Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 43

CHAPTER 43 PART 1

The Hartford family home was silent when they arrived, shadows stretching across expensive furniture like judgments. Quinn walked through the door first, her Saintess aura still flickering erratically from the night’s events. Marcus followed, closing the door quietly behind them.

Neither spoke. The air between them felt heavy, charged with questions neither was ready to ask or answer.

Quinn wanted to demand explanations–how had he moved with that speed? Where did that power come from? Why had twelve armed thugs looked at him with terror before he’d even struck? But the words stuck in her throat, held back by some instinct that told her she wasn’t ready for the answers.

Marcus deliberately kept his silence. Not from cruelty, but from calculation. The more Quinn knew about his true nature, the deeper she’d be pulled into a world of danger that even her Saintess powers might not protect her from. Better to let her process what she’d already seen before revealing more.

“I’m going to bed,” Quinn said finally, her voice carefully neutral. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Marcus replied, watching her climb the stairs to her separate room–a arrangement that suddenly felt wrong in ways it hadn’t before.

The moment her door closed, Marcus’s phone buzzed. Aaron Jackson’s name lit the screen.

“The cleanup’s done,” Aaron said without preamble. “All twelve bodies disposed of. No traces. But Marcus, we need to talk about the Brand family.”

“I’m listening.”

“Jaxon Brand just declared open war. He’s putting out bounties, calling in favors, mobilizing every connection he has. This isn’t going to stop.”

“Good,” Marcus said coldly. “Let him mobilize. Let him call in favors. Let him show me exactly who his allies are so I know who else needs to be dealt with.”

“You want to escalate?” Aaron’s voice carried surprise mixed with approval.

“I want to send a message,” Marcus corrected. “Not just to Jaxon Brand, but to everyone in Grayson City who thinks wealth and status make them untouchable. The Brand family suffers. Publicly. Permanently.”

A pause. “What did you have in mind?”

“The Three Blade Group,” Marcus said. “They were the ones Jaxon hired tonight. They need to learn what happens to people who accept contracts on me.”

“The Three Blade Group has deep roots,” Aaron warned. “Taking them on isn’t like dealing with street thugs. They’re organized, connected, dangerous.”

“They’re also,” Marcus continued, his dragon memories surfacing with uncomfortable clarity, “potentially connected to something bigger. Something from before my memory loss. I need to know if they’re just local criminals or if they’re tied to… other threats.”

Aaron understood immediately—Marcus was talking about enemies from his past, from before he’d lost three years to amnesia and Saintess suppression. “You think the Three Blades might be working for your old enemies?”

“I think I need to find out. Tonight.”

“Where?”

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CHAPTER 43 PARTT

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“Black Wind Bar. Their stronghold. Can you get me in?”

Aaron laughed a sound without humor. “I can get you a gold membership card. That’ll get you through the door and mark you as someone important. But Marcus, Black Wind is… it’s not like other places. It’s where power meets danger. Where the city’s boldest and richest go to prove themselves.”

“Perfect,” Marcus said. “Pick me up in twenty minutes.”

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CHAPTER 43 PART 2

Black Wind Bar lived up to its reputation the moment they arrived. The building was all dark glass and steel, pulsing with bass that you could feel in your chest from the parking lot. Luxury cars lined the entrance–Ferraris, Lamborghinis, custom vehicles that cost more than most houses.

Aaron, Marcus, and Dom Martinez approached the entrance together, Aaron producing a gold membership card that made the bouncer’s eyes widen slightly.

“Mr. Jackson,” the bouncer said respectfully, stepping aside immediately. “Welcome to Black Wind. Your usual booth?”

“Something more public tonight,” Aaron said. “We’re here to make an impression.”

Inside, Black Wind was exactly what Marcus expected–expensive chaos. The main floor was packed with Grayson City’s elite and wannabe–elite, drinking bottles that cost thousands, their conversations loud with bravado and one–upmanship. Private booths lined the upper levels, each one hosting deals both legal and otherwise.

The Three Blade Group’s presence was unmistakable–security personnel with matching tattoos, stationed strategically throughout the bar. They were the real power here, the ones who decided who stayed and who left in pieces.

Marcus walked to the main bar, his movements drawing attention through sheer confidence. He pulled out a thick stack of hundred–dollar bills–ten thousand dollars easily—and slapped it on the polished surface.

“Drinking contest,” Marcus announced loudly enough to cut through the music. “Anyone who can outdrink me gets the cash. All of it.”

The bar went quiet for a moment, conversations stopping as heads turned. A drinking contest at Black Wind wasn’t unusual–but the stakes Marcus was offering definitely were.

“You serious?” A young man in an expensive suit pushed forward, his face flushed with alcohol and confidence.” Ten grand just for outdrinking you?”

“That’s the offer,” Marcus confirmed.

“You’re on!” The man laughed, signaling the bartender. “Tequila shots! Keep them coming until one of us drops!”

The bartender lined up shots–premium tequila that cost fifty dollars per pour. The crowd pressed closer, phones out, ready to record what they assumed would be easy money for their friend.

Marcus and his challenger faced each other across the bar.

“On three,” the bartender announced. “One… two… three!”

They both grabbed shots and threw them back. Then another. And another.

The young man was keeping pace initially, his face growing redder with each shot. But Marcus showed no effects whatsoever–his hand steady, his eyes clear, his posture completely unchanged.

Shot five. Six. Seven.

The challenger was sweating now, his movements getting sloppy.

Shot ten. Twelve. Fifteen.

“How…” the young man gasped, “…how are you not drunk?”

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