♡ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴀʏ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ♡

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(Third person POV)

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" The police officer scolded as the prisoner he held struggled against his handcuffs. "Listen, kid, you're goin' on trial. You're gonna be locked up for a long time, so I'd suggest you get comfy."

Jonathan swore under his breath as the cop twisted the handcuffs over his wrists tighter. This was all because of her. She belonged to him, yet here she was getting passed around like a casserole at potluck.

"Easy on the kid, Greg. He's only seventeen." The cop's partner, who was clearly a rookie, said.

I'm eighteen, twerp.

"Don't tell me how to do my job, Haddock." The older cop snapped. "If only you knew the hell this kid's put me through."

He shoved him into the cop car aggressively, Jonathan protesting in thrashing and grunts before the door was slammed shut.

Jonathan watched the two of them take their seats in the car in front of him. If it weren't for the metal bracelets around his wrists, he would have grabbed the metal grate that separated him from them and shaken it. Maybe he could scare the rookie driver good enough that he would crash the car and kill them all.

The older cop turned towards Jonathan. "Comfortable back there, kid?"

"Sure," Jonathan sneered as he kicked at the grate in front of him.

"I was wondering when the usual attitude was gonna kick in." The cop smirked before turning back.

Neither of the officers talked to Jonathan for the rest of the ride.

And Jonathan didn't mind. He was too angry to talk back to them anyways. Not that he would.

Cary, Caroline, Caroline Curtis. His ex-girlfriend and now a loose swine of a girl who was going around pulling her pants down for some dweeb. He didn't even know who it was, and that was the worst part. If he knew, he would call one of his buddies to see if he could straighten him out, teach him a lesson.

Who was Jonathan kidding, they'd probably screw up the job anyways. He'd learned a long time ago that if you wanted to get something done, and done right, you do it yourself.

He'd just have to wait until he was out of the cooler.

But he wasn't just going after him, oh no. He was going after her. He could've killed her that day if it wasn't for one of those kids running after him holding a knife — the dark-haired kid with a scar on his face. He'd have a bone to pick with him, too.

He would've stayed to fight, but he had left his knife at the Dingo that day, like an idiot. He wouldn't have killed her that day, but he could've. He didn't know it then, but he could've.

He could still see the look of fear in her eyes, that look that made her teal eyes as wide as the ocean. He smiled. That look gave him control, and he relished that feeling.

She got lucky that day, but he decided that the day he got out of the cooler, he was going to finish the job.

Yet, thinking of her with another guy made Jonathan's breath become heavy. Another's hands on her body, another's lips on hers, another to look into her bright teal eyes...

His anger built up to such a flame that it seemed to be enveloping him, the flames licking every inch of his body as his handcuffs rattled as he shook with violent anger. He decided then that he would make sure he would be the only guy to ever touch her.

And, for the first time in a while, Jonathan had murder on his mind.