Claiming Rosa (Book 2) Jacobs Broken Mercenaries

Prologue

“Ten more minutes, I just checked with the cook.”
I’m going to quit this fucking job! Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, Rosa. Maybe one day it’ll be true.
I go back to the kitchen to see if Dairy the douche has decided to resume his godly duties. I’ve never met a cook so full of himself yet so shitty at his job. Why do people even eat here? I won’t even eat here for free and I’m starving.
He smokes more than he cooks; the oil hasn’t been changed in months and his idea of cleaning the grill is scraping it. I mean, come on, what kind of cook doesn’t write dates on their food?
But what do I know, I’m just a server. I’m sure his dad would be so proud. I didn’t even like working here when he was alive. Now that his son took over. I can barely tolerate it, but this is my life. If I want to keep the shitty apartment, then I have to work in this shitty restaurant.
I fill water and coffee, avoiding the cantankerous truck driver and whacked out hooker. They started pestering me for their food not even ten minutes after I rang in their order. I remember the duo and I’m a real bitch to tables that don’t tip. Tips are part of my survival and you don’t screw with that and expect a smile with speedy service.
I’ve been on my own since I was thirteen. My mom is an alcoholic and my dad was abusive to both of us. Dad is dead. He gambled his way into a death sentence and my mom is on her way. God only knows where she is. Probably getting her teeth kicked in by some Joe blow with bad self-esteem and mommy issues. After her third abusive boyfriend, I couldn’t deny the pattern and left. I tried to get her sober, but the booze had its hooks in her and wouldn’t let go.
I hear a ding. When I deliver the grease soaked burger and poutine, I assume the fries are for her, but he glares at me, taking both plates. What a dick! I fill her root beer and clean my last table, collecting the measly two-dollar tip. Cheapskates, it’s not even five percent. I make sure I memorize their faces so I can serve them accordingly, if they ever come back.
Ernie’s Grub & Brew diner is in a truck stop parking lot. I’ve been working here under the table since I was fourteen. Ernie hired me because he felt sorry for me. I stayed because I was desperate. Nothing has changed. It’s always been trashy, it’s just gotten worse over the years and I’m still just as desperate. This Sunday will mark my eighth year at this dump. I’m twenty-two years old with no money, no prospects and no future. Some days I don’t know what keeps me going, habit?
“Your cleaning and locking up tonight! I’ve got plans.”
I look at him with complete disbelief written all over my face.
“Sure thing boss, whatever you say.”
I curl my lip, eyeing his protruding belly that’s covered in the numerous things he’s dropped on it while engorging himself between smoke breaks. I know better than to push too far.
Dairy’s nothing like his father. He’s convinced he’s king shit of turd island. He would fire me just for spite. I give this place a year with Dairy running it before it shuts down, and I don’t like those odds; I need this job to survive.
I’m not messing with the kitchen. He may have me at his beck and call, but I refuse to do his job. After cleaning the last table and stacking the dishes in the industrial washer, I hit start. Finally, im done and exhausted. I routinely shut the lights off and lock up, slipping the keys in my purse.
My first indication should have been the car parked two stalls from mine. With no customers in the restaurant, the parking lot should have been empty. The overnight rigs along the side of the highway are the only vehicles that stay overnight. If only I had noticed. Things may have turned out differently.
“Don’t move and do as I say. Then I won’t have to gut you like a fish, got it?”
Fuck! I can feel the cold metal press against my throat. My heart is beating so fast it’s hard to catch my breath.
“My wallets in my purse, take it!”
He takes my purse, throwing it in his open window. I wait for him to leave, already mourning the measly forty-two dollars that was going toward my utility bill. When I realize he’s not letting me go but dragging me to his car, I panic. Screams tear from my throat, only to die out when muffled by his firm grip on my mouth. He puts the knife away and, with his other hand, pulls my hair in a painful grasp. When he opens the broken door through the window, his fingers loosen. I seize the opportunity, biting his hand hard enough to taste blood and jab my heel into his foot. He howls in pain. I don’t make it two steps before I feel the impact to the back of my head. Everything goes black as I fall to the ground…