Page 108 of The Blood we Crave

A man clearly beneath her in means, yet she bends for him like a sad, little piece of taffy, and that fresh taste of anger is quick to fill my throat.

“It’s not, sweetheart,” he sneers, “but this is a restaurant, and it’s needed for paying customers, make sense?”

With shyness and obedience, a bit too fluid for my liking, she pushes the chair back to its place. But my hand snatches the back of it, curling around the cool metal and holding it there.

The only person she should ever bow to is me. My little pet needs a lesson in owning who she is, and quickly, because I refuse to witness her bend to any man but me.

“Are we not paying customers?” I say firmly, my tone steady as I stare up at the man sporting a manager tag.

His eyes widen slightly, shocked by my interruption. I’m sure he was expecting to deal with the explosive personality of Rook or even a harsh glare from Alistair, one of my companions known for confrontation.

But I can see he was not expecting to deal with me.

We all know this isn’t about seating. It has everything to do with measly town folk trying to take a stand against the big bad wolves that prowl around doing as they please.

“Of course.” He clears his throat. “But we get a little busier during this time. Someone could need—”

“Does anyone else need this chair?” I ask loudly, my voice echoing in the diner’s stillness. No one moves, not even a single gasp. Just steady quiet.

When I look back at the manager—Josh, as his tag reads—his face is the color of a fire hydrant, his fists balled at his sides.

“It’s company policy,” he insists, putting up much more fight than I expected. “She can’t have that seat.”

I nod, a smile lifting at the corners of my lips. I release the chair, pushing myself to a standing position before stepping out of the booth. I take my time to button the front of my suit before I encroach into Josh’s space.

My frame dominates his.

Not just in height either.

“Tell me no again,” I bait him.

“I—” he stutters, barely able to look me in the eyes, frantically searching around him for someone to aid him but finding no one willing to keep him out of my path.

“If she wants every chair in this trash diner, she will have it,” I say. “If I want to buy every square inch of land this dump sits on, I will. Just to let my friend burn you alive inside of it.”

Josh’s face becomes a sickly green color, and if he even thinks about throwing up on me, I will remove his spine and use it as a scarf.

My hand regrips the chair, spinning it around so it is open for Lyra to sit on. The metal scrapes across the cheap floor as I lean my face an inch closer to the man who has my full attention.

“Make sense?” I edge.

He swallows, carefully debating his next words before saying, “Yes, sir. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

That should be enough. If I were someone else, I would have let him go, pride bruised, and tail tucked between his legs.

Except I’m a sadistic man, and breaking men who think they own the world is my favorite pastime. I live for it.

“It’s not me you owe an apology to,” I correct, looking over at Lyra, who is staring at me with a blank expression on her face. I flick my eyes to the seat, motioning for her to take it.

She chews the inside of her cheek, silently obeying me. I step behind her and the chair, pushing it into the table where she had originally intended it to be.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, for the confusion. It was my mistake.” He loses a breath. “Will there be anything else?”

“We are—”

“Cherry Coke. Do you think you can manage that without any confusion?” I interrupt Lyra once again, watching Josh nod his head and practically run in the opposite direction of our table.

“Was that necessary?” Lyra whispers, her face still red with embarrassment.