The Devil's Daughter (Devil's Right Hand MC #4)

Chapter 1

Chrissy's POV 

~Present Day~ 

I fucking hate work. 

I have no earthly desire to be here, at this piece of shit gas station in the middle of nowhere selling beer to blue-collar men or underage minors with a good fake ID, but here the fuck I am. It's 8 pm on a Saturday and I'm here instead of anywhere else. God, if we didn't need the extra money there would be skid marks in the parking lot I'd leave so fast.

"Excuse me,"  a middle-aged lady with a weird choppy bob haircut and a little kid on her hip says as she approaches the counter.

"Yeah," I answer, annoyance clear in my voice. I know she is about to tell me something stupid, I can feel it.

"My little pookie bear may have spilled a slushy over there," she says as she pinches her kid's cheeks.

Pookie bear? God, I hate these people.

I don't even bother to look behind me at the slushy station. I know it's a fucking war zone because I now notice red stains all over the kid's face and hands. "The mop is in the corner," I respond as I point to the old dirty bucket I filled a few minutes ago.

"Um, why are you telling me that?" She asks with a condensing laugh. If this lady wants to be a Karen, I can guarantee she has met her match.

"Because your kid made the mess, so you're going to clean it," I state as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"No, I believe that's your job," she smirks. Oh, so she's one of those people. The kind that thinks she is above all of the working folks. The kind that thinks service industry workers are below her.

"You think it's my job to clean up after your kid? I make eight bucks an hour to run this whole fucking store and you think I should have to clean up a sticky mess just because you don't know how to parent your kid? Poor parenting on your part sure as hell doesn't equal more work on my part."

Her jaw hangs open as she begins to speak a few times but stops herself every time. I stunned a Karen silent, I didn't know that could be done.

"I need your manager's number," she finally demands as the little boy on her hip starts crying. The last thing I need is a screaming spoiled toddler in my store. That will be the thing that breaks what little sanity I have left and I'll blow the whole store up, you'll see me on the news. 

"Baby girl, if he could fire me I would've been gone months ago but nobody else wants to work here for pocket change," I scoff with a laugh. "But here it is." I hand her a post-it note with my store manager's number on it. I keep at least three of these behind the counter while I'm working because I know I'll need them. I'm not one to just bend over like my other coworkers.

"Well I have never," she scoffs in disbelief. She's never had to clean up her own messes? Or been held accountable for her own shit?

Just as I am about to point to the mop bucket, her kid starts having an ever-loving meltdown. He struggles against her as she sits him down and he starts rolling around on my nasty ass floor as he screams and kicks his feet. 

Breathe in. 

You can't walk out of the store, you need the job. 

Breathe out. 

You can't set the place on fire, that'd be very illegal. 

God, Mama always tells me to breathe when I get overwhelmed but breathing isn't fixing this. "Just take him out," I snap as I finally look back and see red slushy pooled on the floor, smeared on all of my cooler doors, and napkins strung all over the place.