Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 94

CHAPTER 94

Bridger Davis stood perfectly still, his wire-rimmed glasses catching the restaurant’s flickering lights as he stared at Marcus Steel. For three full seconds, the chief strategist of Three Blade Group said nothing, his analytical mind processing impossible information.

Then recognition dawned.

His face went pale. His hands, which had been casually adjusting his glasses, trembled slightly. Behind those wire -rimmed lenses, his eyes widened with genuine terror-the kind of fear that came from witnessing something that shattered every understanding of what was possible.

“You,” Bridger whispered, the word barely audible. “You’re-you’re the one from West Lake.”

The fifty Three Blade Group soldiers behind him shifted nervously, sensing their leader’s sudden change in demeanor but not understanding why.

Cesar Pendleton, still clutching his broken nose, looked between Bridger and Marcus with confusion. “You know this punk? Good! Kill him! Make him suffer for what he did to me!”

Bridger didn’t respond to Cesar. He couldn’t. His mind was replaying that night at the West Lake warehouse- watching Marcus Steel destroy Noah Miller, the legendary Eagle-Claw assassin, in a single exchange. Watching dragon power manifest as golden-red fire that defied natural law. Watching a hundred armed men reduced to nothing.

And worse-he remembered what came after. Being captured. Ransomed for ten billion dollars. Maurice Yarrow, supreme leader of Three Blade Group, forced to pay and withdraw completely from Grayson City to avoid total annihilation.

“Mr. Davis?” One of his lieutenants stepped forward. “Sir, what are your orders?”

Bridger’s throat had gone completely dry. “Stand down.”

“What?” The lieutenant looked confused. “But Mr. Pendleton called for-”

“I said STAND DOWN!” Bridger’s voice cracked with barely suppressed panic. “Everyone-weapons away. Now!”

The Three Blade Group soldiers exchanged bewildered glances but obeyed, lowering their weapons and stepping

back.

Cesar struggled to his feet, blood streaming from his ruined nose. “What the hell are you doing?! I called you here to teach this bastard a lesson! He broke my nose! He destroyed my—”

“Mr. Pendleton,” Bridger interrupted, his voice hollow, “I strongly suggest you shut your mouth and leave. Immediately.”

“Leave?! I’m not going anywhere until this nobody is-”

Marcus took a single step forward.

Just one step. But the dragon aura that radiated from that movement-invisible to most but palpable as crushing pressure—made every Three Blade Group soldier instinctively take a step back. Their training screamed danger. Their instincts recognized a predator far beyond their ability to fight.

Bridger grabbed Cesar’s arm with desperate strength. “Mr. Pendleton, listen to me very carefully. This man-this is the one who destroyed our entire Grayson City operation. The one who killed Noah Miller. The one who forced Maurice Yarrow to pay ten billion in ransom.”

1/4

+25 Bonus

Cesar’s bloodshot eyes widened. “That’s-that’s impossible. This is just some nobody who married a Saintess. He can’t-”

“He CAN,” Bridger hissed urgently. “And if you value your life, you’ll leave RIGHT NOW before he decides broken noses aren’t enough punishment.”

Leopold Lancaster, still being held by Marcus’s collar, whimpered. “Please-we didn’t know-we were just drunk

Marcus released him with casual contempt, and Leopold stumbled backward into his brother Leonardo’s arms.

“Two million,” Marcus said calmly, his dragon eyes still glowing faintly. “Transfer it to my wife’s account. You have two minutes.”

“Yes-yes, of course!” Leopold fumbled for his phone with shaking hands, nearly dropping it twice before managing to open his banking app. “What’s-what’s the account number?”

Quinn, still standing near their original table with Marcus’s phone pressed to her ear, provided her Hartford Group business account details. Her cold indifference had returned, but her Sacred Saintess aura still blazed with protective golden light.

Leopold’s fingers flew across the screen, and within thirty seconds, the transfer confirmation appeared.

$2,000,000.00 transferred to Hartford Group Executive Account

“It’s-it’s done,” Leopold gasped. “The money’s transferred. Please, we’re sorry. We didn’t mean any disrespect to the Sacred Saintess.”

“You meant every word,” Marcus corrected coldly. “But I’m letting you walk away with functioning legs because my wife asked me not to escalate. Consider it divine mercy you don’t deserve.”

The Lancaster brothers didn’t wait for further permission. They grabbed Cesar Pendleton-who was still sputtering protests-and dragged him toward the exit.

“This isn’t over!” Cesar shouted, his bravado returning now that he was being pulled to safety. “I have connections! Real connections! You’ll pay for this humiliation!”

Marcus didn’t even look at him. “Bridger, your employer still remembers our arrangement, I assume?”

Bridger swallowed hard. “Yes. Three Blade Group has zero operations in Grayson City. We don’t interfere with your interests. That agreement stands.”

“Good.” Marcus finally turned those glowing dragon eyes fully toward the chief strategist. “Then explain to Mr. Pendleton exactly why he should never mention my name again. Ever. To anyone.”

“I will,” Bridger promised fervently. Then, more quietly: “May I ask-the Sacred Saintess. She’s truly your wife?”

“She is.”

Bridger’s face somehow went even paler. “Then… then forgive my earlier tone. I didn’t realize-” He bowed deeply, a gesture of profound respect that shocked his own men. “We meant no disrespect to you or to the Sacred Saintess. Three Blade Group will remember this encounter.”

“See that you do,” Marcus said.

Bridger gestured to his fifty soldiers. “We’re leaving. Now. All of you, move!”

The Three Blade Group forces filed out with military precision, their earlier aggression completely vanished.

2/4

EMAPTER 4

+25 Bonus

Several of them glanced at Marcus with barely concealed awe and fear-whispers spreading through the ranks about dragon power, about the legendary encounter at West Lake.

Riley Ridge still lay on the floor, whimpering and clutching his shattered leg. No one moved to help him. The restaurant staff cowered behind the bar. Other diners had long since fled, leaving only wreckage and shocked witnesses.

The entrance doors burst open one final time.

Aaron Jackson strode in with twenty of his own elite fighters, all armed and ready for war. His eyes immediately found Marcus standing in the center of the destruction, then Quinn standing protectively behind him.

“Elder brother,” Aaron called out, his gaze sweeping the restaurant, noting the broken furniture, the injured Riley Ridge, the rapidly departing Three Blade Group forces. “Are you both unharmed?”

“We’re fine,” Marcus confirmed. “Just some minor pest control.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify