Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 147

CHAPTER 125 PART 2

The Subduing Tiger Fist was not a technique for surgical precision – it was designed for overwhelming kinetic force, the kind that ended fights through physics rather than skill. His right shoulder dropped, his weight transferred in a single committed surge, and his fist came forward with the full acceleration of a man who had knocked out opponents twice his size with the same motion.

Cosmo didn’t move backward.

She moved inward.

She slipped inside the arc at the last possible interval, one forearm redirecting the elbow rather than the fist, and the force that had been aimed at her face traveled past her shoulder and into empty air.

Before Dominic could recover the momentum, her other hand found his wrist – found a specific point on his wrist — and applied pressure in a direction wrists are not designed to accommodate.

The crack was clean and immediate.

Dominic’s breath left him in a single sharp burst. He staggered sideways, cradling his arm, his face draining of color so fast that Lance Casey – watching from behind Quinn – made an involuntary sound and looked away.

The wrist hung at a wrong angle. The fingers on that hand had stopped responding.

“That’s one,” Cosmo said.

Dominic raised his head. Sweat had soaked through his collar.

His jaw was locked with the particular rigidity of a man refusing to make noise in front of his subordinates.

He looked at his own hand with an expression that moved through several stages of disbelief before arriving at the final one: resolution.

He charged again.

It was the worst decision available to him, and on some level he knew it, but fifteen years of being the most dangerous man in any room had built a self-concept that one broken wrist couldn’t fully dismantle in real time. He came forward with his left arm leading, abandoning technique for momentum.

Cosmo went up.

It was not a large jump – not theatrical, not performed for the audience- simply the most efficient use of the vertical space available. Her knee came down onto his shoulder at the apex of his charge, and the combined force of his forward momentum and her downward weight drove him into the marble with a sound like a heavy door closing.

Dominic Allen went to one knee.

Blood hit the floor from somewhere above his mouth. He pressed his good hand against the marble and breathed – one slow breath, then another – and his arm shook with the effort of holding himself up.

Around him, the Red Star Group fighters stood in a configuration that had quietly transformed from aggressive to uncertain. Their enforcer had not stood back up.

The once-invincible man simply knelt there, dripping, trying to locate the resources to rise and finding the account empty.

Benjamin Abbott had not moved in forty seconds.

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CHAPTER 125 PART 2.

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