Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 210

CHAPTER 156 PART 2

Marcus kicked him in the knee with surgical precision. The crack was audible even over the room’s general panic. The man went down screaming, his leg bent at an angle that made several onlookers vomit.

Two more thugs charged Marcus simultaneously, one from each side. He caught the first man’s punch mid- swing, twisted his arm backward with dragon power until the elbow dislocated, then used the screaming enforcer as a shield against the second attacker. When the second man hesitated, not wanting to hurt his colleague, Marcus drove his palm into the man’s solar plexus-a strike that sent him flying backward into the expensive furniture with enough force to crack wood.

Bottles lined the table-expensive champagne, premium whiskey, craft beer imported from Europe. Marcus grabbed two more bottles, one in each hand, and advanced on the next wave of attackers.

They backed away instinctively, suddenly understanding they weren’t facing some rich kid playing tough. This was something else entirely. Something dangerous.

“What are you waiting for?” Atlas screamed at his men. “There’s twenty of you and one of him! Take him down!”

But fear had infected the group. They’d watched their boss-their supposedly invincible Nathan-dropped in one move. Watched three more professionals disabled in seconds. This wasn’t a fight anymore. It was a massacre waiting to happen.

Marcus used that hesitation. He smashed the first bottle against the nearest thug’s jaw, the impact shattering teeth along with glass. Before the man hit the ground, Marcus had grabbed the second bottle and brought it down. on another attacker’s shoulder-precise, controlled, devastating.

Glass and beer covered the luxury carpet. Blood mixed with expensive alcohol. Grown men who’d made careers out of violence were reduced to whimpering on the floor, clutching broken limbs and shattered pride.

And at the center of it all, Marcus Steel stood calm and unbothered, his dragon aura finally manifesting as a palpable pressure that made breathing difficult for everyone in the room.

Then the door exploded inward.

Allen Mitchell-head of the Abbott Family security-stormed in with a dozen armed men in tactical gear. They moved with military precision, weapons drawn, creating a defensive perimeter in seconds.

The remaining conscious thugs froze. Whatever authority the Lancaster name carried, it evaporated in the face of serious firepower wielded by professionals.

Allen’s gaze swept the carnage, landing briefly on the unconscious Nathan, the disabled enforcers, the terrified partygoers. Then his eyes found Marcus, standing amid the wreckage, and something like respect flickered across his hardened features.

“Mr. Steel,” Allen said calmly. “Situation under control?”

“Getting there,” Marcus replied, equally calm. “Though these gentlemen were just leaving.”

Nathan’s second-in-command-the one with the shattered knee-tried one last appeal. “This is Lancaster Family business! The Abbott Family has no-”

“No what?” Ives Abbott stepped forward, her fear transformed into fury now that backup had arrived. “No right to defend people in our own territory? To protect our guests? To stop you animals from kidnapping women off the street?”

“We weren’t after you!” the man protested desperately. “Just the Yarrow girl! We never touched—”

1/3

+25 Bonus

“You threatened me,” Ives interrupted coldly. “You told me my father was too scared to stop you. You walked into a party I was attending and tried to commit a felony right in front of me.” She turned to Allen. “I want them taught a lesson they’ll never forget.”

Allen’s smile was thin and professional. “Of course, Miss Abbott. Though I should warn you- teaching lessons can get… messy.”

“I’m counting on it,” Ives said, her voice harder than anyone had ever heard it.

The remaining conscious thugs looked at each other, calculations running behind their eyes. Fight armed professionals in tactical gear, or surrender peacefully? Pride versus survival?

One particularly stupid enforcer made his choice. He lunged toward Ives, apparently thinking a hostage might salvage the situation.

Allen moved with speed that belied his age. His fist caught the man mid-stride, a perfect hook that lifted him off his feet before gravity reasserted itself. The thug crumpled, unconscious before hitting the carpet.

Then Allen calmly drew his sidearm-a sleek black pistol that looked deadly even holstered-and pressed it against another thug’s temple.

“Anyone else want to test their luck?” Allen asked conversationally.

The fight drained out of the room like air from a punctured tire. Weapons clattered to the floor. Hands rose in surrender. Even Atlas Lancaster, still lurking by the doorway, had gone pale

“Good choice,” Allen observed. He gestured to his men. “Secure them. All of them. And someone wake up Nathan. I want him conscious for what comes next.”

As Abbott security forces moved to comply, Ives walked over to where Elize still pressed against the wall, tears streaming down her face, phone clutched in trembling hands.

“Your family really abandoned you,” Ives said quietly. Not mocking. Not cruel. Just stating fact.

Elize nodded, unable to speak.

“Then screw them,” Ives continued. “You don’t need people who’d throw you to wolves to save their own reputation. You need people who’ll fight wolves for you.”

She glanced at Marcus, who was calmly wiping beer from his hands with a napkin as if he hadn’t just single- handedly dismantled a gang.

“People like him,” Ives finished.

Marcus caught the look and sighed. “Stop making this dramatic. I just don’t like bullies.”

“You broke three people’s bones and knocked out their boss with a beer bottle,” Ives pointed out.

“They started it,” Marcus said simply. “I just finished it.”

Allen’s men had Nathan conscious now, splashing water on his face until his eyes fluttered open. The moment awareness returned, so did pain-and terror. He looked around at his disabled crew, at the armed professionals surrounding them, at Marcus Steel standing calm and victorious in the center of the room.

“You,” Nathan croaked, blood trickling from his split scalp. “What the hell are you?”

Marcus smiled then-not kind, not cruel. Just honest.

2/3

+25 Bonus

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify