Chapter 17: _ The Butchery
The butcher turned slowly, and my eyelids bat rapidly when I saw how his huge frame filled the doorway. He had a face chiseled from stone—all hard angles and deep furrows, with a nose that looked like it had been broken in a bar fight and never quite healed right.
This was the kind of man who could snap a person in half with one hand and not lose sleep over it.
He most definitely would not negotiate with me. Now, I hated myself for not improvising on the money from the mysterious benefactor before it was stolen from me.
Whoever they were, I was sure they'd be disappointed in me.
"Buenas tardes. Good afternoon, sir." I managed to whisper, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
"¿Y tú quién eres? Who are you?"
Before I could squeak out a response, one of the men behind me spoke up. "She's Don Diego's omega daughter. The one cursed by the Moon Goddess!"
He announced with smugness—the kind people reserve for something pitiful but mildly amusing—like a three-legged dog trying to catch its tail.
To hell with that clown.
The butcher frowned and his mouth twisted into a scowl—one that seemed like it was permanently etched on his face.
He turned to the men. "¡Cállense y sigan trabajando! Leave her alone; she's not your concern."