Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 131

CHAPTER 117 PART 2

Cosmo welcomed them with contemptuous efficiency. Her movements flowed like water through their clumsy strikes each dodge calculated, each counter devastating. Bottles became weapons. Chairs became shields. The café’s furniture transformed into instruments of brutal justice.

A tattooed brute swung at her head. She caught his wrist, twisted with technique that popped his elbow joint, and used his own weight to throw him into two of his companions. All three collapsed in a groaning heap.

Another tried to tackle her from behind. She stepped aside at the last instant, grabbed his collar, and redirected his charge directly into the café’s support pillar. The impact made the entire structure shake.

Twenty seconds. Eight down.

“She’s a MONSTER!” One thug dropped his weapon and tried to run. Cosmo’s thrown fork-just a fork-struck pressure points in his leg that made him collapse mid-stride.

The remaining three attacked simultaneously, thinking coordination would work where individual efforts failed. Cosmo spun between them with grace that made combat look like dance-her elbow breaking one jaw, her knee rupturing another’s spleen, her palm strike collapsing the third’s windpipe just enough to incapacitate without killing.

Thirty seconds. Fifteen gang members sprawled across the café-bleeding, unconscious, moaning in pain. Not one of them dead, but every single one effectively crippled for weeks.

Silence crashed over the restaurant like a physical wave.

Banyan Carmichael stared at his demolished gang with expression somewhere between shock and absolute terror. “That’s-that’s impossible. You’re just-you can’t—”

“One hundred thousand,” Banyan announced desperately, his voice cracking. “One hundred thousand dollars to whoever takes that woman down! Cash! Right now!”

One thug-braver or stupider than his companions-struggled to his feet and charged at Cosmo with a roar.

She picked up a half-full beer bottle and smashed it across his temple with casual precision. He dropped like all the others.

“Anyone else?” Cosmo asked pleasantly, surveying the carnage without a hint of exertion.

Larkin Weather had gone pale, backing toward the exit with slow, careful steps. Banyan stood frozen, finally understanding that he’d picked a fight with forces completely beyond his comprehension.

Marcus, who’d watched the entire display with dragon eyes that missed nothing, looked at Banyan with mild curiosity. “If you need backup, feel free to call. We’ll wait.”

Then he turned to the terrified restaurant staff. “Can we get our food now? I’m starving.”

The waitress-mid-forties, trembling behind the counter-nodded so hard her head looked like it might fall off. ” Y-yes sir! Right away!”

The restaurant owner approached with cautious steps, “Sir, with respect you should leave before reinforcements arrive. Banyan Carmichael has connections throughout Grayson City, When he calls for help-”

“Then we’ll deal with that when it happens,” Marcus interrupted calmly. He tasted a sample of soup the terrified chef had brought out. “This is excellent. My compliments.”

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The casual confidence-the absolute lack of concern-unsettled everyone more than Cosmo’s violence had.

Quinn, who’d grown accustomed to Marcus’s approach to danger, calmly sat down and began eating. Her Saintess aura glowed softly, responding to her husband’s dragon power with that harmonious resonance that suggested complete trust.

Lance and Anna remained frozen until Marcus gestured at the empty seats. “Sit. The food’s getting cold.”

“You – you just beat up fifteen people,” Anna whispered. “Shouldn’t we—”

“Run?” Marcus finished. “Where to? They’re blocking the exits. Besides, I’m hungry. Aren’t you hungry?”

Lance’s shock slowly transformed into something approaching hysterical courage. If Marcus wasn’t worried, if Quinn was calmly eating noodles, then panicking seemed pointless.

“Fine,” Lance said, her voice only slightly shaky. “If we’re eating, I’m ordering one of EVERYTHING. Since you’re paying.”

She grabbed a menu and began pointing aggressively. “Appetizers. All of them. Entrees. All of them. Desserts. Every single one. You want to act like some mysterious badass? Then your wallet better back it up.”

Other diners watched with expressions of absolute disbelief. This group had just crippled a notorious gang and was now… ordering dessert?

As plates arrived, the atmosphere grew almost absurdly normal. Quinn fussed over Marcus, placing choice pieces of food on his plate with delicate Saintess grace that made even violence-shocked witnesses feel oddly comforted.

“You never do this at home,” Lance observed, some of her usual personality returning. “Marriage changed you, Quinn. You went from ice queen to doting wife.”

“I’m not doting,” Quinn protested, though her continued placement of food contradicted the claim.

“So Marcus,” Anna ventured carefully, “what do you do for work?”

“Nothing,” Marcus replied honestly. “I live off my wife.”

The admission hung in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled.

“You WHAT?!” Lance’s fork clattered to her plate. “Quinn, tell me he’s joking. Tell me your husband isn’t actually a freeloader!”

“Technically,” Quinn said with careful neutrality, “he’s correct. Marcus doesn’t have a traditional job. He… handles things for me.”

“Handles things,” Lance repeated flatly. “While you work sixty-hour weeks as chairman? While you support him financially? Quinn, this meal probably costs your entire monthly salary! Tell me you’re not paying for this!”

Marcus pulled out a black credit card-matte finish, no visible numbers, radiating subtle wrongness that made Lance’s skin prickle, “Use this. Bill’s on me.”

“If this gets declined,” Lance warned, snatching the card, “I’m telling everyone you’re a broke con artist who lives off his wife.”

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