91

91

Jaxon couldn’t take it anymore. His heart raced, chest heaving with panic as the image of Elena bloodied and crying echoed in his mind. Jack and Rick tried holding him back, voices trembling, pleading with him to wait for backup or at least bandage his wounds, but Jaxon wasn’t listening. “Get out of my way,” he growled, swatting off Rick’s hand.

“You’re not healed yet—”

“She’s dying, Rick!”

His voice cracked, and that was all it took. Jaxon stumbled down the steps, refusing to use his car. The gash in his stomach pulsed with each step, hot blood soaking through his hoodie. He flagged down a passing taxi, slamming the door before the driver could even ask where he was headed.

The address on the message—a half-complete building on the outskirts of town—looked more like an abandoned warehouse than a hideout. His brows furrowed. “Why would he bring her here?” he muttered, sweat rolling down his temple. “Please, Elena… stay alive. I’m coming.”

The moment the cab screeched to a halt, Jaxon flung the door open and ran. Pain lashed his torso like knives. Still, he pushed forward, his boots crunching gravel as he scanned the building.

Nothing. Not a sound at first.

Until…

A faint voice. Crying. Then, murmurs.

They were coming from above.

Jaxon bolted into the building, stumbling over broken concrete slabs and rusted scaffolding. He rushed up a flight of weak metal stairs, every creak beneath his feet threatening collapse. Then he saw it.

Elena.

She was tied to a steel support beam, blood streaming down her face. Her skin was pale—too pale. Her lips trembled, bruises coloring her jaw. Her wrists were bound in thick silver chains that burned into her flesh. Her hair was damp and matted with blood.

“Elena!” he gasped, voice breaking.

She looked up weakly. The moment her eyes met his, tears welled. “No!” she croaked. “You weren’t supposed to come! Jaxon, it’s a trap—he only wanted you!”

But it was too late.

Jaxon’s eyes widened. A shadow loomed behind her, stepping out from the far corner of the room.

The man.

Tall, cloaked in black. His eyes glowed red, the same man who had haunted them for months.

He clapped slowly, lips curling into a devilish grin. “I’m glad you came. You really do love her. Touching, really. A love so strong it’ll die with you.”

Jaxon clenched his fists. “Let her go.”

“Oh no,” the man sneered. “You’re both going to die here. Together. What’s more poetic than that?”

He lunged, grabbing Jaxon by the collar and slamming him against the wall with a violent thud. Jaxon cried out, his wound splitting wider. He coughed, tasting blood, but didn’t stop struggling.

“Your love is pathetic,” the man hissed. “You think you’re strong because you care? Because you protect?”

Jaxon wheezed, pain flooding every nerve. But his eyes flicked to Elena—her eyes were wild, desperate.

“Elena,” he gasped, “Use your power. Do it. Don’t worry about me—just use it!”

The man raised a glinting knife from his pocket, the blade stained red from some past horror. “Practice makes perfect,” he said with a wicked grin. “And this time, I won’t miss your heart.”

He raised the knife.

And just as the blade began to descend—

CRACK.

Something smacked the side of the man’s neck with a brutal force.

A baseball.

He staggered back in shock, then collapsed.

The room froze. Jaxon, Elena, Jack—everyone stared at the motionless man on the floor.

And then, slowly, all heads turned.

Rick.

He was panting, standing at the doorway, holding a second baseball. His arm was still raised in follow-through. His eyes flicked between the man’s body and his friends.

He blinked.

“Did I… knock him out?”

Jack’s mouth hung open. “Bro… what the hell was that?!”

Jaxon leaned against the wall, too weak to stand straight. Elena let out a whimper of disbelief.

Rick shrugged slowly, still in a daze.

“Rick…” Jack whispered, stepping forward, “How—how did you knock him out with a baseball? That man’s not normal. That wasn’t just a throw… it was like—like a missile.”

Rick’s face was unreadable. For a moment, it looked like he wasn’t going to answer. His eyes were on the unconscious man, lips pressed tightly, jaw twitching.

Then Jack said, “Dude… you have superpowers. More than just a werewolf.”

Rick glanced down at the ball in his hand.

And then he spoke. “I quit baseball a long time ago,” he said quietly, not meeting their eyes.

Jack scoffed. “Yeah? Why?”

Rick exhaled, then reached for the hem of his shirt and slowly pulled it over his head. His torso was sculpted, sure, but riddled with scars—tiny ones near his shoulder and ribs, old ones that looked like claw marks or… impact injuries.

“I stopped,” Rick said, voice low, “because of this.”

He held the baseball again, and his fingers curled around it tightly.

“I didn’t tell anyone… but I couldn’t control my pitches.”

Jack furrowed his brow. “What do you mean you couldn’t control them?”

Rick finally met their eyes.

“Every time I pitched… someone got hurt. Like, seriously hurt. Broken jaws. Fractured skulls. Some were in comas. It wasn’t just freak accidents. It kept happening. And I wasn’t throwing that hard.”

Elena blinked in confusion, still hanging limply against the post, blood streaking her cheek. Jaxon looked stunned. “You… hurt people just by pitching?”

Rick nodded. “It’s like something happens when I throw. I lose control. I never aimed for anyone’s head, but the ball always went there. And I couldn’t stop it.”

Jack stepped back. “So… you have some kind of lethal arm?”

Rick shook his head. “Not just strength. It’s like… energy builds up in my body when I grip a ball. And when I throw, it’s like I’m channeling something else. It’s not just force—it’s something supernatural. I hurt people even when I didn’t mean to.”

Elena stared at him, her lips trembling. “You saved me… with the very thing you were afraid of.”

Rick’s jaw tightened. “I never wanted to use it again. But when I saw that knife—when I heard her scream—my body just moved.”

Jack exhaled slowly. “Dude… that’s insane.”

Silence followed. The man still lay unconscious on the floor, but the air remained thick with tension.

Rick rubbed his wrist nervously. “Now you know.”

Jaxon looked up at him, his voice hoarse. “Thank you.”

Rick met his eyes.

“I didn’t do it for thanks,” he said. “I did it because I couldn’t lose her.”

Jaxon flinched at the words. Something in his eyes cracked—but he didn’t speak.

Elena closed her eyes.

And for a second, no one moved.