His Captured Curiosity

Chapter 7 - Threat or Action

Omen looks taken aback at my insult and it only serves to make him look further out of place as his crisp suit, today pitch black with a white undershirt, sticks out like a sore thumb in this minimalistic, tacky café.

"I want you to leave." I continue after leaving him speechless, hoping he'll stay that way. His eyes narrow as I turn my back to him and I feel his stare burning as I grasp the bear, now damp from the sink and throw it at him over my shoulder.

"Take your shit with you." I quip and begin wiping down the coffee machine to hide the fact that my hands are shaking.

"You didn't like the gifts?" He murmurs and he has the audacity to sound shocked while my cleaning only grows more aggressive.

"I. Don't. Like. You." I grit out, saying it slowly and purposefully to try and sink it into his thick head covered in hair gel.

"This doesn't sound like you humoring me Esmeralda." Omen calls out and I can hear the heavy threat beneath his words, it's so sharp that it pauses all movement as I stare blankly at the wall.

"I haven't even tried to stab you once." I pitifully call out as an excuse but his cold words remind me that I'm really not in control here. I can't help Wendy if I'm left to rot in jail.

My actions are selfish, this is way bigger than me.

So I heave a sigh and turn to face Omen knowing that I have to uphold at least a portion of the deal in order to avoid being framed for murder.

My features are tired and Omen takes note of it as I pin him with a cool gaze, barely containing the simmering hatred for him as a loose strand of hair rests on my flushed cheek.

"So, how does a murderer like his coffee?" I bleakly ask and Omen's gray eyes tighten in amusement as I force myself to lean on the counter, still a safe distance away but with the intent to appear unbothered despite the goosebumps on my flesh giving me away.

"With a pinkie to stir instead of a spoon." He responds with a wink and I flinch away from the counter with disgust filling my features and straining them.

"I'm joking! Besides my hands are clean, I've never made someone do what they haven't wanted to do themselves." I'm left appalled at his words and the paleness of my skin reveals that as my mouth opens and closes as I splutter for a response.

"Your guard dog didn't look too keen on that bridge."

"But he didn't try to stop you from condemning him did he?"

"I had no idea that he would be forced to take my words literally, you sick bastard!" I defend with a snarl and Omen holds his hands up softly with a wicked glint in his eye.

"But he knew. Yet he still didn't fight, didn't try to convince you otherwise, or better yet, didn't even hesitate." Omen whispers the last few words, resting his palms flat on the counter and he leans over, invading my space as I stumble back a step.

"What you did wasn't right." I sputter out hopelessly, my arms comforting myself by hugging my torso tightly.

"No Esmeralda. What you did wasn't right. Those were not nice words and you should choose them more carefully from now on. Language can be lethal." His features are alight with sick joy as he takes in my shaken figure and drawing audacity from my fear Omen stands and dares to begin limping his way around the bench.

"Fuck off or I'll-" I begin to threaten as Omen lazily strolls towards the gap in the bench, an entrance to the very side I'm on but Omen's laughter cuts me off abruptly.

"God, I haven't been threatened in years. What a rush." I hate his condescending words and I hate that he's not stopping as I back into the bench along the wall and grab a mug off the drying rack, convincing myself that it's a formidable weapon if need be.