Page 97 of Runaways

"Put the finger in the soup. It's part of the game."

I shake my head. "No, I'm not doing that."

"It's your boyfriend's finger—the one from yesterday with the sad eyes."

My heart stops. "Mason? What did you—"

"Juuust kidding," he says. "But really, put the finger in the soup, or I swear to god, Noah, I'll cut him into so many fucking pieces they'll never be able to find them all—you know I will. Maybe I'll do the girl, too. You know how I feel about other people touching you."

"Lilah!" Travis calls. I look in his direction, and he gives me awhat the fuck are you doinglook.

I push out my chair. "I have to go."

"You forgot something," Tate says.

I look back, grab the napkin, stuff it in my apron, and walk away.

"You're a good girl,Lilah."

I grit my teeth and glare at him over my shoulder, then I clear off my two empty tables, seating them and taking their drink orders before I head back to the bar and try to come up with a reason to be in the kitchen.

"I'm feeling a little lightheaded," I tell Jodie after pushing through the saloon doors. "Do you mind if I grab a glass and get a soda for myself? You can take it out of my check."

"Just take the soda, Lilah," Jodie says. "You know it's fine."

I grab a glass and prepare to create a distraction, tripping over my own feet and intentionally dropping it on the tile floor.

"Shit!" I shout as it shatters everywhere. "Oh, my god—I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine," Jodie says. "Just…grab another one and get back out there. I'll take care of this."

My heart pounds against my ribcage as she leaves to grab a broom, and I glance at Gabriel, who faces the grill with his back to me. I reach into my apron, closing my thumb and first finger around the half-finger in the pocket, and then I drop it into the beef stew and push it to the bottom with the ladle.

I fill a new cup with soda and get the fuck out of there after that. I don't think I breathe again until the doors swing closed behind me.

When I get back out to the dining room, Tate is gone.

Hours go by with my nerves on end, panicking every time someone orders the soup of the day, but as I near the end of my shift, there's still no sign of the finger.

Either that or whoever got it actually enjoyed it. But I guess everyone who ordered it got a little extra seasoning, didn't they? My stomach retches at the thought.

Eventually, I convince myself that no one will get the finger. Beef stew is one of our least popular soup specials, and maybe at the end of my shift, I could go back, fish it out, and toss it down the disposal.

It's a nice thought. Until I hear the scream.

"Well, the police said it's a real finger," Jodie tells us. "It was probably in the meat—maybe someone lost it at the processing facility. They have to look into it, though, and we're shut down until further notice. You can request vacation pay if you have it, but I don't know how long this will all take."

"Jesus Christ," Gabriel says. "I'm so sorry, Jodie. I don't know how I didn't see it."

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry, too. And Jerry and his wife said they're going to sue, so…I'm not sure what's going to happen. This place is all I've got."

And there's already a news van parked out front. Which means I'm going out the back.

"I'm gonna go…clean up," Jodie says. "I'll call you all when I know more."

"I'll stay and help you, Jodie," Gabriel says, following her out to the dining room.

"A fucking finger," Travis says, laughing. "What the fuck? And I'm the one who served it to the guy! I mean, can you imagine—"

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