Imagines Book 1 |Stray Kids|

Hitman's Son •yang jeongin•

Genre: action(?)

Warning: (gun use in this chapter, and *SA*)

Word count: 1.7K

Synopsis: you work as a waitress in the most well-known restaurant. Unbeknownst to you, the restaurant you work at is owned by the most famous hitman in the country.

***

Jazz music was playing in the background over the indistinctive conversations that were being held at each table behind you. It brought a sense of tranquility to you. Until you were quickly reminded that you were a waitress at the most highest star-ranked restaurant in the area.

Oh how your life can go back down to shitty in just one second because of your self-destructive thoughts.

You stood at the bar counter, leaning on your forearms and watching the bartender hand someone their drink. He gave them a smile and turned around, his eyes finding you.

"You're not supposed to be drinking on the job, Miss Waitress," Peter said, walking over to you with a grin on his face as he tossed the towel over his shoulder.

"And you're supposed to be doing your job, not talking to the waitress, Pete," you smiled back at the young boy, leaning over the counter a little more just to push his buttons.

Just as Peter opened his mouth to say something, an older man popped up behind you and was staring at your behind. He had no shame whatsoever. Clearly he should have because he was old enough to be your dad.

You turned around just as you felt his presence behind you. He was dressed in what looked like a cheap tuxedo, but you soon recognized him to be the woman's husband from your previous table. You opened your mouth to say something sarcastic, but held back as your professionalism kicked in.

"Hello sir, are you here for the bar?" you asked in a polite tone, standing up straight as you faced the rather averaged height man.

"I'm actually here for you," the man replied with a creepy, wrinkly smile that flashed his gold tooth.

You furrowed your eyebrows, thinking of what to say. Just as you glanced behind you at Peter for help, you saw him hurriedly making drinks for other rich men and women on the other side of the bar.

Damn it.

"Did I mess up your food order, sir? I could go to the kitchen and get it squared away right this time-"

"No no no," he took a step further. "That's not what I meant,"

You tried backing up, but your spine hit the edge of the countertop. The older man's hands landed on either sides of your waist, sliding even further down to your butt underneath your uniform skirt. He reeked of alcohol.

You squirmed under his hold, not wanting to scream in such a place. You really didn't feel like getting fired. Then again, this man was quite literally groping you at a bar.

"Get off of me," you seethed through your teeth, inhaling his beer breath too deeply. It made you nauseous immediately.

"Come on, I just want some fun-"

"I said get off!" you raised your voice a little louder, trying to pry the strong man off of you.

Then he squeezed your butt, making you slap him across the face. He suddenly let go, holding the side of his face where you just slapped hard. The man didn't say anything and quickly grabbed your shoulders, pushing your body harshly against the bar counter. Nobody even acknowledged what was going on. Not even Peter realized what was happening because he was so immersed in making a margarita.