Under the Alpha's Protection (Steamy Werewolf Shifter Menage Romance) by Willow Wilde Page A
Authors: Willow Wilde
Ads: Link
run the, like, ten tables in the place, I grabbed my jacket and flew out the door in a teary mess.
And then waltzed straight into the rest of my life.
~
My judgment was impaired, but not from alcohol. After all, I didn’t actually sample my wares, being a good little girl. No, I was impaired by that other incredibly dangerous force – heartbroken fury. I mean, I didn’t really care that I lost my job. Well, actually, that did kind of suck, but more about how shitty my birthday had been. My grandmother had tried her best to improve things, but a last minute surgery by a close, elderly loved one had pulled her attention away a couple of days before. I could see the tears welling up inside her as she had to tell me she was going to miss my birthday, but I was firm that it was just another day to me, that she should see her fallen relative in their time of need.
I’d worked another job for a friend that day, waiting tables at some burger place that was a bit short-staffed. I was somewhat of a regular there, and pretty much knew the menu anyway. It meant a lot of improvising, but I spent 11 AM to 4 PM there – well, actually I was there until about 6 PM, because the night guy didn’t show and they had to find someone else on the fly. That gave me about two hours before fleeing to my next job, and without a car, that was a bit of a drag.
Still, I wound up with about fifty bucks from the morning. Not so bad. Usually my night intake, given how awful the place was on a weekday. Hell, the weekends weren’t that great either.
As I wandered down the city streets, I lost track of how empty they were. Usually, there were at least a few decent lost folks on the pavements, those night owls prowling for a decent time. Not the dangerous ones, just the guys and gals who take to the city at night more than during the sunlit hours. I could respect them. I kind of hated waking up earlier than 2PM as it was.
But I was blissfully ignorant of the total lack of people on the sidewalk as I traipsed about, wandering home. Rubbing the tears from my eyes and cursing my birthday, I ducked down the usual alleyway that connected to the next main street over – and just five minutes from home.
I didn’t see the guy duck out from the shadows. I didn’t really hear him demand my wallet, or snivel out a few threats. I was so bitterly lost in thought, angry about everything, that he had to physically grab my arm before I knew what was even going on.
It was only a brief flash. This classic dreg of humanity was some older guy, obviously a drug addict, sketchy and twitchy as hell. His crazy, rolling eyes were wide as hell. I could distinctly smell a waft of human waste on the guy, the overwhelming, gagging aroma of a guy who frequently pissed himself in his frequent self-medicated comas. His clothes were old, torn, stained with his filth, and he was wrapped in some frayed, disgusting remnant of what might have passed for a trenchcoat under better days.
“I said, gimme your cash!” He snarled in a spat of thrown saliva. He’d ripped that maw of decay open long enough to reveal only a third of the teeth he was supposed to have, and the remainder didn’t look exactly promising. “Give. Me. Yer. Fucking. Money. Do I have to spell this shit out or somethin’, you dumb bitch?”
Something about the day crumbled inside me. It was as if the dam of my wrath had splintered apart, and the steady, beating wave of mounting fury flew out from behind it. It burst over the sides to absolutely pummel this filthy man-shaped stain of humanity with every ounce of rage that I had.
“Get your fucking hands off of me,” I growled with menace in my eyes. Billowing with anger, I struggled to pull myself free from him, but I was drained from the exhaustion of the day.
“You fuckin’ bitch! You stupid, fuckin’ bitch!” He growled back, holding my arm with surprising strength for what was basically a walking
And then waltzed straight into the rest of my life.
~
My judgment was impaired, but not from alcohol. After all, I didn’t actually sample my wares, being a good little girl. No, I was impaired by that other incredibly dangerous force – heartbroken fury. I mean, I didn’t really care that I lost my job. Well, actually, that did kind of suck, but more about how shitty my birthday had been. My grandmother had tried her best to improve things, but a last minute surgery by a close, elderly loved one had pulled her attention away a couple of days before. I could see the tears welling up inside her as she had to tell me she was going to miss my birthday, but I was firm that it was just another day to me, that she should see her fallen relative in their time of need.
I’d worked another job for a friend that day, waiting tables at some burger place that was a bit short-staffed. I was somewhat of a regular there, and pretty much knew the menu anyway. It meant a lot of improvising, but I spent 11 AM to 4 PM there – well, actually I was there until about 6 PM, because the night guy didn’t show and they had to find someone else on the fly. That gave me about two hours before fleeing to my next job, and without a car, that was a bit of a drag.
Still, I wound up with about fifty bucks from the morning. Not so bad. Usually my night intake, given how awful the place was on a weekday. Hell, the weekends weren’t that great either.
As I wandered down the city streets, I lost track of how empty they were. Usually, there were at least a few decent lost folks on the pavements, those night owls prowling for a decent time. Not the dangerous ones, just the guys and gals who take to the city at night more than during the sunlit hours. I could respect them. I kind of hated waking up earlier than 2PM as it was.
But I was blissfully ignorant of the total lack of people on the sidewalk as I traipsed about, wandering home. Rubbing the tears from my eyes and cursing my birthday, I ducked down the usual alleyway that connected to the next main street over – and just five minutes from home.
I didn’t see the guy duck out from the shadows. I didn’t really hear him demand my wallet, or snivel out a few threats. I was so bitterly lost in thought, angry about everything, that he had to physically grab my arm before I knew what was even going on.
It was only a brief flash. This classic dreg of humanity was some older guy, obviously a drug addict, sketchy and twitchy as hell. His crazy, rolling eyes were wide as hell. I could distinctly smell a waft of human waste on the guy, the overwhelming, gagging aroma of a guy who frequently pissed himself in his frequent self-medicated comas. His clothes were old, torn, stained with his filth, and he was wrapped in some frayed, disgusting remnant of what might have passed for a trenchcoat under better days.
“I said, gimme your cash!” He snarled in a spat of thrown saliva. He’d ripped that maw of decay open long enough to reveal only a third of the teeth he was supposed to have, and the remainder didn’t look exactly promising. “Give. Me. Yer. Fucking. Money. Do I have to spell this shit out or somethin’, you dumb bitch?”
Something about the day crumbled inside me. It was as if the dam of my wrath had splintered apart, and the steady, beating wave of mounting fury flew out from behind it. It burst over the sides to absolutely pummel this filthy man-shaped stain of humanity with every ounce of rage that I had.
“Get your fucking hands off of me,” I growled with menace in my eyes. Billowing with anger, I struggled to pull myself free from him, but I was drained from the exhaustion of the day.
“You fuckin’ bitch! You stupid, fuckin’ bitch!” He growled back, holding my arm with surprising strength for what was basically a walking
Similar Books
The Evil That Men Do: FBI Profiler Roy Hazelwood's Journey Into the Minds of Sexual Predators
Stephen G. Michaud, Roy Hazelwood
