Hi there fellow readers. How are you all doing? So, my summer is finally here so now I should be able to have the time to update a lot more frequently. I officially graduated from high school, and for the most part all set up for college. I'm sorry it's been this long since I've last posted anything, but with the summer here and all, I should have more time to write. Especially now with The Following being cancelled (can you believe that?), all I really have are my stories and reading Fanfiction… I feel so lost now; beyond devastated they ended it.

I'm currently writing the next two pieces: Part 2 of this chapter and a prompt by Maxton5evah. They both should be up rather soon, so stay tuned for those!

The prompt is: mnnie8778: "Can you make one where Mark uses Max to get to Mike? And Mike saves or something and there's a whole lot of confessions?" I started this idea a bit while back ago, but didn't get to finish and then when I saw your prompt, it gave me a wave of inspiration to finish and write this. I hope it's not disappointing and you enjoy!

Hopefully you all enjoy this! I'm pretty much back and I want to sincerely thank you all for your wonderful comments you have left. I love reading them and it's nice to see how much you all enjoy my writing. I cannot explain to you how much it means to me. :)

Well, without further ado, here's part one of this prompt. Please leave a comment/review letting me know your thoughts/opinions/feedback/etc. I'd greatly appreciate it, thanks!

I OWN NOTHING; I DO NOT OWN THE FOLLOWING.


"Revenge"

Part One

. . .

"Shit," Max mutters under her breath, a heavy sigh following suit the second she takes a seat on the couch of her and Mike's apartment. She listens to her cellphone ring loudly from the bedroom and reluctantly pulls herself up from the couch, dragging herself down the hall and to her room. Of course the phone would wait until she sat down before it decided to ring.

Cursing under her breath the entire way, she walks into her bedroom and rushes to pick up her cellphone before it hung up and sends the caller to her voicemail. Without even glancing at the caller ID, she answers it with an annoyed and raspy, "What?"

"You sound great." Mike chuckles on the other end of the line, "Is everything okay, babe? How're you holding up?"

"Define okay..." Max sighs into the phone, her voice trailing off as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed. "I'm still alive, if that counts. Still not feeling well."

"And you called the doctor again, right? What did she say?" Max could hear the genuine concern lace in her husband's voice. She's been sick for the last couple of days and she doesn't seem to be getting any better. She's been throwing up, having a fever, and her energy has been completely drained from her body. Mike has been a nervous wreck, not having a clue what to do and panicking even when Max's doctor already cleared her from having anything major or harmful.

A small smile plays on the corner of her lips, twitching up slightly at the immediate concern Mike has for her. "Yes, I called Doctor Maccia again this morning after you left for work. She said I'm fine, just starting to have a cold. I need to have lots of rest, that's it. I'm good; throat is killing me though."

"Get some sleep then." He gently says. "You need it. Makes you feel any better, you're not missing much here. It's kind of slow and quiet for once, besides for your uncle waking up on the wrong side of the bed."

A strained chuckle leaves her lips, making her slightly wince when her throat begins to burn. "Don't make me laugh." She rubs tiredly at her eyes before adding with a smirk, "I guess Ryan and I have that in common. We're grumpy when we don't have enough sleep, lack of coffee, or when we just wake up on the wrong side of the bed."

"Yeah, you got that right." Before Max could comment on that, he cuts her off quickly, "Yeah, so I'll see you later tonight. I gotta run, but if you need me, call, okay? Love you."

"Love you too, Mike." She whispers, faintly smiling at the words. She hangs up the phone then, placing it back on the nightstand beside the bed before lifting herself off the mattress. She walks over to the closet and pulls out one of Mike's sweatshirts then quickly pulls it over her head and over her white tank top.

She bites back a yawn and fights to keep her tired eyes open. Her body feels extremely sore and while her skin burns to the touch, she feels as if she is freezing. She runs her hand through her tousled hair as she exists her bedroom and heads back into the living area. She hopes to watch some TV and maybe drift off to sleep for a few hours until Mike comes home.

While one hand rests on her forehead, her other hand rests on her swollen stomach. With her barely open eyes, her feet takes her to the kitchen and she immediately sets work in making herself a cup of tea. She may not be much of a tea drinker, she'd rather coffee, but the warm liquid mixed with honey has been soothing her throat and it helps her relax. Of course, when she first got sick Mike literally had to force her to drink it, however now she's more willing... kinda.

She stirs her tea while heading back over to the couch. When she collapses onto the couch, she curls her legs beneath her as she nurses her steaming cup of tea. She gently blows on the hot liquid as she closes her eyes for a brief moment, enjoying the silence of the apartment. All the thoughts vanish from her mind, leaving her in a blissful peace of tranquility as she attempts to ignore the burning fever and cold chills.

Everything seems to be perfect in those few moments of silence, until she heard it. That familiar voice that she will never forget for the remaining years of her life. That voice that almost destroyed her and everyone else she has ever cared about. It's that familiar, cold voice that has been missing for the last three years of her life, but still haunted her dreams almost every night.

"Hello, Max. Long time no see."


Max's eyes snap open with alarm as she immediately sits up straight, the cup clattering to the floor with the liquid spilling all over her and the couch in the process. She ignores the burning sensation on her legs from her tea and whips her head around to see him standing right behind her, a wide grin plastered across his face. She feels all the air squeeze out of her lungs as the blood flowing in her veins runs cold. She opens and closes her mouth, the shock settling in as she feels herself on the verge of passing out.

"Mark," She breathes out, using all her training she has ever learned to keep herself calm, "what are you doing here?"

"Oh, was I gone too long? I know it's been a while - sorry. I wanted everything to be perfect, but I couldn't wait any longer." The frown on his face quickly turns into a smile, "It's weird, actually. I was going to wait until tomorrow, but my excitement got in the way, I guess."

She keeps eye contact with him, not missing the way his fingers fidget at his sides or the way he can't seem to keep still. He walks around the couch so he's standing directly in front of her rather than behind the couch. Her glare remaining on him at all times. Her eyebrows slowly furrow together as a mask of confusion washes over her. "Why tomorrow? What's-"

A low, animalistic growl crawls up Mark's throat and escapes his mouth with his eyes growing darker, colder. Max could swear she can see the flames dancing in his eyes and the steam burning off his skin. She opens her mouth to speak, but he cuts her off with a cry as his foot kicks over the coffee table, "You forgot? Oh, of course you'd forget! Forget the day you killed my twin brother! Just like that. You shot him. You didn't even think twice - nope, you just shot my brother dead and - and - and-"

"And what?" Max snaps, testing him and his short temper. She needs to get him to lose focus. She needs to have him distracted enough to leave her just a moment's chance to escape.

"Bro, stay calm. Remember, you need to focus. This is important. She's just trying to get you distracted so she could try to make a move. Don't let her." Mark mutters to himself, his eyes looking distant.

Max freezes, her head slightly cocking to the side as she observes Mark. He's... talking to himself? She watches him start to pace in front of her; his head hangs with his eyes glued to the floor as one hand rubs the back of his neck while the other clenches in a tight fist at his side. This is her chance. A risky one with him inches in front of her, but it'll probably be her own chance.

"I know, I know. You're right, Luke. I-" Max doesn't wait another second before lifting her leg and, with all her strength and as hard as she can, kicks him in the knee. A sharp yell falls from his lips as he crashes to the ground, his hands immediately flying to hold his injured leg.

Quickly, the brunette hops to her feet and dashes down the hall, praying she makes it to her bedroom before Mark makes it back onto his feet. She makes it half way down the hall before she feels his body tackle her to the ground, him landing on top of her back.

He holds her down with his body as his hands go to grab her wrist while she struggles against him. Do something, her brain screams at her. She sucks in a deep breath and pushes her elbow into his stomach, making him lift off her just a few inches, allowing her to turn herself over so she's lying on her back instead. When he goes to yank on her hair, she turns her head to wrap her mouth around his arm and push her teeth down into his skin. She screws her eyes shut and bites as hard as her teeth will go in - she is pretty sure she could taste blood in her mouth.

A scream of agony rips from his throat as he places the palm of his hand over her face and shoves her off him. He holds his bleeding arm against his chest as he stares down at the blood, his eyes darkening. Anger boils inside of him and, with a voice sounding like Luke's, shouts, "You bitch!"

"Get the hell away from me!" She hisses through clenched teeth as she scatters to her feet and runs into the bedroom. She slams the door shut the second he goes to enter and she instantly locks it. Anxiety builds inside of her, overwhelming her. She can't catch her breath and it feels as if all the air is being squeezed out of her lungs.

Mark's going to kill her.

She knows it. His desire for revenge is devouring him to a point where he's not even thinking clearly anymore. Luke? He knows she heard Mark call himself Luke. The loss of his twin brother - the twin brother that she killed - is making him lose all touch with reality and having only the thirst for revenge drive his actions. Red is all he sees, blinding his vision, and surely enough, if he gets his way, she'll be dead before the end of tonight.

Shaking her head, she rushes over to the nightstand and begins pushing it towards the door. She can't afford to think that way. Right now, she needs to hope that placing the piece of furniture in front of the door will buy her some time.

"Open the door!" It still sounds like Luke, Max notes to herself as he continues to shout through the door. This time, she can almost see the smug look upon his face when he adds, "Come on, Max, I promise I won't hurt you. My brother may, but I just want to have some fun with you. So, why don't you open the damn door before somebody gets hurt."

"You must be crazier than I thought if you think I'm going to open this door for you." Max snaps as she desperately looks around for her cell phone. It was on top of her nightstand before she moved it against the door. It must have fallen somewhere on the ground. On her hands and knees, her panic-stricken eyes squint in hopes it would help her see better through the darkness of the room while her hands frantically search the floor.

"Shit," She mutters under her breath, "where the hell is it?" Just as the words spill from her lips, her fingertips brush against a cold object that, to her relief, is her cell phone. With trembling hands, she unlocks her phone and begins to dial the familiar number she had memorized merely days after meeting him.

Mark - or Luke - starts banging on the door, the nightstand slowly moving away from the door push by push, inch by inch.

The phone rings in her ear and her stomach churns, twisting into a tight knot while her brain burns with countless thoughts - feeling as if it was on fire. How much longer does she have before the twin breaks in? What is he going to do with her? Hurt her? Make her suffer endlessly for killing his twin brother? Kill her? Where's Mike and why the hell isn't he answering his phone?

She doesn't have time to leave a voicemail. She needs him or her uncle on the phone - now.

"Damn it!" She hisses through clenched teeth, frustration getting to her with tears beginning to brim the corners of her eyes. Holding her breath now, she dials Ryan's number, praying to God that he answers.

Voicemail.

"This is Ryan Hardy - I can't get to the phone right now, but leave your name and number and I'll be sure to get back to you as soon as I can. If it's an emergency, call either the police or contact me through the FBI." After Max hears the beep, she barely has the chance to breathe out her uncle's name before she feels a cold hand cover her mouth.

The phone slips through her fingers when Mark wraps an arm around her torso, holding her against him. He uses one hand to restrain her wrists together while he uses the other to keep firmly over her mouth. She struggles against him, attempting to squeeze out of his hold, but it's to no avail.

His hold on her tightens and right as she goes to swing her head back to knock him down that way, she feels a slight pain sting her neck. She can feel the liquid squeeze into her neck through a syringe and within seconds, she collapses into his arms, her eyes falling shut.

"Ah," Mark grins down at the unconscious brunette, "much better."

"Yeah, I like her better like this, too." Tilting his head, Luke brushes a strand piece of hair out of her face, "She's a feisty one. She'll be fun to kill, won't she?"

"Indeed she will, Bro. Let's get her back in the living room. We've got lots of work to do."

With a cocky grin gracing along his features, Luke nods his head and bends down to pick up Max's cell phone, "Now we just have to get Mikey here."


"Max?" Mike calls out to the unusually quiet apartment. He glances down at his phone, kicking the door shut behind him. He opens his messages and looks at the last text she had sent him about twenty minutes ago, asking him to come home immediately.

"I got your text. You're still not feeling any better?" He calls out, slipping his phone into his back pocket. Did she fall asleep after sending the text? He walks further into the apartment, entering the living where his eyes instantly fall on his wife, sleeping soundly on the couch.

A soft smile spreads across his face, his heart practically warming at the sight of her lying peacefully on her side, her tousled hair brushed over her face. Her skin looks pale and her face looks exhausted. If she doesn't feel better within the next day, I'm taking her to the hospital, he notes.

Walking over to her, Mike bends down to press a gentle kiss on the top of her head. He gingerly moves her hair out of her face, being careful not to wake her. Just as he is about to stand up, his eyes notice the faintest mark on her neck. He carefully moves his face closer, his eyes narrowing on the faint puncture hole left on her skin. He stands up, his eyebrows furrowed together with confusion settling in, and he opens his mouth, only to feel a hard object collide with the back of his skull.