Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 79: Mean Spirited
Abby

The lunchtime rush is finally easing up. Much unlike yesterday, it’s been a smooth day so far, and I feel

relieved; but that’s exactly when it happens.

I’m scanning the restaurant floor, making sure everything is running smoothly, when I hear the crash.

It’s a shocking mix of the sound of ceramic shattering, gasps, and the thud of a body hitting the floor,

followed by a loud “Ow!”

My heart lurches into my throat as I rush over to see one of my waitresses, Sarah, sprawled on the

ground amid a mess of broken dishes and spilled food.

“What happened?” I ask, my eyes darting around the room, locking onto a group of snickering

teenagers at a nearby table.

“I saw it,” Karl says, striding past me. “Those little s hits tripped her. Deliberately.”

In seconds, he’s at their table, his face dark with anger. “You think that was funny? Get up.”

“It was an accident!” one of the kids says, feigning innocence. But it’s clear that he’s full of sh it. They all

are.

I kneel beside Sarah, who’s clutching her wrist, her face pale. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“I think so,” she mumbles, grimacing as she attempts to move. I call over two other employees to clean

the mess and guide Sarah to a chair.

Karl reappears, dragging the shame-faced teenagers behind him. “Apologize,” he commands, his voice

icy. They mumble sca ttered apologies, looking anywhere but at Sarah or me.

“Sorry isn’t enough,” Karl continues. “You’re washing dishes for the rest of the night. And if I see any of

you around here again causing trouble, you’re going to wish you never set foot in this place.”

“Karl, you can’t—” I begin, but my voice trails off with a look from Karl. A look I know all too well, one

that embodies his spirit of an Alpha.

I watch the teenagers slink off to the kitchen, led by Karl. The room is quiet now; even the low hum of

conversations has died down. But my focus is on Sarah, who is sitting by the bar and wiping tears from

eyes, her hands

as I approach. “All

give her

while, I help pick up the slack in the dining area to

long before the front door swings open, and a

to know: they have that classic “I’d like to speak to

about them, and my heart sinks. They must be

this establishment?” the woman asks, her eyes scanning

worthy

reply, bracing myself for a potential scolding—or worse, pressing

dishes? Something about a prank?” the

arms over

swallowing the lump in my

and there was damage to our

outburst, the accusations, perhaps even threats of a lawsuit. But instead, the

a tired look with

she says,

responsibility in them, but teenagers will

excuse mean-spirited pranks,” the man chimes in. “They told us it was a

beyond a joke. Someone got

the reaction

lifting off my shoulders.

be a fitting punishment

cautiously, gauging their response.

looking toward the kitchen. “In fact, we’d like

you’d be willing. A week of scrubbing your kitchen and

drive

you sure?” I ask, stunned. “I wouldn’t want

about time they

causing trouble and not expect

Karl emerges from the kitchen, wiping his hands

nod subtly, a

parents,” I explain. “They agree with

for an entire

grins, extending a hand to each parent. “I appreciate

in a kitchen. I would know.” He glances at me, winking

my gaze to my

man

toward the kitchen, presumably to have a

against the bar, suddenly drained but

shoulder barely touching

at all,” I say softly, a slight laugh escaping my

chock full of surprises.”

eyes warm and comforting. “Some surprises are good, don’t

in his words. Maybe it’s the parents owning up to