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

says as I approach.

fault.” I give her shoulder a squeeze. “Little

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

the front door swings open, and a couple strides

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

heart sinks. They

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

whether I’m worthy

reply, bracing myself

us they’re here, washing dishes?

his arms

the lump in my throat. “They tripped

was damage

even threats of a lawsuit. But instead, the

tired

with this,” she says,

of responsibility in them, but teenagers will be teenagers, I

that doesn’t excuse mean-spirited pranks,” the man chimes in. “They

a

words. This is not the reaction I was expecting, but it’s

lifting off my shoulders.

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

cautiously, gauging their response.

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

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

fit should drive the message

ask, stunned. “I wouldn’t want

imposition,” the woman assures me. “It’s about time they learn a good lesson. You

expect to deal with the

the kitchen, wiping his hands on a

I nod subtly, a smile breaking

explain. “They agree with your punishment. Actually, they

an entire

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

learned in a kitchen. I would know.” He glances

my gaze

the man

to have a serious

bar, suddenly drained but also

me, his shoulder barely touching mine. “Not what

escaping

chock full of surprises.”

eyes warm and comforting. “Some surprises

the truth in his words. Maybe it’s the parents