Page 5 of Dead Wolf Walking (Bad Moon Academy 1)
She should be.
Chapter 2
Raven
“Order up!” Orlando yells from the bar’s food window.
I toss a scowl at him as he smirks at me. “Do you have to yell?”
The people sitting at the bar continue to sip their beers, unfazed by his obnoxious antics.
“How else will Kenzie know to come pick up her damn food?”
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “She’s not that bad.”
He huffs and glances around. I follow his gaze. Kenzie is nowhere in sight. Probably on another cigarette break—her fifth since her shift started an hour ago—and fully out of earshot. No matter how loud Orlando gets, she won’t hear him.
I dry my hands on the towel, checking to make sure Adler is okay. He’s pouring a beer, watching us, so I point to the food. He lifts his chin to give me permission.
Technically, I’m allowed to do what’s best for the bar, but I won’t run off without letting my bartender know where I’m going. I’m not about to land on a shit list because I didn’t communicate with my team. Grabbing a tray, I set it on the edge of the window and load it with the plates of burgers, fries, and some of the discount steak we sell.
Hey, I never said the bar food was quality. Trust me, after so many beers, most people think this place is a five-star restaurant.
“Thanks, sweet cheeks.” Orlando smacks the metal frame of the food window and heads back to the line.
“Call me sweet cheeks again and I’ll set your apron on fire.”
He chuckles and waves his hand in the air, shooing me. He’s harmless, but the name is fucking annoying.
Hefting the tray onto one hand, I navigate between the tables to the only patrons Kenzie has right now. She’s lucky we aren’t busier. Two guys drinking beers sit across from each other. They’re obviously out of towners because I don’t recognize them and they’re a whole lot edgier than the people of Deckerville.
One has a shock of black hair styled so the longer parts come together just above his left eye. He’s wearing a shirt that by the looks has a higher thread count than my sheets. The black leather jacket is another tipoff; most people here wear Carhartt jackets. The other guy has sandy blond hair and is wearing a leather bracelet that gives him a surfer vibe. He sticks out less with his crimson V-neck shirt and warm smile. The dark-haired guy sets his gaze on me, watching as I lower the tray. He tracks each movement I make as I set out the plates of food.
“Should I get your friend’s water?” I ask.
Fucking Kenzie. She didn’t even get enough drinks for her table before she went MIA.
I set the final plate down, leaving my fingers on the rim of it as I check behind me. She’s still not in. I turn back to the guys with a frown, ready to apologize for the service they’re receiving. The leather clad one leans forward and brushes his finger over my hand. His leather jacket pulls back with the motion, revealing a jade stone wrapped in a braided leather bracelet—the same one his friend is wearing. His skin burns against mine, and my heart skips. I yank my hand away.
He sits back in his seat, never moving his eyes from me. They’re ice blue, yet somehow, they sear into my soul, stripping me bare in a matter of seconds.
Holding his stare, I say, “Don’t touch me.”
“He didn’t mean anything by it, did you?” The friend kicks him under the table, and the guy grinds his jaw.
“I’m sorry.” The way he grits the words out between his teeth tells another story, but I place the tray under my arm, preparing to do my job no matter what.
“Do you need anything else? Aside from the extra water?”
He shakes his head. “We don’t need more water.”
I glance at the plates.
The blond one chuckles. “This is for us. We’re starving.”
My gaze volleys between the two of them.
Jerkoff’s lips twitch. “I’mfamished.”
