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 hands

Abby,” she says as I approach.

not your fault.” I give her

up the slack in the

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

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

them, and my heart sinks. They must be

establishment?” the woman asks, her eyes scanning me

I’m worthy of

myself for a potential scolding—or worse, pressing

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

his arms

I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “They tripped one of my waitresses.

and there was damage

wait for the outburst, the accusations, perhaps even threats

a tired look

she says, shaking her head. “We’ve been trying

but teenagers

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

a joke. Someone

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

lifting off my shoulders.

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

cautiously, gauging their response.

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

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

should drive

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

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

expect to

from the kitchen, wiping his hands

a smile

the parents,” I explain. “They agree

an

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

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

gaze to

man

to have a serious chat with their

bar, suddenly drained but

his shoulder barely touching

say softly, a slight laugh escaping my lips. “But

chock full of surprises.”

eyes warm and comforting. “Some surprises are good,

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