Pomegranates (18+)

CHAPTER 1

𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓸𝓷 𝓼𝓮𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 26𝓽𝓱, 𝓳𝓾𝓵𝓮𝓼

A chill breeze followed the new client as they stepped into the bakery, and I felt a sudden shiver race down my spine, goosebumps prickling my arms. But the scent of fresh bread and pastries quickly pulled me back, and I couldn't help but smile as the oven timer dinged, promising another tray of warm treats.

"Jules, could you help the next customer? I need to grab the phone," Margaret called. She was a comforting presence, someone I loved deeply. My own mother had left soon after I was born, and Margaret—once my babysitter and now like family—had filled that space in my life. She'd been there when my father, always too busy with his work, couldn't be. ''I will!'' I called quickly, walking over to the till.

"Of course, I will!" I called back, moving over to the register with a cheerful smile, hoping to brighten the customer's experience. "How can I help you today?" I asked, slipping easily into the friendly routine.

"Three scones and three cappuccinos," a deep voice replied. I glanced up to find myself staring into a pair of sharp, dark eyes. His intense look was a little intimidating, and I quickly broke the silence, asking, "To go or dine in?"

"To go," he answered curtly. I nodded and rang up the order. "That'll be £7.64, please, sir," I said, keeping my tone light as he tapped his card and moved to the pickup counter without another word. Rude was the first word to pop up in my head.

I quickly set to work preparing the order, mindful of keeping our customer satisfaction high—especially since times had gotten tougher after the recent shooting incidents in town. People were warned not to go out if they didn't have to, but with bills piling up and my father doing everything he could to keep us afloat, I knew it was time for me to pitch in and help however I could.

Running the bakery with Margaret felt like a small way to fight back against the unease in the streets, creating a haven where people could still find comfort, even if just for a moment.

"Order seven!" I called out, and the mysterious man returned to the counter to collect his items. Just as he reached for his order, his phone rang, and he set everything down, turning his back to me as he answered. His voice dropped to a hushed but intense tone, words laced with frustration.

"No, Alex—I was just picking up breakfast," he muttered, a hint of irritation sharpening his voice. "Alright... Don't do that... Fine, I'm coming." I watched, trying not to let my curiosity show. He'd struck me as odd from the start, and overhearing this heated exchange only added to the unease lingering in the air. He quickly grabbed his order before hurrying out of the bakery. His long coat swaying with the wind as he did so.

The time quickly passed after that, my mind clouded with ideas of who this man could be. Customers left one by one leaving the bakery empty.

"Jules, I'm closing up, dear," Margaret called from the pantry.

"Alright, see you tomorrow!" I replied, slipping into my coat and wrapping my pink scarf snugly around my neck to shield against London's biting wind. I opened the door, only for a gust to immediately blow my blonde hair into my face. "Stupid hair," I muttered, pushing the stray strands out of my mouth with a sigh, already bracing myself for the chilly walk home.

The streetlights flickered on one by one, casting eerie shadows across the pavement. I hated walking alone in the dark, and tonight felt especially unsettling. A sudden gunshot jolted me from my thoughts, and instinctively, I scanned my surroundings. Shivers traced down my spine as I hesitated, then walked cautiously toward the alleyway where the sound had come from.

"Hello? Who's there?" I called out, my voice unsteady. Peering into the shadows, I spotted a man cornered by four others, their backs to me. Against my better judgment, I found myself saying, "You know, ganging up on someone isn't exactly polite..."

A soft, chilling chuckle echoed from one of the men as he turned to face me. My stomach dropped—it was the man from the bakery. His dark eyes locked onto mine. "Sweetheart, you shouldn't have seen this," he murmured, his tone sending a wave of dread through me. At his command, "Cas, grab the girl," the other men turned around as well.

I swallowed hard, forcing a shaky smile. "I could just go, you know? I didn't see anything..."

But before I could process his response, another gunshot rang out. Blood splattered across the alley, painting the walls in violent red. A scream tore from my throat, and without thinking, I turned and ran, feet pounding on the pavement. "Help!" I screamed, but after just a few frantic steps, I was tackled from behind, hitting the ground hard as rough hands pinned me down.

"Shhh," the man from the bakery whispered, pressing a hand firmly over my mouth as I struggled beneath his grip. I thrashed, panic and regret flooding me—I should've just gone home. "Chloroform," he ordered calmly. Desperately, I tried to kick, to twist, to head-butt him, but his hold was relentless.

One of the men handed him a cloth, and he quickly pressed it over my mouth and nose, his hand tightening to keep it in place. "Just breathe in for me, sweetheart," he murmured, his gaze locking onto my tear-filled eyes. "Come on," he coaxed softly as I fought to hold my breath.

But soon, air forced itself past my lips, and I felt the sting of the chemicals filling my lungs. "There you go," he murmured, a hint of satisfaction in his voice as my eyelids grew heavy. A strange calm spread through my body, numbing the terror as my vision blurred and darkness pulled me under.

As I drifted away, I felt arms lift me, my body curling instinctively against the warmth of a chest as they carried me off into the night.