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

sorry, Abby,” she says as

fault.” I give her shoulder a squeeze.

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

long before the front door swings open, and

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

air about them, and my heart sinks. They must

establishment?” the woman asks,

whether I’m worthy

I reply, bracing myself for a potential scolding—or

dishes? Something about a prank?”

arms over his

in my throat. “They tripped one

was

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

tired look with her

this,” she says, shaking her head.

but

man chimes in. “They told

goes beyond a joke. Someone got

absorbing their words. This is not the reaction I was expecting, but it’s a relief, like a

lifting off my shoulders.

of my… cooks, thought it would be a

cautiously, gauging their response.

fitting punishment indeed.” The man nods, looking toward the kitchen.

week of scrubbing your kitchen and doing whatever

fit should drive the message

ask, stunned. “I

about

trouble and not expect to deal with the

his hands on

I nod subtly, a smile breaking

the parents,” I explain. “They agree

for an

hand to each parent. “I appreciate your understanding.

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

gaze to my

settled,” the man says, shaking

toward the kitchen, presumably to

against the bar, suddenly drained but

leans next to me, his shoulder barely touching mine. “Not what you expected,

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

chock full of surprises.”

eyes warm and comforting. “Some

his words. Maybe it’s the parents owning up