Malcolm (Henchmen MC Next Generation 2)

If there was anywhere else I could work doing the shift I needed, I would have done it. Literally anything else. I even had an alert set up that would send me jobs in the area that were for the overnight shift on the off-chance I could escape working under Luis's tyrannical rule.

I saw his car in the lot as I parked, needing to take a few slow, deep breaths before climbing out, and moving inside.

"Oh, honey!" Zara, the afternoon server, said as soon as I walked in. I liked Zara. She was a maternal figure with bright red hair and a lot of eyeliner, but a heart of gold. The morning server, Abby, who relieved me reminded me of Luis's evil female twin. But Zara? Zara was the bright spot in my day. "You shouldn't be here!" she said, rushing forward, reaching to place a hand gently under my chin.

"I have to," I said, shrugging. "You know how it is."

"Don't I ever," she said, sighing. "Still. Maybe I can take tomorrow's shift for you. Give you all the tips, mind you," she said. "Just so you can get a break."

I could not get all weepy at work. But Zara was making it difficult.

"That is a really sweet offer, but I promise, I'm okay. I'll be even more okay tomorrow once some of the swelling goes down. But thank you."

"That cheap bastard could have prevented this," Zara hissed as she pulled out her server book and started ringing up an order. "One busboy. What would that cost him? A hundred dollars a night. While he rides around in a fucking Range Rover and crying the blues about money. I wish Don was here," she said, referencing the cook I worked with every night. "Because I would have a word with him about letting you take the trash out."

"Zara, it's okay," I said, reaching out to pat her hand.

"It's not okay to—"

"Night girl," Luis called, making both of us jump. "My office," he added, waving a hand toward the back.

Luis was in his late fifties with a decent head of brown hair, brown eyes, and a somewhat forgettable face. He was tall and the gangly side of thin with a fashion sense that ran toward "retiree on vacation," meaning, you know, no fashion sense at all. Today's Hawaiian shirt was a baby blue with white hyacinth flowers paired with long tan cargo shorts.

"I had the cops up my ass all night," he grumbled as I moved into his office, slowly lowering down into one of the seats as he moved behind his desk.

He had the cops up his ass.

That was what he started the conversation with. Not asking if I was okay. Not trying to reassure me that this kind of thing would never happen again.

It was all about his inconvenience.

"Yeah, I had to talk to them a lot too," I said, refusing to apologize for his so-called inconvenience when I had a swollen-shut eye and a huge bump on my head that was causing a pretty wicked headache under the harsh fluorescent lights in the building.

"And all of this could have fucking been avoided if you'd been paying attention."

"I'm sorry... what?" I asked, too shocked even to be offended at first.

"Not paying attention to your surroundings."

"I was trying to throw the bags into the dumpster."

"Well, if you have so much trouble with it, maybe I should find someone who could do it more easily."

"Are you... are you threatening to fire me?" I asked, feeling something all but unfamiliar flood my system. Rage. This was what rage felt like.

I'd always been someone who could look on the bright side of things. I tried to keep optimistic even in hard times. I rarely had a reason to feel genuine anger.

But this man threatening to replace me because I'd gotten assaulted while doing my job?

Yeah, it was bringing something primal out of me.

"I'm just saying..." he said in that slick, sleezy voice of his.

"Hm," I said, finding that the anger was making me nervier than usual. "You know what I heard? That getting assaulted while doing your job qualifies you for worker's compensation. I'd much rather be here earning my money, even in as much pain as I am in. But if I need to, I can look into filing a claim. I'm just saying."

When it came to men like Luis, I guess you had to hit him where it hurt. And for him, it was his pocket book.

His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking there because he knew he couldn't say anything else, provoke me anymore. Because then he would be dealing with a whole new problem.

"Go clock in before you're late," he snapped, waving an arm, dismissing me.

I didn't even pause.

The less time I had to spend with him, the better.

"Everything okay?" Zara asked as she hauled a tray up onto her shoulder.