Page 7 of Vengeful Devotion
I look up at the man. He looks too big for the booth he’s sitting in. His beer gut pushed up against the table. He smells greasier than the burgers in the diner.
I muster up a polite smile. “I’m not.”
“That’s a shame, honey.”
“What can I get you to eat?”
“Just give me some country fried steak and gravy.”
“Anything else?”
“A soda.”
“Great. I’ll get this put in and be right back with your drink.”
I can feel his eyes on me as I walk away, and I hate it. But what can I do? I learned a long time ago that I’m nothing but a pawn in this world.
Nothing but a weak woman who is too much trouble to be anything but a warm body.
It’s Lonny’s voice I hear in my head. It’s always his voice. Tearing me down, making sure I know just how useless I am.
I tear the paper off my pad and lay it on the counter. “Here you go, Tommy. Country fried steak and gravy.”
“That one is popular today. I’ll have it out in ten.”
“Thanks,” I say turning to fill the glass before carrying it back to the customer.
“Here you go,” I say, setting the glass on the table in front of him. “Your food will be right out.”
I walk away before he can make another asinine comment. I’m barely back behind the counter before the damn bell rings again. I’m surprised I can hear it with how loud the diner is. Aggie was being modest when she called this a lunch rush.
“It’s busy here today,” a familiar voice says.
I look up to see the woman I ran into on my second day in Vegas standing in front of me. Only today, she’s wearing a smile and has a younger man with her.
She smiles. “Hi. It’s nice to see you again.”
“Hi.”
The word comes out a little more emotional than I mean it to. I take a deep breath. There’s something about this woman that makes me want to spill my guts, but I know better than that.
“Can we just sit anywhere?”
“Yeah. Pick a spot and I’ll be right over.”
“Great. Thanks.”
The man narrows his eyes, looking around the room like he expects to find a camera crew or someone waiting to jump out at him.
I follow them to their booth, letting them sit down before I hand over the menus.
“I’ll give you two a minute.”
“That’s unnecessary,” the man says; his voice hard. “Two burgers, two vanilla shakes. Like always.”
“She’s new, Warren. Relax.”
She places a manicured hand on his arm. The man sits back in the booth, but he’s nothing close to relaxed. I watch him run his shaky hands through what little hair he has on his buzzed head.
