ENFORCER’S REVENGE

CHAPTER SIX

Nick’s POV

I finally managed to peel myself out of bed, every movement slow, deliberate, as though my bones had rusted overnight. My body was still sore, the phantom pain crawling through my muscles like a memory that refused to fade—but my mind felt different. Sharper. Quieter. Too quiet.

The dull ache that had haunted my limbs for days had begun to lift, like storm clouds breaking apart just enough to let the light in. But it wasn’t relief. Not really. What replaced it was worse: an unfamiliar tension vibrating just beneath my skin. A kind of static hum that lived in my veins, soft and low, as though my blood was… whispering. Telling me things I wasn’t ready to hear. Things I might never be ready to understand.

There was an energy coiling inside me—strange, restless, electric. It moved through my muscles like liquid light, pushing against my ribs, tightening behind my eyes. I clenched my jaw and flexed my fingers, trying to ground myself, to feel human again.

But there was nothing human about this.

Nothing natural.

I dragged myself into the bathroom and stared into the mirror. For a long time, I didn’t recognize the reflection staring back. My eyes looked the same—but the man behind them? He was becoming someone else. Someone with power he didn’t ask for. Someone born in pain, shaped by violence, and haunted by a list of names that no longer felt like justice—only necessity.

I turned on the tap and let the water run cold. Bracing. Numbing.

Because the truth was simple.

Whatever was inside me… was waking up.

And it was only a matter of time before I stopped being able to contain it.

The bathroom was quiet, the tiles cold beneath my feet. I twisted the tap, sighing as cool water streamed down my spine. It felt like washing off a storm, but some storms live under the skin. I ran my fingers through my hair, eyes closed, listening.

Then—clatter.

Pots. Pans. Movement downstairs.

Abby.

I stepped out of the shower, brushed my teeth, and towel-dried quickly. A part of me wanted to stay locked away. Hide. Pretend the night hadn’t happened. But the other part—the one she softened—wanted to see her face.

I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, brushed my hair back, and padded down the stairs.

The smell hit me first—warm, buttery pancakes and the faint sweetness of syrup.

“Good morning,” I said, voice low.

She jumped, nearly dropping the spatula. “I-I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, laughing nervously. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

How was I feeling?

I blinked. My throat tightened unexpectedly.

She cared. After everything… she still cared.

“I’m fine,” I said, managing a smile. “Great, in fact.”

I didn’t trust myself to say more. If I stayed there, I might tell her too much. So I excused myself and wandered into the living room, needing space to breathe.

I dropped onto the couch and grabbed the remote, switching on the TV just to drown out my own thoughts.

But the moment the screen lit up—my heart dropped.

A breaking news segment. Abby’s picture on screen.

“Search Still On for Missing Baker’s Daughter.”

“Parents Plead for Her Safe Return.”

“No Leads—Authorities Suspect Abduction.”

My hands clenched.

She’s mine.

Mine to protect.

Mine to keep.

A white-hot rage ignited inside me, flaring with a force I couldn’t control. The remote in my hand began to buzz—literally vibrate with heat. And then—

Light.

A glowing white energy pulsed from my palm, sudden and alive, like lightning bottled beneath my skin. It surged into the plastic of the remote before I could stop it—before I could even process it—sending a crackling current through the device and out into the room.

The television let out a sharp electronic whine. The screen glitched violently—warped colors, fractured pixels, a burst of static—before resetting with a jolt. A bright flash lit up the room as the overhead lights flickered, once… twice… then sputtered into chaos.

The bulbs above me pulsed like they were about to explode.

The sound of electricity danced through the air—sharp, buzzing, angry.

And my hand?

My hand was glowing.

Faint at first, like a candle in a cave, then stronger. Brighter. Brilliant.

White light radiated from my palm, tracing down my fingers like veins of molten energy. It didn’t burn, but I could feel it—alive, writhing, expanding under the surface like it was searching for something to destroy or save.

I froze.

The world around me dimmed, but my hand was still glowing. Still pulsing.

Like it had its own heartbeat. Its own will.

The air smelled like ozone and singed plastic.

A shiver ran down my spine—not from fear, but from recognition.

This wasn’t just an accident.

It was a warning.

Or a signal.

I dropped the remote instantly, and as soon as it left my hand, the glow vanished. The room settled. The static faded.

I stared at my palm in horror, watching as the last threads of light sank into my skin like embers dying.

What the hell was that?

Something inside me had changed. No—something inside me had awakened.

And I didn’t know how long I could keep it caged.

A soft clink startled me. I turned—and there was Abby, setting a tray of pancakes and warm syrup in front of me. Her eyes scanned my face, uncertain.

“A-are you alright? You look a little pale.”

I opened my mouth to explain—but nothing came out. How could I explain something I didn’t understand?

So I just smiled. “I’m fine. Thank you. For breakfast.”

She gave me a small smile and nodded. “Of course,” she said gently, then turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind her.

I sat there, staring down at the food she’d made. The girl I kidn*pped—cooked for me. Worried for me.

And I was glowing. Again.

Something’s wrong. Very wrong.

And I was done running from it.

I needed answers.

I would have to find George.

And soon.

Abby’s POV

I shut the door behind me softly, my hands trembling as I pressed my back to it and slid to the floor.

No. I wasn’t imagining it.

I saw it.

Light—coming out of his palm. Pure, white, electrical. It hit the remote, surged into the TV and the lights, and the whole room came alive with it.

What is he?

What did they do to him?

And what does it have to do with those people on his list?

My mind wouldn’t stop spinning. I needed rest—just a moment to shut it all out. I made my way to my room and collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to pull the covers over me.

Just a nap. Just a moment.

⸻

I wasn’t asleep long.

Something stirred in the back of my mind. A flicker. A flash. The sensation of static brushing against my skin.

My eyes snapped open.

The lights. They were flickering again.

“Nick,” I whispered aloud.

I sat up slowly and crept toward the door. The house was silent—but too silent. Like it was holding its breath.

I stepped into the hallway and glanced around.

Empty.

No footsteps. No sounds.

I went upstairs.

Nick’s door was half open, a faint glow seeping from the gap like light trapped in mist.

I pushed it open—

And froze.

Everything in the room was floating.

The bedside lamp. His shoes. His belts. His shirt. Papers. Pens. A photo frame. All suspended in midair like gravity had given up.

The bed—thankfully—was still grounded. And Nick was on it.

But he was glowing.

His skin shimmered like translucent fire, currents of purple and green running like rivers beneath the surface. His chest rose and fell, lips parted, a soft sound escaping every now and then.

He looked like a dying star.

I rushed forward and reached for his shoulder. “Nick,” I called gently, giving him a soft shake.

Nothing.

“Nick,” I repeated louder, trying to ignore how my heartbeat thundered.

This time, he stirred.

His eyes snapped open—

And I gasped.

His pupils were slitted, catlike. Electric blue. Unhuman. Unmistakable.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

And then—

Something struck the back of my head.

Hard.

Pain exploded through my skull. The room spun, light stretching into spirals, Nick’s face blurring out of focus.

The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me—

Was his hand reaching for me.

~•~

Pain throbbed at the back of my skull, a pounding wave that radiated outward like thunder rolling through bone. My eyes blinked open slowly, the world swaying like it had been yanked from its axis. For a moment, all I could see was light—bright, pulsing, colorless—and then it faded, revealing the ceiling of Nick’s room.

Everything was still.

No floating objects. No crackling electricity. Just silence. Stale and waiting.

I tried to sit up but winced, my head protesting the movement. The hit hadn’t been hard enough to knock me out cold for long, but it left my brain swimming in confusion. Who—or what—had struck me?

Was it him?

A part of me didn’t want to believe it. But another part… remembered his eyes. Those slitted, electric blue eyes that weren’t entirely human.

Was that even Nick?

I turned my head carefully, gaze sweeping the room. He was gone. The bed was empty. The tray I’d brought earlier lay overturned on the floor, the syrup soaked into the carpet, glass shattered.

A low hum filled the air, like something still crackled in the walls.

I pushed myself up and sat on the edge of the bed, breathing through the pain. My fingers instinctively touched the sore spot at the back of my head—tender, but not bleeding.

The door was ajar.

I stood and moved slowly down the hallway. The house was eerily quiet. The kind of quiet that came after a storm. No clatter. No movement.

Just the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.

I descended the stairs one cautious step at a time. The lights in the living room were dim, flickering faintly overhead like dying stars.

That’s when I saw it.

Nick—on his knees in the middle of the living room, both palms pressed against the floor, his back heaving as if he were trying to keep something inside. White-hot light pulsed from beneath his hands, crawling across the hardwood like a living circuit.

“Nick…” I whispered.

He flinched at the sound of my voice.

I took a tentative step forward. “What’s happening to you?”

He didn’t look up. Just let out a ragged breath.

“I tried to hold it in,” he said quietly. “I tried, Abby.”

I knelt beside him, cautiously placing a hand on his shoulder. It was warm—too warm, like he’d been burning from the inside. His skin trembled beneath my touch.

“Was it you?” I asked softly. “Did you hit me?”

His head snapped toward me. “No!” His eyes were human again—pained, horrified. “God, no. I would never—I swear to you, Abby, it wasn’t me.”

I studied him for a long moment. Whatever anger had possessed him before… it was gone now, replaced by guilt and something deeper—fear. Not of me. Of himself.

“Something else did,” he muttered. “When I lose control… it’s like something inside me takes over. I don’t always remember everything.”

A chill crawled down my spine. “Then what’s inside you?”

Nick looked me dead in the eye. “Something they put there. Something they thought they could control.”

I felt my breath hitch.

“You mean… the people on your list?” I asked.

He nodded, eyes dark. “George. Johnson. Mickelson. All of them were part of the project. I was part of it. Subject 09. They didn’t just ruin my life—they created me. Whatever this… thing is inside me… they put it there. I was just a kid.”

“And your family?”

His throat tightened. “They silenced my father. He tried to pull me out. He found out too much, and they killed him. After that… I ran. I trained. I changed my name. And I started hunting them one by one.”

Silence hung in the air, heavy and brutal.

My heart ached for him. For what they’d taken from him. For the boy buried beneath all that vengeance.

“I believe you,” I whispered. “And I’m staying.”

He turned to me sharply. “You don’t understand. The closer you get, the more danger you’re in. You already saw what I did to the room. If I lose control again—”

“You didn’t lose control,” I interrupted. “You were fighting it. You always are. And… when I touched you, it stopped.”

His lips parted.

“Maybe I’m not just a witness to this,” I continued. “Maybe I’m part of the cure.”

He looked at me like I was something sacred.

And for the first time in a long time, I saw something in his eyes that wasn’t violence or calculation.

Hope.

He reached for my hand slowly, like it might disappear.

And this time, I didn’t flinch.

I laced my fingers with his.