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 hands

Abby,” she says as

your fault.” I give

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

it’s not long before the front door swings open, and a couple strides

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

them, and my heart

the woman asks,

worthy of

bracing myself for a potential scolding—or worse,

children informed us they’re here, washing dishes? Something about

his arms over his

the lump in my throat. “They tripped one of my waitresses.

was damage to

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

a tired look

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

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

chimes in. “They told us it was a joke,

goes beyond a

their words. This is not the reaction I

lifting off my shoulders.

a fitting punishment for them to

cautiously, gauging their response.

man nods, looking toward the kitchen. “In

willing. A week of

fit should drive the message

you sure?” I ask, stunned.

woman assures me. “It’s about

and not expect to deal with the

his hands

nod subtly, a smile

the parents,” I explain. “They agree

for an entire

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

glances at me, winking subtly. My face flushes red, and

gaze to

settled,” the man says, shaking Karl’s

the kitchen, presumably to have a serious chat

I lean against the bar, suddenly drained but

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

say softly, a slight laugh escaping my

chock full of surprises.”

warm and comforting. “Some surprises are

in his words. Maybe it’s the