“Starling, you belong to The Elite now, it’s an honor,” one of the others says, his expression so solemn I almost take him seriously.

“The Elite. Yeah, sure,” I smile sardonically. “Which one are you again?”

“Evan,” he smirks.

“Ahhh yeah, you’re the science lab defiler.”

“Excuse me,” he chokes out a laugh.

I wave my hand dismissively. “You were spotted having sex in one of the science labs. Look, I really need to get back to work.”

“Clay,” Sebastian says, looking to the guy who is sitting on the other side of the table.

“Got it,” Clay nods, rising from his seat and striding toward the door into the kitchen and staff area.

“What’s he doing? Why is he going back there?”

“He’s advising your boss that you no longer work here.”

Panic swells in my throat. “He can’t do that. I don’t understand, what did I do? It’s the first day of school.”

The hand that’s holding my wrist loosens and he moves to cup my cheek, his thumb rubbing gently back and forth. “You didn’t do anything, little bird, but you’re mine now and I want you with me, not working here in this hovel.”

His voice is so calm, so reasonable, even as he’s telling me that I’m his now. I mean, what does that even mean? His?

“I don’t know you,” I breathe.

“That’s okay, I know you and we have time for you to learn all you need to know about me.”

The door to the back of the restaurant swings open and Clay strides through, smiling widely with my backpack in his hand.

His reappearance drags me from the haze Sebastian’s touch has put me under and I turn away from his hand, forcing him to move. “He has my stuff. Why does he have my stuff?”

“Because we’re leaving,” he says simply, gesturing to the guy who’s blocking my exit from the booth.

The guy—Hunter, I’m assuming as apparently the other two are Clay and Evan—slides out and I quickly follow him, rushing to grab my backpack from Clay and pulling it tightly into my chest.

“Here’s your final check, your boss added a month’s pay as severance,” Clay smiles.

Breathing becomes hard as the air around me seems to become thinner and less effective. I need this job; my mom and I need this money. She doesn’t even realize she’s taking it from me, but at least with me contributing, the lights don’t get turned off and there’s food in the cupboards.

Eyeing these awful boys who have come in here and turned my life upside down, I dart past them and into the kitchen, ignoring Esteban, the chef, who calls to me as I head for the manager’s office. The door is open and Henry is sitting behind his worn, chipped, wooden desk.

“Henry, what’s going on? I need this job.”

His face is pale, his normally sallow skin almost white as his eyes stare unseeingly at the wall.

“Henry,” I call his name again.