Page 50 of Freed By Wrath

Halloween night unlocked something inside her. She stopped apologizing for taking up space. Now? She bites back.

“You should be washing dishes, you bitch,” the man slurs. “I told you I wanted a table where I could watch the game.”

Valerie folds her hands behind her back and smiles. Not warmly. Dangerously.

“And I told you this is a restaurant, not your living room.” Her voice stays perfectly even. “That’s the only table available.”

She gestures toward the back corner. “Take it.”

The man’s face reddens.

“Or don’t. Either way, you’ll stop wasting my time.”

He takes a threatening step forward, but Valerie doesn’t move an inch.

“If you’d rather argue,” she says pleasantly, “I can save us both some time and call my boss.” She tilts her head. “Or the police.” A beat. “I’m happy with either option.”

“Fuck you. I’m leaving.”

“Good riddance.” She smiles, and waves, and a laugh releases from my throat.

She hears me, winks, then glances at her watch, immediately signaling she’s gonna go wrap her things up.

My eyes move away from her to the television when the headline on the news is—“Wrath or Rash? The perfume that destroyed Serena Watkins’ reputation.”

Oh, sweet, sweet karma.

This specific situation unraveled about two weeks after Halloween. Apparently one of the fixatives in Serena’s perfume formula was triggering allergic reactions—rashes, some swelling, and god knows what more.

It resulted in multiple hospitalizations and immediate lawsuits following.

Serena’s lost her reputation, yes, and a lot of money, but that’s not what ended her publicly. No, no.

We got the call at eleven-forty, me and Isaac both on shift.

Imagine my surprise when I’m called to an altercation where Daniel Cross was the victim, and Serena was the attacker?

You read that right.

She had a temper tantrum and publicly hit him.

Crazy bitch.

On the bright side, I was the one putting her in handcuffs and taking her to the station.

What a funny afternoon it was.

“Where’s my kiss?”

I feel her before I see her—arms coming around me from behind, chin hooking over my shoulder, the warmth of her cutting straight through the November cold. I turn fast enough that she laughs, and I bring my mouth to hers before the sound finishes.

“Missed you,” I say against her lips.

“You saw me this morning.”

“Still missed you.”

She pulls back just enough to look at me, that expression on her face that means she thinks I’m ridiculous and doesn’t entirely hate it. “I need to say goodbye to Olivia and then I’m ready.”