for me, I’m going to think about how she likes everything you didn’t.”
Snapping my hand forward, I hear the distinct crack of bone splintering,
and she lets out a high-pitched wail as I shove her away. She cradles her
broken fingers to her chest, a harsh sob wracking her body, but I ignore it the
way she once ignored my pain.
I don’t plan on touching Elena yet.
But Carmen doesn’t know that. Right now, she thinks the marriage is
legitimate in more than just the legal way, and that’s what I need her to
believe.
Revenge is an afterthought for the most part when it comes to my next
steps, but I won’t ever pass up the chance to see Carmen suffer.
Throwing open the balcony doors, I find Elena still dressed in her gown
from earlier, a little pink backpack thrown over one shoulder, one book held
to her chest.
Her hair is a mess, makeup smudged beneath her golden eyes, and she
leans against the railing with a bored expression on her face, not even fazed
by her mother’s cries.
When she sees me, she sighs. “Took you long enough.”
Like she isn’t surprised I came after her.
Even more, when I produce the syringe from my pants pocket and uncap
the needle, she tilts her head and pushes her hair aside, as if inviting me to
take her.
The needle plunges into her skin smoothly, and I lean down, laving my
tongue over the site, unable to help myself. She goes limp after a moment,
and I scoop her over my shoulder, taking the book from her hand and trying
to ignore the title.
Ovid’s Metamorphoses.
As I leave Carmen in a blubbering mess on the floor and carry Elena’s
unconscious form to the car waiting outside, I recall Jonas’s question.
I don’t think Elena will be a problem—she already is one.