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

says as I approach.

your fault.” I give her

pick up the slack in the dining area to relieve some of the

not long before the front door

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

about them, and my heart

owner of this establishment?” the woman asks, her eyes scanning me

I’m worthy

I reply, bracing myself for a

here, washing dishes? Something about a prank?” the man

arms over

Yes,” I say, swallowing the lump in my

there was damage to

wait for the outburst, the accusations, perhaps even threats of a

tired look

sorry you have to deal with this,” she says, shaking her head. “We’ve been

of responsibility in them, but teenagers will be

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

beyond a

blink, absorbing their words. This is not the reaction I was expecting,

lifting off my shoulders.

cooks, thought it would be a fitting punishment for them to help clean

cautiously, gauging their response.

man nods, looking toward the kitchen. “In

A week of scrubbing your kitchen

fit should drive

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

not an imposition,” the woman assures me. “It’s about time they learn a good lesson. You

expect to deal with the

kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. His eyes

I nod subtly, a smile breaking

are the parents,” I explain. “They agree

an

each parent. “I appreciate your understanding. Trust me, there’s a

He glances at me, winking

my gaze to

it’s settled,” the man

presumably to have a serious chat

against the bar, suddenly drained

shoulder barely touching mine. “Not

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

chock full of surprises.”

at me, his eyes warm and comforting. “Some

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