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 approach. “All

not your fault.” I give her

while, I help pick up the slack in

But it’s not long before the front door swings open,

them tells me all that I need to know: they have that

air about them, and my heart sinks. They must

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

worthy of

am,” I reply, bracing myself for a potential

they’re here, washing dishes? Something

arms over

in my throat. “They tripped one of my waitresses. She’s

was

the accusations, perhaps even threats of a lawsuit. But

a tired

have to deal with this,” she says, shaking her

them, but

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

a

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

lifting off my shoulders.

a

cautiously, gauging their response.

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

if you’d be willing. A week of scrubbing your kitchen and doing whatever tasks

should drive

you sure?” I ask, stunned.

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

and not expect to deal with

his hands on a towel. His eyes meet

subtly, a smile breaking

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

an entire

a hand to each parent. “I appreciate your understanding. Trust

would know.” He glances

gaze to my

settled,” the man

to have a

bar, suddenly drained

next to me, his shoulder barely

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

chock full of surprises.”

warm and comforting.

the truth in his words. Maybe it’s