Thrillers / Crime

His eyes; a well of jet black ink, held a gaze more fearsome than a tiger. A thin paper cigarette hung from his bottom lip, a small trail of smoke escaping from the corner of his mouth danced its way to the ceiling above us. In one hand a gun lay loosely, his finger gently pressed against the trigger sending a bullet millimeters away from my face and onto the wall behind me with a bang that echoed throughout the room. His eyebrow raised in amusement at my reaction; nothing, not a flinch, not a single damn thing.

By Phoebe Gomez, October 3, 2016.

Eric let his eyes roll up to the woman that had entered. Her heels clacked like they were damaging his walnut floor and he wanted to tell her to take them off. She was a red head in a dark suit, but that isn't what grabbed his attention. Before her she held a badge, she was FBI. He cursed inwardly moved to stand, but then sank back down. He was lower than her, but sitting was a powerful position so long as he was relaxed enough. Instead he extended his hand open palmed and invited her to sit. She stopped with no intention of letting him call the shots and proceeded with the formalities and her first question. Clearly this “girl” was new, he made a mental note to speak to her boss on the golf course that weekend. Charlie would set her right. Next time she'd sit like a good girl and watch her phrasing.