Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 79

CHAPTER 79 PART 1

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At Hibiscus Mansion, surrounded by the corpses of forty bodyguards and the ruins of Jaxon Brand’s empire, Marcus Steel stood perfectly still, his dragon aura finally receding to a manageable simmer. Quinn was safe in the BMW with Dominic Martinez. The immediate threat was neutralized.

But the architect of her kidnapping was still breathing.

Aaron Jackson approached, holding Cash Lawson’s blood-smeared phone. “Elder brother, I’ve got a lock on Iron Hoof’s location. The moment he answered that call, our tracking software pinpointed him-Moscow Style Hotel, downtown Grayson City.”

Marcus’s eyes-still faintly glowing with golden-red fire-turned toward his brother. “How long ago?”

“Three minutes. He might already be running.”

“Then we make sure he has nowhere to run to.” Marcus’s voice was utterly calm, the kind of calm that preceded absolute devastation. “Deploy everyone. I want the hotel surrounded. I want the docks monitored. I want every airport, train station, and highway out of Grayson City locked down tight.”

“Understood.” Aaron pulled out his own phone, already dialing. “What about Iron Hoof himself?”

“He dared to facilitate the kidnapping of a Sacred Saintess,” Marcus said quietly, his dragon ring pulsing with crimson light. “He helped them drug her, restrain her, deliver her to that filth. For that crime, there is only one punishment.”

“Death.”

“Slow death.” Marcus’s expression was carved from stone. “I want him alive when I find him. I want him to understand exactly what he facilitated. And then I want him to beg for an end that won’t come for hours.”

Aaron nodded grimly and began issuing orders into his phone. “All units, this is Jackson. Target is Dmitri Volkov, alias Iron Hoof, last known location Moscow Style Hotel. Deploy to all exit points-docks, airport, train stations. Nobody leaves Grayson City without our knowledge. If this bastard slips through, I’ll personally break every bone in your bodies.”

He ended the call and looked at Marcus. “Done. We’ve got fifty men en route. But elder brother-Iron Hoof didn’t survive this long by being predictable. If he knows we’re coming…”

“He’ll try to hide,” Marcus finished. “He jumped from the seventh floor-probably trying to create the illusion of fleeing to the docks or airport. But that’s exactly what he wants us to think.”

Aaron’s eyes narrowed. “You think he’ll double back?”

“The most dangerous place is often the safest hiding spot.” Marcus began walking toward the BMW, his movements predatory and precise. “He’ll assume we’ll focus on escape routes. He’ll assume we’ll search the obvious locations. So he’ll do the opposite-he’ll hide right under our noses, probably inside the hotel itself.”

“That’s insane. We’ll have the entire building surrounded.”

“Which makes it the last place we’d thoroughly search.” Marcus’s smile was terrifying. “But I know how rats think. Order constant surveillance on the hotel. Every entrance, every exit, every floor. If he’s in there, we’ll find him. And if he tries to leave…”

“We’ll be waiting,” Aaron finished.

Marcus opened the BMW’s door, finding Quinn curled in the back seat, wrapped in Dominic’s jacket. Her eyes

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were still red from crying, but her expression had returned to that cold, indifferent mask she wore like armor.

“Marcus,” she said quietly. “Are you… are you hurt?”

“No.” He reached in, touching her face gently. “I’m fine. And you’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”

Quinn’s hand covered his, her Saintess power still weak but present, wrapping around his dragon aura instinctively. “What about the others? The men who-”

“Being handled,” Marcus interrupted gently. “You don’t need to worry about them anymore. They’ll never touch you again.”

His dragon aura flared briefly, and Quinn shivered-not from fear, but from the overwhelming sense of protection radiating from her husband.

He killed them all, she realized. For me. He destroyed everything in his path to save me.

“Rest,” Marcus said. “Aaron and I have one more loose end to tie up. Then I’m taking you home.”

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CHATTER ART 2

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CHAPTER 79 PART 2

Moscow Style Hotel – 9:47 PM

Iron Hoof landed on the decorative awning with a bone-jarring impact that knocked the wind from his lungs. He rolled, grabbed the edge, and dropped the remaining two floors to the alley below, hitting the pavement hard enough to send pain shooting through his ankles.

But he was alive. And more importantly, he was mobile.

He limped toward the docks, making sure to be seen by security cameras, leaving a trail that any decent tracker would follow. Three blocks. Four. Five.

Then he doubled back through service alleys, moving with the practiced efficiency of a man who’d evaded death squads in three countries. By the time he reached the Moscow Style Hotel’s service entrance, his limp had disappeared, replaced by the confident stride of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

A waiter was smoking by the loading dock, his uniform rumpled and cigarette hanging from his lips.

Iron Hoof approached casually. “Hey, you got a light?”

The waiter turned—and Iron Hoof’s fist connected with his jaw in a perfect knockout punch. The man crumpled

without a sound.

Five minutes later, dressed in the waiter’s uniform and carrying a serving tray, Iron Hoof walked through the hotel’s back corridors like he belonged there. Just another faceless employee in a building full of them.

He found an empty storage room on the third floor and locked himself inside, pulling out his encrypted phone with shaking hands.

First priority: check if the escape routes were compromised.

He accessed the dark web surveillance networks-paid informants at the docks, airport, train stations-and felt his stomach drop.

“Multiple black SUVS at the docks. Armed men setting up checkpoints.”

“Airport security supplemented by private contractors. Facial recognition active at all terminals.”

“Train station exits blocked. Military-grade vehicles in parking lots.”

They’d locked down the entire city in under ten minutes.

“Impossible,” Iron Hoof muttered. “Who has that kind of reach? That kind of manpower?”

He dug deeper into the intelligence networks, searching for information on Marcus Steel.

What he found made his blood freeze.

DARK WEB BULLETIN – UNCONFIRMED

Breaking: Hibiscus Mansion completely destroyed. All Brand Family security forces eliminated. Jaxon Brand confirmed dead. Cash Lawson confirmed dead. No survivors.

Witnesses report inhuman speed, strength beyond cultivation limits, and what appeared to be golden-red dragon fire during the assault.

Rumor: The Dragon King has awakened in Grayson City.

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Warning: Anyone involved in the Sacred Saintess abduction is marked for death.

Iron Hoof’s hands trembled as he scrolled through dozens of similar messages, each more terrifying than the last.

“They say he moved too fast for cameras to track…”

“Forty elite bodyguards dead in ninety seconds…”

“The Brand Family-wiped out like they were nothing…”

“He killed them all to rescue the Sacred Saintess… no mercy, no survivors…”

The intelligence broker who’d traded in death for decades felt genuine terror for the first time in his professional

career.

A Sacred Saintess. Protected by something called the Dragon King. Forces that could annihilate entire families without breaking stride.

“What have I done?” Iron Hoof whispered. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”

His encrypted phone buzzed-a message from one of his informants at the docks.

“Boss, they’re not searching for someone who fled. They’re watching the hotel. Constant surveillance. They know you’re inside.”

Iron Hoof’s blood ran cold.

They knew. Somehow, impossibly, they’d deduced his exact strategy.

He needed a new plan. Immediate escape was impossible-they’d locked down every exit. But if he could maintain his disguise, wait forty-eight hours for the heat to die down, then slip out via cargo ship…

A sharp knock on the storage room door made him jump.

“Hey! Who’s in there?” A gruff voice-hotel manager, probably. “Storage is off-limits during shift hours!”

Iron Hoof slipped his phone into his pocket and opened the door, forcing a nervous smile. “Sorry, sir. I’m new. Just taking a quick break.”

The manager-a portly man in his fifties with thinning hair and suspicious eyes-looked him up and down.” New? What’s your employee ID?”

“I, uh-”

“And why are you on your phone during work hours?” The manager’s eyes locked onto the bulge in Iron Hoof’s pocket. “Company policy clearly states no personal devices while on duty. Hand it over.”

Iron Hoof’s mind raced. The phone was his only connection to escape routes, his only way to monitor Marcus Steel’s movements. Without it, he was blind.

“Sir, I’m sorry. It’s a family emergency—’

“I don’t care if your mother’s dying. Company policy.” The manager held out his hand. “Phone. Now. You can pick it up from storage after your shift.”

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