Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 109

CHAPTER 105 PART 1

Federico Yarrow charged with the wooden stick raised high above his head, his face twisted with vindictive fury. Behind him, eight Westside Warriors gang members shouted encouragement, their voices overlapping in aggressive chorus.

“Beat him!”

“Show him what real street justice looks like!”

“Crack his skull!”

Marcus Steel stood perfectly still, his dragon senses tracking Federico’s clumsy attack with the same attention one might give to a toddler throwing a tantrum. Quinn’s hand tightened on his arm, her Saintess aura flaring with concern, but Marcus remained utterly calm.

A coin appeared between his fingers-a simple quarter, unremarkable currency that millions of people handled daily without thought.

Marcus flicked it.

The gesture looked casual, almost lazy. But dragon power infused that tiny piece of metal, turning it into something far deadlier than Federico’s wooden stick. The quarter flew through the air with a high-pitched whistle, spinning so fast it became a blur.

It struck the descending wooden stick with surgical precision.

The impact reversed the stick’s momentum instantly. Federico’s own force, combined with the dragon-enhanced coin’s trajectory, sent the wooden weapon rebounding directly into his forehead with devastating effect.

CRACK.

The sound of wood meeting skull echoed through the quiet street. Blood erupted from the gash above Federico’s eyebrow, and his eyes rolled back as consciousness fled. He collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, hitting the pavement face-first with a wet thud that made even his gang members wince.

“FEDERICO!” One of the Westside Warriors dropped his own stick, rushing toward the fallen delinquent. “Oh God, is he dead?! Did he just kill him?!”

Panic swept through the gang faster than their earlier bravado had built. The green-haired leader took one look at Federico’s blood-soaked face and the unnatural stillness of his body, then made an executive decision.

“RUN!”

Eight young men scattered like cockroaches when a light turns on, abandoning their weapons, their wounded brother, and all pretense of loyalty in less than five seconds. Their shouts of brotherhood and threats of violence evaporated into the night, replaced by the sound of running footsteps growing fainter with each passing moment.

So much for the Westside Warriors.

Marcus walked calmly to Federico’s prone form and crouched down, his dragon senses assessing the injury with perfect accuracy. Quinn followed, her Saintess aura flickering with concern despite her cold expression.

“Is he “Quinn started to ask.

“Unconscious,” Marcus confirmed, noting the steady pulse at Federico’s neck. “Head wound, probably a mild concussion. He’ll wake up in a few hours with a splitting headache and a scar to remember tonight by.”

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CHAT TER THE PART I

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“Should we call an ambulance?”

Marcus stood, pulling out his phone. “Already doing it. Anonymously. They’ll find him and take him to the hospital. But we’re leaving before they arrive.”

Quinn nodded, her Saintess training preventing any visible relief, but Marcus could sense her tension easing through their intertwined energies. What should have been a peaceful, romantic walk-their first moment of calm in days-had been ruined by family drama and street violence.

They drove home in silence, Quinn’s hand resting on Marcus’s thigh, her cold indifference masking the emotional turmoil underneath.

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