Chapter One: Work
Jemma Hart worked at a local restaurant called “Martha’s Eats.” It was always a busy place. Truckers, strangers from out of town, humans, and wolves ventured into this place. It certainly was not for those who are faint of heart.
In this town, they had strange customs and didn’t trust outsiders, who were wary. It all started with rabid dogs killing local folks with old totem poles hanging up with old dog skins. These were different from werewolves; they had markings and, from what she gathered, some called them pure bloods. The mystical beings before the wolves.
Yes, there were wolves and purebloods, but no one was rabid, and there were rules and regulations. If a group refuses to listen, the Mayor calls their pack master to keep order and peace in town.
Jemma had her own story, and only one friend, Anna Watson, knew a bit of the backstory.
Jemma has been so traumatized that she doesn’t trust anyone other than Anna and is wary of any male affection. Many nights, she had to grin and bear the comments and the environment of whistles. This was the life at a restaurant serving local truckers, and the tips were decent, at least.
In the corner booth, they were loud, voices, whistles calling, four truckers with those strange tattoos that Jemma had seen from time to time. They were a bunch of men who made her wary.
Anna: “Watch where you venture in; try to stay in your section. These truckers are extra rowdy today. Purebloods are hunting for someone, apparently.”
Anna nodded toward the corner end booth with red vinyl seats. “That’s what I heard. They’ve been asking questions all afternoon, nagging staff, and causing some issues with female employees.”
Jemma: “What are they hunting, or who are they specifically hunting for”
Jemma glanced back at the four men sitting. They were still laughing loudly, their voices carrying across the restaurant. One of them leaned back against the booth, his tattoo disappearing beneath the sleeve of his shirt.
A young man went up to the old yellow vintage jukebox and started to play the Joan Jett song “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll.”
Anna shrugged. “They just said someone, but they weren’t entirely specific about any name. I can keep my ears open. Be careful of these men, they look like bikers who never bring any good to a town.”
Jemma: “That really gives us a narrow selection. Saying someone as a description, that really tells us anyone in town can fit that description.”
A sharp whistle rang out from the table across the section, piercing through the rock music. Anna and Jemma were by the counter waiting for their order to come up.
Anna gave her a knowing look, “Jemma, you need to be very careful with these men. They are not ones who would understand female boundaries.”
Jemma: “What is it? You are giving me that look.”
One of the local truckers slams his mug, which is filled with foaming beer. It echoes on the table, but it isn’t aggressive. He is enjoying his time. He comes here whenever he makes a delivery and stays at the small motel pit stop.
Anna: “Try not to get too curious around here tonight. This group makes no contributions to the community. Some girls like you get targeted to go behind the alley.”
Jemma let out a tired sigh and picked up the plates waiting on the counter. “I wasn’t planning to be too curious about them. What I want to do is stay as far away from them as humanly possible.”
Anna: “Make sure when your shift is done for the day to let one of us know, the manager Todd, me, or another employee. That way, we can find someone who gets off at the same time to go home together in sets for safety. So that we have no funny business from this group.”
The place smelled like homemade comfort food, such as meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and country-fried steaks. Bitter beer filled the air, leaving a stickiness on the floor, and that was why many employees wore squeaky rubber non-slip soles.
Jemma: “I have tables to wait upon, and curiosity does not pay my bills. Apartments are not cheap, and the cost of living increases daily.”
Anna smiled slightly. “Good, keep it that way, and while they are here, we cover each other’s backs. Especially the females who live by themselves, since they are the most vulnerable here.”
Jemma carried the heavy serving platter toward the tables. She kept her eyes cast down as she passed the truckers. She learned a long time ago that staring only encouraged people. The less attention she gave them, the better off she was.
One of the truckers called out to Jemma, “Hey, sweetheart, what is your name?”
