Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller
Chapter 23
The doorto Jonas’s office flings open suddenly, slamming into the wall so hard the knob obliterates the plaster. Elena stands there, fury ebbing so clearly from her that it makes those golden irises glow, brightening them against the backdrop of the bar behind her.
“If you’re fucking another girl, I want to know right now.”
Leaning back in my chair, I fold my hands over my lap, taking her in. Her hair spills down her back in wind-swept waves, while the little blue dress she has on does absolutely nothing to hide her figure from me.
Curves I’ve grown addicted to; my drug of choice.
To my right, Jonas pushes back from his desk, scooping the file with the bouncer applications into their folder, though he doesn’t make any move to leave the room.
I should be surprised to see her here, but I’m not. Aside from the fact that after her attack, I had her phone outfitted so I’d be able to track her location at all times, there are just certain things you can’t change about a person.
Once Elena gets a taste of freedom, she won’t be recaged without a fight.
Frankly, I’m surprised it’s taken this long for her to venture off our property. There are only so many days you can spend staring at a plot of dirt, waiting for spring to arrive.
“Elena,” I say, forcing my voice to stay even, despite the irritation flowing through me. Not at her, but at everything else in my life. “I’m in the middle of something. Can this wait?”
“I don’t know, Kal, because we never discussed sexually transmitted diseases, and I’ve just had the most interesting conversation with some girl out front who knows you.” Her lips curl back in a sneer. “You’re the only one I’ve been with, so as far as that goes, you’re okay, but am I? Who fucking knows, since apparently I really am the cliché virgin archetype, and I just trust that a man with so much more life experience than me—a freaking doctor, even—would know better.”
“Jesus.” Dragging a hand down the side of my face, I rub at an ache in my jaw. Looking at Jonas, I nod toward the door. “You can see yourself out.”
“I wouldn’t mind staying for the show.”
I pin him with a look, and he huffs but gets to his feet anyway, making his combat boots thud harder against the floor than normal. When he reaches the door, Elena shifts slightly to the side to grant him passage, never taking her gaze off me.
“Go easy on him, will ya, love?” Jonas says, and I have to grip on to the plastic armrests on my chair to keep from launching myself at him, and tearing his intestines through his asshole for even looking at her, after everything.
She turns, blinking, clearly taken aback, though by his accent or the fact that he’s speaking to her at all, I can’t quite tell. It’s instantaneous, the way his attention extinguishes her fire, fingers pinching a flame until it no longer exists.
“Who are you?” she asks, narrowing her eyes, taking in the leather jacket stretched across broad shoulders, the unkempt beard, the general sense of danger that follows him like a storm cloud.
Her foot inches backward ever so slightly; Jonas doesn’t seem to notice, but I catch it, and the retreat twists my stomach in knots.
“Jonas Wolfe, pleased to meet you,” he says, tipping his chin down in acknowledgment. “Not surprised you didn’t know that, though. That one over 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.”
Her eyebrows draw inward, and she glances around, noting that the only other chair in the office is the one tucked into Jonas’s desk. Slowly, her eyes slide back to me, that sweet, familiar blush creeping up her neck.
“Is that appropriate? Your friend could come back in.”
“With the door locked? Doubtful.” Patting my lap, I raise my brows expectantly, watching as she wrestles with uncertainty. “You can sit wherever you’d like, little one, if you really aren’t comfortable. On the desk, on the floor. You can even remain standing. But regardless, I need you to communicate with me, starting with what you were spewing when you stormed in here.”
Curling and uncurling her fists, she struggles, eyes shifting around the room as she seems to search for the words. Finally, she nods again, then closes the distance between us, draping herself over my lap.
The dress she has on hikes high up on her thighs, and I tug it down as she gets situated, desperate to feel her that way again, but also aware that she’s clearly going through something. And right now, she needs more than a quick, rough fuck.
“So,” I prompt, tangling my fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her head back slightly. “You met a girl outside.”
She swallows, her throat working with the motion. Her eyes are wide in this position, vulnerable as she’s forced to stare up at me, and it sets my entire fucking soul on fire.
“And you automatically assumed she was someone I’ve been intimate with in the past? Or, am currently being intimate with, if your earlier accusation stands.”
“She said she knew you.”
Tugging her head back more, I skim my nose over the smooth expanse of her neck, inhaling deeply. My lips part, my top row of teeth gently scraping the scabbed bruise decorating the valley between her throat and shoulder.
I’ve seen many works of art in my lifetime, all different variants of the term, but I’ve never seen any as breathtaking as her. The pale canvas of her supple flesh painted with the evidence of our sins.
“I know a lot of people, Elena. I certainly don’t sleep with everyone I meet.” Biting down, I sink my teeth into the thick muscle running up the side of her throat, pulling her into me as she jerks with the onslaught of pain.
“She knew me, too,” Elena whispers, fingers fisting in the collar of my shirt. “Seemed pretty surprised that I couldn’t return the sentiment. And it just made me realize...”
When she trails off, I pull back until our noses graze each other, waiting for more. “What?”
“I barely know you,” she says, and though it’s delivered with as much softness as she can muster, I don’t miss the implication hidden beneath its surface. The accusation still rife in her tone, as if she wants to believe in me, but can’t fully bring herself to.
Sucking in my next breath feels like trying to swallow hot coals, and I release it slowly through my nose, focusing on the steady thump of her pulse beating at the base of her throat.
My tongue is thick when I speak, an obstacle I have to talk around. “What do you want to know?”
Somehow, before she even opens her mouth again, I know her answer’s going to be everything.
