Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 262

CHAPTER 181 PART 1

The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and despair. Quantez Springs lay in the bed with his right leg missing below the knee, wrapped in bandages that seemed to mock the permanence of his condition. His face was pale, hollowed out by painkillers and the slow understanding that his life would never be what he had imagined.

Miles Cooper sat beside him, her own injuries still fresh. She had been changing his bandages when Maurice Springs limped through the door, his wrist bound in emergency wrapping, his face swollen and discolored.

Quantez’s eyes widened when he saw his father. “You fought him?”

“I fought the Dragon King,” Maurice said, and the flatness in his voice told everything. He had fought Marcus Steel and lost. Not just lost. Been broken.

Miles stood quickly. “Master, you need medical attention. Your injuries are serious.”

“My injuries are nothing,” Maurice replied, but his breathing suggested otherwise. Every movement cost him, every step a negotiation with broken ribs. Still, he moved with purpose, his mind already calculating. “We need to move Quantez. Now.”

“Move him? He just had surgery. The doctors said any movement could cause complications,” Miles protested, but she was already gathering what she could.

“The doctors don’t understand what’s coming,” Maurice said. His dark eyes fixed on his son. “Listen to me carefully, Quantez. This situation has become bigger than your pride or your injuries. Forces are moving that we did not anticipate.”

Quantez tried to sit up, wincing at the pain. “What do you mean? Isn’t this about Marcus Steel?”

“It was,” Maurice confirmed. “Now it’s about survival.”

They moved quickly, the nurses offering no resistance once Maurice showed the authority of command. Within thirty minutes, they were in a private vehicle heading toward a safehouse on the outskirts of Five-River Province. Miles drove while Maurice sat in the back, his breathing shallow, watching the darkened streets pass.

The ambush came without warning.

Black vehicles surrounded them at an intersection where the streets were empty and the buildings abandoned. Men in dark suits emerged, weapons visible, moving with professional precision. This wasn’t amateur work. This was organized, calculated, lethal.

Maurice looked at the situation for exactly three seconds before moving.

“Keep driving,” he told Miles, but she had already slammed on the accelerator.

The vehicles beside them opened fire. Bullets tore through the car’s back window. Maurice shielded Quantez with his body, taking impacts that would have killed a normal man. His cultivation technique activated, hardening his skin, turning his body into something more weapon than flesh.

Miles swerved violently, trying to escape. The safehouse was only two blocks away. Two blocks meant survival. Two blocks meant victory.

A vehicle cut them off ahead. Maurice made his decision in a heartbeat. He grabbed Miles by the collar, yanked her out of the driver’s seat, and took control of the car. His hands, broken and shattered as they were, gripped the wheel with absolute control.

He drove straight at the blocking vehicle.

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The impact was catastrophic. The other car was thrown sideways, its occupants screaming. Maurice didn’t pause He spun the wheel, accelerated again, and hit a second vehicle that was closing in from the side.

“What are you doing?” Miles screamed from the back, where she had been thrown against Quantez.

“Surviving,” Maurice snarled. He crashed through a barrier and suddenly they were in an industrial area, surrounded by warehouses and empty lots. The pursuing vehicles followed, but Maurice had lost them in the chaos of narrow streets and sudden turns.

He pulled into an abandoned warehouse and killed the engine. His breathing came in short, sharp gasps. His hands were shaking, not from fear but from the effort of maintaining control while his body screamed for rest.

Miles checked on Quantez. He was conscious, terrified, but alive. She turned to Maurice. “Who were they?”

“Not Shadow Warriors,” Maurice said, listening to the silence outside. The vehicles had lost them. For now. Professional soldiers. Organized. Someone with resources wanted us dead.”

A sound made him tense. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, moving through the warehouse without apparent concern for stealth. A man stepped into view, dressed in an expensive suit despite the industrial surroundings. He was tall, with the kind of presence that suggested old money and older power.

Behind him were four armed men, their weapons trained with the precision of military training.

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