ENFORCER’S REVENGE

CHAPTER SEVEN

Nick’s POV

I woke up before dawn.

It had rained overnight, and now the sky outside was pale, bruised, and grey—like the calm before a storm.

I sat up, swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and stretched my fingers. The pulsing sensation that had become familiar—like sparks running beneath my skin—was faint now, but present. A quiet hum. A warning.

I got up, checked Abby’s room with the spare key, and found her curled up beneath the covers, fast asleep. Peaceful. Untouched by the darkness crawling inside me.

I shut the door gently and made my way to the kitchen. Within minutes, I had breakfast prepared—toast, tea, eggs, and a small note beside the plate:

Eat something. I’ll be back.

No signature.

She’d know.

Then I went upstairs and into the storage room—the place where old secrets lived in locked cabinets and matte-black drawers.

I opened one and pulled out the black duffle bag I’d packed the night before: silenced pistol, forged ID, two flashbangs, a folding knife, and a small vial of something I didn’t dare label. I added a pair of gloves, checked everything twice, and zipped it shut.

This was the day.

The day they paid.

The day George—my next target—would die along with anyone else standing in my way.

I took a quick shower, dressed in a sleek black suit, tied my hair back neatly, and slipped on my boots. I gave Abby’s door one last look before heading out. My fingers hesitated at the knob, but I didn’t enter. I didn’t trust myself not to stay.

So I walked away.

The duffle bag was placed in the back seat of my car, concealed beneath a worn blanket. I started the engine and drove.

There was no music, no distractions—just silence and the sound of my breath. Even the voice in my head, the one that usually urged me toward violence, was still. Focused.

Today wasn’t just revenge.

It was war.

Later That Day – Outside the Gala Event

I arrived at the estate an hour before the gala started. It was a sprawling, private venue—tight security, limited entry points, snipers on the roof. Typical for someone like George.

I parked a few blocks away and watched.

Six guards.

One camera blind spot—northwest quarter, near the outdoor restroom building.

I waited.

And then I saw him.

A lone guard, mid-thirties, tall, clean-cut, peeling off from the group. He walked toward the restroom building, yawning, scratching his neck. Probably bored. Probably underpaid.

Perfect.

As soon as he entered the structure, I moved—swift, silent. My boots didn’t make a sound.

The restroom door clicked shut behind me.

He turned, startled. “Oh, hey—”

I drove my fist into the pressure point between his neck and shoulder.

He dropped like a stone.

No time to admire the work.

I quickly stripped him of his gear—black shirt, camo pants—and swapped out my suit for the uniform. Then I redressed him in the suit so, if anyone saw us, it would look like I was helping a drunk guest or passed-out waiter.

I hoisted his weight onto my shoulder and opened the door, just in time to run into another guard walking by.

He stopped. Eyes narrowed. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah. This guy passed out in the bathroom. Smells like vodka and regret. I’m dumping him in the security trailer.”

The guard raised a brow. “You’re not from our rotation.”

“New transfer,” I said calmly. “Marcus signed off.”

A long pause.

Then a grunt. “Tell him to hold his liquor next time.”

I forced a chuckle and walked past.

As soon as I was around the corner, I dropped the body behind a dumpster and made my way toward the service entrance. No one questioned a uniform.

I passed through two checkpoints, scanned the ID badge I’d lifted from the unconscious man, and entered the heart of the gala preparations. Caterers shouted orders, staff scrambled with trays, and event coordinators buzzed around like bees on speed.

I ducked into a corner, slipped on latex gloves, and pulled my earpiece from the duffle bag.

Time to find George.

He would be here.

And he wouldn’t leave breathing.

⸻

Meanwhile – Back at the House

Abby’s POV

I stirred awake around nine.

The room was dim, quiet, but the scent of food pulled me out of sleep. I sat up groggily and stretched, blinking at the tray on my nightstand.

Toast. Eggs. Tea. A note.

Eat something. I’ll be back.

I frowned, heart skipping.

Where had he gone?

And why did it feel like goodbye?

I climbed out of bed, unease settling like fog in my stomach. I peeked outside and found the living room empty. The car was gone.

I turned to the tray of food again but didn’t touch it.

Instead, I whispered to the empty house, “Please come back.”

Not knowing who I was talking to anymore—the killer?

Or the man who looked at me like I was the last piece of light he had left?

Inside the Event – 7:12 PM

The ballroom was everything I expected: crystal chandeliers, orchestral music, suits and sequins, and champagne flowing like water.

But underneath the glitz and gold?

Sharks.

George stood near the center of the room, nursing a glass of something expensive and blood-red. His laughter rang hollow, sharp-edged. The people around him—crooked executives, politicians, scientists in disguise—hung onto his every word like he was their king.

He wasn’t.

He was a coward who sold his soul for profit.

And he was next.

I kept to the shadows, moving like smoke between the clusters of security and servers. My disguise helped—no one gave the help a second glance. But I stayed alert. Every camera, every mirrored surface, every armed shoulder holster meant I had seconds to vanish if things went sideways.

I tapped my earpiece and muttered, “Locked on.”

A voice crackled back. My own custom surveillance bot—hidden in the van across the street—fed me intel through its hacked line. “George Renshaw. Heart condition. Carrying a red vial in his jacket—possibly adrenaline or stabilizer.”

Interesting.

Was he sick?

Or was he hiding from something just like me?

I positioned myself near a side door, waiting for the music to swell—and then I slipped inside a maintenance corridor. Pulled out a flash drive from my boot and inserted it into a security panel on the wall. Ten seconds later, a silent blackout hit three key hallway cams.

Now I had a blind zone.

The ballroom lights flickered just once—barely noticeable.

But I saw George shift. He checked his watch. His gaze scanned the crowd nervously.

I smiled.

He knew.

Some part of him knew death was here.

I waited for him to excuse himself from his circle and step away toward the rear staircase. I followed at a distance, every footstep calculated. He walked faster, gripping the railing like his life depended on it.

He made it to the top floor—an empty conference level—and entered a glass office.

I slipped in behind him seconds later and locked the door.

He turned—and froze.

“Hello, George,” I said, voice low, deadly calm. “Miss me?”

His face went pale. “Y-You. You’re supposed to be dead.”

I took a step forward. “Funny. I could say the same about you.”

He stumbled back. “Please. You don’t understand. We didn’t know what they would do to you.”

“No,” I said, pulling the pistol from my waistband. “You didn’t care.”

His hands rose. “Nicholas—wait. I have files. Proof. I can give you names. Real names. You don’t know everything. There were more experiments. Other subjects. You were just the first success.”

I stopped.

Cold crept up my spine.

“What did you say?”

George’s lip trembled. “There are more like you. One of them escaped. She’s worse. Unstable. You weren’t meant to live. You were meant to be—a weapon. But she? She’s death incarnate.”

I blinked slowly. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know! She went dark three years ago—disappeared after she killed six agents in Russia. But I swear to you, Nicholas, you weren’t the only—”

Crack!

A bullet tore through the window from across the rooftop. George’s head snapped back, blood spraying against the glass like abstract art. His body dropped to the floor instantly—lifeless, eyes still open in horror.

Sniper.

I didn’t hesitate.

I dropped low and ducked behind the desk as more bullets pelted the windows. The room shattered around me in glittering shards. I pulled the pin from a flashbang and tossed it outside the glass door before sprinting toward the stairwell exit.

Boom!

Screams erupted in the hall below. My boots hit metal stairs two at a time as I descended, gun drawn. My breath came in steady, sharp bursts.

They’d known I was coming.

But I hadn’t come for just George anymore.

I needed those files.

Because now I wasn’t just hunting down my enemies.

I was hunting down the others like me

Abby’s POV

Back at the House – 8:05 PM

The house was too quiet.

The food sat untouched.

I sat on the couch, knees hugged to my chest, staring at the blank television screen. My thoughts spun like a carousel—Nick’s glowing hand, the floating objects, the electric sparks.

And now… he was gone.

I walked into his room again, not sure why. Maybe I was looking for a sign. A clue. Anything.

And then I found it.

A folder, tucked under his mattress. Unmarked. Heavy.

I opened it slowly.

Photos. Files. Medical records with his name scribbled over a code: Subject 09 – Nicholas R.

One paper slipped free—an old, grainy photo of a girl with jet black eyes and white scars carved into her face.

On the back: Subject 10. Unstable. Terminated.

But it wasn’t crossed out.

My heart raced.

What if she wasn’t terminated?

What if she was still alive?

And more importantly… was she coming next?