I Want You, Obviously

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛

Jordyn's Pov

It's been a few weeks and the winter formal is coming up. The school student-council decided to do it before winter break since most people were planning vacation places, and vacations in general.

I still haven't asked Kamryn to go with me. No particular reason as to why—except for the fact that she's been overly emotional.

Last week Chandler finished the job, and that was the end of Kamryn's ex-boyfriend. He was difficult as hell, but for her, it was worth it.

Flashback:

I just got off the phone with Chandler. I just got out of school, and Kamryn was shopping with Anaya and Summer.

No matter how many times she says she doesn't like shopping; she still goes.

I was in my car driving to the address he told me to meet him at.

When I finally got there, Chandler was exiting his car.

"I'm on a tight schedule, and it took a while for my guys to find him. Hopefully you can crack his stubborn ass."

He gritted while leading me into the big building. He led me to an elevator, and pressed a button to the basement. When the elevator finally opened, I was greeted with a man tied up in a chair.

His back was facing towards the elevator, so he didn't see Chandler and I. He did start struggling in the chair after the elevator dinged.

"Do your worst."

Chandler insisted while walking towards a cabinet that sat in front of, who I assume was Brian.

He opened the cabinet, and I was faced with dozens of weapons.

From knives, to guns, to any melee weapon you can think of. They were neatly spread, clean, and sleek.

I decided to grab a knife and finally face Brian. He was glaring at me with a smirk.

"Why am I here?"

His question was beyond dumb, so I just looked at him blankly.

"Leave Kamryn alone."

I warned him while twisting the knife in my hand—I was fighting the urge to stab him, but my reaction depended on his response.

"I can't believe I'm here because of that—bitch."

He grumbled under his breath.

I turned around and grabbed a throwing knife, and you guessed it—I threw the knife at his chest. He yelled in pain, but I didn't care; one thing he's not about to do, is call her out of her name.

"Did you put your hands on her?"

I asked him while pushing the knife deeper. He continued yelling and spat on me.

I then pulled out the knife and stuck it into his stomach.

"I won't ask again—answer the question and don't spit on me ever again."