Chasing His Kickass Luna Back novel Chapter 121

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 shits 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 shit. 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 scattered 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 eyes, her hands shaking.

I wait for the outburst, the accusations, perhaps even threats of a lawsuit. But instead, the woman sighs, exchanging a tired look with her husband.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with this,” she says, shaking her head. “We’ve been trying to instill some sense of responsibility in them, but teenagers will be teenagers, I suppose.”

“Though that doesn't excuse mean-spirited pranks,” the man chimes in. “They told us it was a joke, but this goes beyond a joke. Someone got hurt.”

I blink, absorbing their words. This is not the reaction I was expecting, but it’s a relief, like a weight lifting off my shoulders.

“Karl, one of my… cooks, thought it would be a fitting punishment for them to help clean up,” I say cautiously, gauging their response.

“A fitting punishment indeed.” The man nods, looking toward the kitchen. “In fact, we’d like to extend their... employment, if you’d be willing. A week of scrubbing your kitchen and doing whatever tasks you see fit should drive the message home.”