Page 3 of Slicer

I quickly put on my tennis shoes before rushing out of my room. I run down the hallway of the bungalow, hoping my parents are still in their groups at church, but my wish is unfulfilled as I get to the door.

"Young lady, what have we told you about that dress?"

I sigh upon hearing my dad's angry words, and I turn to him, happy that it's just him and not my mother too.

"Dad, this is George's uniform."

He scowls, "I don't care; go change right this instance."

Every time we go through this, every flipping time

My dress hits just above my knees; it doesn't show any cleavage because, unlike most waitresses, I have mine buttoned up past my breasts, but the color is red, like the devil, according to my parents. The last time my mother saw my uniform, she threwcoffee all over it, not caring that she'd just made it and that it burned me.

I shake my head and say, "I'm not doing this with you right now, Dad, or I'm going to be late for work."

I turn and go to walk out when he speaks again.

"I want you home for lunch tomorrow at 12:45."

I sigh again and turn around. "I can't I have class."

He scoffs, "I don't give a damn; it's not like you'll be working anyway. Mr Alberto and his son Abram will be here, and I expect you to be obedient like we've taught you."

Obedience means keeping my head down, not talking unless told to and doing everything they say.

I shake my head again. "Sorry, Dad, I can't; it's my senior year before med school, and I only have a few months left until graduation."

He narrows his eyes, and I swallow hard, hoping he doesn't hit me like last time. I don't need to be the talk of the town again, you know, since I'm a 'klutz.' "You will not be going to med school; in five months' time, you'll be married to Abram."

My eyes widen. "He's 37 years old; that's fifteen years older than me!"

Dad just smiles, but it doesn't reach his blue eyes; anger shines through them at my disobedience. He shrugs, and I sigh. It looks like I won't be home tonight; otherwise, they'll lock my door again to get me to do as I'm told,

"I'm late for work. Goodnight, Dad. Tell Mamma goodnight for me too."

I quickly rush out so he doesn't get to say anything else before getting in my white Buick. It's old, but I bought it myself two years ago for college, so my parents have no say in whether or not I use it.

Mr Alberto is the town's priest and a pervert. He's been with his wife for forty years, but he has at least four mistresses all my age, and I know two that are pregnant. Both babies have already been put up for adoption for when they're born, which his wife is perfectly happy with. She was only 12 when he married her while he was 21 and was groomed to obey; it's gross, and in no way am I living that life.

I know at least three people who have all had a child with his son who are all under the age of 18, and he doesn't even claim any of them.

Sighing, I get to work right on the dot and wave to my friend Cindy, who grins at me. Her bottle-blonde hair is up in a high ponytail that swishes every time she walks. I quickly start cleaning up tables before seating people and taking their orders when the door opens and three very large bikers walk in that are clearly not from the club in this area.

They have a different aura—a dangerous one at that.

I sucked in a breath.

They're huge—not in a fat kind of sense, but more of a taller, more muscular, and very intimidating sense.

I look at Cindy wide-eyed, and she grins with lust shining in her dark brown eyes before rushing over to them to seat them. Thank goodness, because I don't think I could do it. I'm not good with the opposite sex as it is because of my parents, but yeah, I'd just make a foul out of myself with them.

I ignore the bikers and keep doing my job when the bell rings to say their food is ready. I look towards Cindy and see her trying to explain the menu for the millionth time to old man Charles, and I curse under my breath. We make eye contact, and I huff because I know we can't even switch. It's against George's policy, and he hates food waiting in the window, so I pull my big girlpanties up and grab their food while sending glares to Cindy, who gives me a pity look, knowing I'm terrible with men, before she glares at the plates in my hands, making me chuckle—she wanted to serve them.

I shake my head before placing one plate in front of the man with black hair, then another down in front of a man who also has black hair but is much darker than the other; he also has 'Pres' on his vest thingy. Then I place the last plate in front of the other man at the table. He has brown hair that's short at the sides and back but has a man bun on top, unlike the other two.

He doesn't look up, focused on his phone, and I breathe a sigh of relief before wringing my hands in front of me.

"Is uh, there anything else you three need?"

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