Chapter 57

Owen retreated home that evening with his feet dragging against the sidewalk. Walking alongside his bicycle, his gaze stuck downward, he chewed on the inside of his cheek. He didn't know what to think. 

The adrenaline, the rush, he remembered it all over again and hated it. This wasn't him. This was someone that was supposed to be forgotten. It was almost four o'clock. Today, he asked for extra amounts of overtime. His boss was confused and cited his chest injury. Owen responded that the injury was healing fast (half-true) and went to work. He had to bury himself. He had to work hard. He had to make money. He had to destroy that dark side of himself. The instincts he honed needed to be dulled.

From his vision, he nearly passed by the convenience close to his condo complex. Sighing, he stopped, did a heel turn, and went inside. The brunette cashier greeted him with a wave. Owen sent her a small smile. 

He walked through the aisles and silently noted that someone had bought out all the Mountain Pew. His ears perked up as the store bell chimed and someone stormed right up to the cash register. Owen crouched and occupied himself by picking between bags of chips. It wasn't until things got loud that he got back up.

"Look, my damn sister owns this place! It's only right that I get a discount."

"But…sir, your sister explicitly said—"

"It was a joke! A joke! God, can't you tell jokes from reality? What kind of family would we be otherwise? Tell me." Pause. No answer. "Tell me!"

Owen discreetly looked over his shoulder. Yelling at the cashier was the tall man with the fohawk. He was with his two friends too. Suffice to say, the cashier was thoroughly intimidated. On reflex, his fists clenched together.

Fight.

Fight.

Fight—!

"It's not even that much!" The fohawk man said. Owen glanced over. Five frozen pizzas, four large potato chip bags, two boxes of ice cream, and a crate of energy drinks. That was at least a hundred bucks. "Look, I'll pay my sister back later. She knows how it is."

"I-I can call her now—"

"Like I said," the fohawk man interrupted, "family is family. It's fine. Now come on, give me the cigarettes. That's all we need."

He and his cronies were just waiting on that. After that, they were gone. Owen appeared in-line, holding two bags of chips and two cans of Mountain Pew. One of the cronies noticed his stare and sneered.

"What? Mind your own business."

The fohawk man looked over and gestured at his friend to stop. Not out of compassion or fear but because he didn't want to waste anymore time.

'Mind your own business," Owen thought. 'Mind your own business–!'

"Jesus, are you that green!? The cigarettes are right there!"

Owen's fingers rolled up on the chip bags. 'Mind your own business…'

"Jeez, Hoxton." The crony that had sneered at him snorted. "The previous chick was much better."

"And hotter."

"Yeah, tell your sis to hire better people."

While her back was turned to them, he could tell the cashier was afraid and teary-eyed. Their remarks were plain uncomfortable. Threatening. 

Aggressive.

Yes, this was cause to fight. Owen stepped forward and—

"Well, well, well. Looks like we've got a bunch of mutts here."

…was stopped by applause? The bathroom door next to the cashier area opened and a striking woman in high heels emerged. Her oversized sunglasses, her overpriced black handbag, and her sharp, angular features—this was a classy, rich woman. Everyone stopped to behold her. Once all eyes were on her, she stopped applauding.

"Nice fight, boys. Really impressive stuff." Her voice was long and sensual, each word accompanied by a haughty deposition and a smirking existence. "Now shoo. Go kick some puppy in a ditch."

Hoxton the fohawk narrowed his eyes and practically snarled, "Who the hell are—"

"Me?" The lady, as young as she seemed to be, could only be called a lady with her regal steps and her arrogance. She laughed in Hoxton's face. "Your sister owns this store. I own this damn building. Now leave that shit you picked up and get the fuck out of here before I buy out you, your ridiculous hairline, and your entire family tree. You do know that she's still paying for this...right?"

Hoxton paled, the 'Oh shit, I just messed with the wrong person' thought crossing his mind. 

"What? What did you say!?" His crony foolishly asked.

"You heard me. You can go and run with that stuff. Get a couple days of food from it. But expect the authorities to come knocking on your door when you're done." At this point, everyone was starting to understand that this woman was not to be trifled with; and she still wasn't done. "My family owns the banks here so if you plan to run away, don't. Hunting you and your family for the remainder of my days isn't an issue. My people will keep knocking until they find you. So…it's up to you. Choose the stupid way, the hard way, or the right way."

Hoxton swallowed. He glanced between the nervous cashier, then the black-haired lady. Her sharp gaze remained on the group of thugs, her lips curling in a permanent smirk. She wasn't fazed. Not one bit.

"...let's go."

"But Hoxton—!"

"We're going." Hoxton gestured at his cronies to follow who dutifully did as they were told. The doorbell chimed again. The crooks were gone.

Owen blinked twice. The black-haired lady cackled and adjusted her gaze over to him. She strode forward, heels clicking along the floor. She was quite tall, being exactly eye-to-eye with him with her heels. 

"Well, well, well…" The lady lowered her sunglasses to scan him, first his muscled upper body, then his face. Owen did the same in turn: an hourglass figure in a black short-sleeve skater dress, long black hair, and piercing hazel eyes. "If it isn't my lovely boyfriend. I was planning on surprising you but I guess not all hunts fall into place."