His Number

Chapter Twelve- IOUs

Hey Guys! Gosh, I'm sorry for the long wait, but everything just got so hectic this past month(with finals and everything), it's been hard to keep everything in track, but hopefully my updates become more regular from now on (: I'll try my best to estimate when the next update will be, just for ya'll!

BUT DANG. 900+ votes? You guys keep amazing me. <3

Pic on the side is of who I'm casting as Charlotte(: Sarah Hyland, whoop whoop!! thanks I_is_chill for it(:

YourLovelyWriter also made me an awesome banner of Charlotte, which is now on Chapter two, if yall wanna check it out(: 

Now ya'll need to help me pick out a Ryder (;

But, anyways, ENJOY, I hope you guys like this chapter(:

Don't forget to vote/comment if you do!

Ps. I've been informed of somebody copying my work and that prompts me to say this--Do NOT copy my work. I didn't ever feel like I needed to post/say that, but now I do, and it makes me angry and sad at the same time. Come on guys, you should know better. Please inform me if you see anything that sounds/looks like any of my works, as that would be greatly appreciated(:

On that note, I hope everyone had a happy holidays, I know I did(:

Enjoy! <3

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Chapter Twelve- IOUs

Ryder Johnson

                “I’m sure there’s another way—,”

                “No,” I interrupted him, my voice straight to the point. “There isn’t. Do exactly what I told you, and you and you’re wife will be out of harm.” He breathed deeply, pausing for a moment. I, on the other hand, wasn’t going to pace myself.

                “Here,” I handed him a pair of sunglasses and a wig. “Put this on.” Then I headed to his office door and checked out the outside through its window, while adjusting my own wig at the same time. Even though it was my job to do this, Weston tended to show up unexpectedly—whether directly or indirectly.

                When I saw that it was all clear I glanced back at Mr. Frank and saw that he didn’t move at all. A little frustrated, I spoke. “Mr. Frank, I would get moving if you want to live to see tomorrow.” And just like that, he seemed to snap out of his daze. But still, he didn’t move, instead, he just stared at me. I let out an aggravated sigh. “Mr. Fr—,”

                “Why?” He asked, interrupting me. I blinked.

                “Why what?”

                “Why are you doing this?” He asked, raising his hand with the wig I gave him up.

                “Why?” I repeated, as if pondering this as well. At first, my thoughts were scattered. Then they went to Faith.

                I looked back at Mr. Frank, a middle-aged man who was too kind for his own good.

                “Why not?” I said. And with that, his face adopted a look of contemplation before a look of understanding.

                Then I started saving his life.

                “Is it done?” His voice was emotionless as it projected into my ear.