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

her

sorry, Abby,” she says as

I give her

while, I help pick up the slack in

long before the front door swings open, and

I need to know: they have that classic “I’d

heart sinks. They must

the woman asks, her eyes scanning me up and down as

worthy of

bracing myself for a potential scolding—or worse,

children informed us they’re here, washing dishes? Something about a prank?” the man

his arms over

lump in my throat. “They tripped one of

there was damage to our

accusations, perhaps even threats of a lawsuit.

a tired

you have to deal with this,” she says, shaking her head.

them, but teenagers will

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

beyond a joke. Someone got

reaction

lifting off my shoulders.

of my… cooks, thought it would be a fitting punishment for

cautiously, gauging their response.

looking toward the

employment, if you’d be willing. A week of

drive the

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

woman assures me. “It’s about time they learn a

expect to deal with the

wiping his hands on a towel. His eyes

subtly, a

the parents,” I explain. “They agree with your punishment. Actually,

for an

“I appreciate your understanding. Trust

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

gaze

it’s settled,” the man

toward the kitchen, presumably to have a serious

I lean against the bar,

to me, his shoulder barely touching mine. “Not

at all,” I say softly, a slight laugh escaping my lips. “But these

chock full of surprises.”

his eyes warm and

his words. Maybe it’s the parents owning