CLANN Companions 1: Jordan
Seemed like the only thing that could improve Jordan’s mood was imagining that stupid grin on Michael’s stupid face plastered onto the punching bag before her. Sweat flew as her barrage of punches and kicks pounded the bag, yet that incessant grin never faded.
Think you’re so cool? Jordan placed two quick jabs at his sternum, which would have bent him over for lack of breath, then smashed his nose in with her dominant hand. Think you can talk like that to me, a Peace Keeper?
“Don’t worry,” Michael had said on the first day, voice oozing with mockery, “I’ll get whatever you can’t handle.”
Jordan huffed as she threw more punches. That grin morphed; now pitying eyes looked down on her.
“You really think he won’t run away if you go charging in like a twister?” Michael had said after she’d first told him how they were going to storm their mark’s – a thug who loaned tremendous sums of credits to people then extorted incredible interest fees – place of work.
Jordan hunkered down, sending a barrage of quicker punches onto his cheeks.
“What?” Michael had said just an hour ago, outside the police station after dropping off the garbage they’d collected, the same unearned, out-of-touch confidence he’d carried himself with all week. “No ‘thank you for your service’ or ‘great job out there’?”
Jordan roared, pivoted on one foot, then threw her back into the next punch. Her core chilled and her skin grew brittle as her right fist glowed a brilliant orange. Jordan’s fist sailed clean through the bag. Jordan blinked, but didn’t move. It took only half a second longer for the lower portion of the punching bag to fall while the rest of it burst into flames.
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Read the rest of this side story here, listen to the narration, or check out the other CLANN Companions 1 stories.