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11
Saint
ToriworkingatWaffleHouse was total bullshit. The Strip was my spot, and I didn’t want her there any more than I wanted her in our favorite breakfast joint. The Awful Waffle was ours, yet there she was, dancing around in the uniform, which had never looked attractive on any other worker, and a goddamn apron making my day even fucking worse.
I swear I was beginning to believe I was seriously cursed. First, Tori came back into my life like a fucking cyclone—uprooting every dark memory I had buried and ripping down the walls I had built to protect myself.
Then she was everywhere, and I found myself trying to help her more than I should. Keeping her away from Joker, ensuring she had groceries and money, and then ensuring her drunk ass got home okay. I even went so far as to get her friend home. After all of that, I deserved some good sunshine, but instead, I kept getting more Tori. She devastated me.
She returned to our table even though Joker had told her we wanted another server, with a fake smile on her pouty lips. “Sorry, guys. You’re stuck with me,” she said, pulling her notebook from her apron and waiting for our order.
“No one else works in this fucking place?” Joker asked, tossing his menu across the table in her direction.
“Yes, but it just so happens I’m the only one taking orders right now. So you can order what you want so I can get it for you or leave. Up to you?”
“Why are you even here?” he asked the one question I wanted an answer to.
What happened at The Huddle? One minute, she was working every time I sent someone in with a ridiculous tip for her, and the next, she was never there. It wasn’t like I could ask her since I wasn’t supposed to even know she worked at The Huddle.
“I’m working,” she answered, obviously as annoyed with us as we were with her. “I recommend the All-Star Special. It comes with eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, sausage, ham, toast, and a side waffle.”
She wasn’t even looking at us. She didn’t want us there any more than we wanted her there. We probably knew the menu better than she did, but we stared back at her like she was lost, which technically she was. She didn’t belong there, and she needed to go. I didn’t want to find myself stuck between her and my best friend again, and I knew if she stayed on at Waffle House, that was precisely what was going to happen.
She managed to wrangle an order out of us and then left us.
“Why can’t we get rid of this bitch?” Joker asked, gulping his sweet tea.
“I don’t understand the big issue,” Crow said.
“Her dad’s the dude who blew my pops away,” Joker said casually, shrugging as if the loss of his father was no big deal.
It wasn’t a big deal, and Crow and I both knew it.
“You mean the one who went to prison for it?” Crow asked with a lifted brow.
He wasn’t stupid. We had never openly said it, but Crow knew Joker was the one who blew his father’s head off.
I nodded instead of answering.
Crow chuckled, the sound coming out harsh and rough. He rarely spoke, much less laughed.
“No wonder you want her gone,” Crow muttered, snorting again.
Joker and I paused at the sounds coming from Crow and looked at each other before we burst into laughter.
“Fuck both of y’all with a cracked glass dildo,” Crow said.
“That sounds hot,” Joker responded, waggling his eyebrows.
“Fucking sicko,” I said, tossing my straw wrapper at him.
“Stop fucking around and let’s figure out this resupply issue,” Crow said, setting his drink down.
Jonah, our usual supplier, had gotten popped and was looking at doing time. The Border Lords had something to do with it. He wouldn’t be in jail long, but we were dry and needed product for our buyers, and we needed it yesterday.
“I say we raid the station where they’re storing Jonah’s shit. We can pay him later,” Joker suggested.
“The police station?” I asked.
