Chapter 222
Hate surges through me like wildfire as I glare at Stan, my fists clenched so tightly that my nails dig into my palms. My breath comes fast, ragged. Every ounce of restraint I have left burns away in the face of his smug, self-satisfied smirk.
I spit in his face.
The glob of saliva lands right on his cheek, sliding down the side of his arrogant grin.
For a moment, he just stands there, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, his hand snaps out, striking me hard across the face.
Pain explodes across my cheek, the sharp crack of the impact ringing in my ears. My head jerks to the side, stars bursting in my vision. A coppery tang fills my mouth as I taste blood.
Rage flares even hotter beneath my skin.
Wake moves before I do.
Through sheer force of will, he fights past the wailing siren’s effects, his body moving in a blur of raw, unrelenting fury. He lunges at Stan, teeth bared, claws outstretched, but he never makes it.
There’s a sudden pulse—a sickening whump of energy discharging.
The moment it hits him, Wake seizes mid-strike, his entire body convulsing violently. His snarl twists into a pained grimace as he crashes to the floor, writhing in agony.
“Wake!” I scream, my voice cracking.
I try to rush to him, but two of Stan’s goons grab my arms, yanking me back. I thrash against their grip, but it’s useless. My heart pounds in my ears as Wake’s body continues to spasm, the unnatural energy rippling through him like an electric current.
“Son of a bitch,” Tai growls from where he’s still held at gunpoint. “What the hell was that?!”
Stan wipes the spit from his cheek, turning back to me with a slow, taunting smirk. He crouches beside Wake’s trembling form and nudges him with the tip of his boot.
“You like it?” he drawls, tilting his head. “I have to say, it’s been a real pain perfecting the frequency, but I think we finally nailed it.”
Wake groans, his muscles twitching involuntarily. He tries to push himself up, but his arms buckle under him, his strength completely sapped.
My stomach drops.
This wasn’t just some high-powered stun gun.
This was designed for him.
Designed for his kind.
Enigma has been studying Enkians for a long time.
The anti-Enkian alarm—the one that first incapacitated Wake on the Enigma ship—was just the prototype.
This is its weaponized evolution.
Stan watches my face closely, clearly enjoying the realization as it dawns on me.
“Surprised?” he taunts, his tone light, conversational, as if we were talking over coffee. “Come on, Phoebe. Did you really think we’d just let these things run wild without some form of control?”
“You bastard,” I snarl, my whole body shaking with fury.
Stan chuckles, shaking his head as he stands to his full height. “That’s no way to talk to an old friend.” He gestures toward Wake’s convulsing form. “Not when I could put him out of his misery right now.”
I freeze, my blood running cold.
Stan smirks. He sees the panic in my eyes. He likes it.
He taps the pulse weapon strapped to his belt. “It’s a funny thing,” he muses. “For all their brute strength and supernatural bullshit, your ‘precious fishman’ goes down just as easy as the others.”
The others.
I swallow hard, forcing my face to remain impassive. Don’t react. Don’t give him the satisfaction.
I shift my weight, pretending to relax slightly in my captors’ grip. I can feel their hands loosen just a little—just enough.
If I play this right, I can get something out of him.
I lift my chin, meeting his gaze. “What’s the point, Stan?” I ask, keeping my voice even. “You’re clearly dying to explain it to me.”
His grin widens. “You always were a smart girl.”
I roll my eyes. “Save the flattery. I’m trying to understand. If Enigma is so powerful, if you’ve already figured out how to control Enkians, then what’s the endgame here? What are you really after?”
Stan tuts, pacing leisurely in front of me, his fingers tapping idly against the weapon at his side. “Now, see, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”
I force myself to keep my breathing steady, my pulse from hammering too loudly. He’s enjoying this—showing off, proving his superiority. His arrogance is so palpable I can practically taste it.
That’s my opening.
“I don’t get it,” I continue, tilting my head slightly. “Why all this effort? Why Enkians? What does Enigma want with them? What do you want?”
Stan stops pacing. He studies me for a long moment, considering.
Then, just as his lips part to answer—
A sharp beep cuts through the room.
Stan’s hand flies to his earpiece, his expression darkening. “What?” he snaps.
A garbled voice responds, urgent, but I can’t make out the words.
Stan’s face twists in irritation. “I told you to hold position until—dammit.” He turns away from me, his posture tense as he listens. “Fine. Prep the extraction. We’re wrapping this up.”
The call ends.
Stan exhales through his nose and fixes me with a disappointed look. “Well, Phoebe, this has been fun, but duty calls.”
He glances down at Wake’s still-twitching form, lips curling in amusement. “Try not to get too attached. He’s got maybe—what?—five minutes left before the paralysis settles in, and then the guppy is out for the long haul.”
Panic seizes my chest.
I have to do something.
But before I can make my move, Stan turns to his men, snapping his fingers. “Secure them. We’re leaving.”
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