The Almighty Dominance

Owen and his bodyguards stood frozen in a stunned stupor, their tends too clouded by shock to fathom the chaos erupting around them.

Rushing to the penthouse balcony, Owen gripped the railing tight and stared down into the shadows below.

His breath hitched sharply when he glimpsed a man, powerfully built and fiercely determined, cradling a woman tenderly in his

strong arms.

Nearby, the thunderous rhythm of helicopter blades filled the nig air, whipping it into a violent tempest.

More lights pierced through the darkness, an ominous swarm converging swiftly upon the hotel.

A wicked smile twisted Owen's lips, his eyes gleaming cruelly. "Looks like our guest has finally arrived," he chuckled, a harsh laugh escaping his throat, completely devoid of remorse for Josephine's fate.

Women, to him, were nothing more than expendable toys, easily broken and casually discarded.

Snatching the pistol off his bedside table, Owen sneered coldly, "Killing Alex and taking the Heaven Root? Hell, that's child's play."

Meanwhile, Jericho Kane's helicopter hovered in midair, frozen in shock.

He could barely comprehend what he had just witnessed-his passenger had flung himself out of the chopper without a parachute, diving headfirst toward a woman plummeting from the penthouse balcony.

"What the hell... is he Superman?" the pilot muttered, stunned, his hands gripping the controls as he guided the chopper toward the rooftop helipad of the Skyview Hotel, awaiting further orders with bated breath.

At that same moment, six more helicopters tore through the night skies, engines roaring like war drums.

They bore the insignia of Conrad Dupont-each one packed with merciless, battle- hardened soldiers.

Inside the lead chopper, their commander, Yorick, leaned forward, his gaze sharp as a blade.

Through the binoculars, he locked onto a lone figure standing boldly at the hotel forecourt-a man cradling a woman in his arms like a knight descending into hell. Yorick's eyes narrowed.

"That's him," he growled. "Target in sight."

"Sir," Yorick urgently communicated through the radio to Conrad back in Chicago, his voice tight with anticipation.

"We've got eyes on Henry's killer."

Conrad's furious voice crackled sharply through the speaker, pure venom dripping from his words.

live. Make that bastard grovel and plead before you put a bullet

sir," Yorick replied swiftly, relaying commands to his

clutched Josephine in a protective embrace, his voice

sorry I was too late," he

whispered, her voice trembling with exhaustion yet courageously defiant. "Alex, we must leave quickly

the bruises marring Josephine's delicate face

they hurt you?" he demanded

Chapter 221

humiliation and pain etched deeply

to violate me," she admitted softly, her voice

you dead."

Alex gently touched her

he commanded softly yet

Josephine murmured weakly as overwhelming fatigue overcame her, and she slumped gently into unconsciousness. By now, six helicopters hadtouched down, disgorging sixty heavily-armed soldiers onto the parking lot, each weapon raised menacingly at

roared, voice booming with deadly accusation. "How dare you kill Henry

widened in disbelief at the scene before him-soldiers swarming the hotel forecourt,

"Who the

Owen Whitman,"

That man owes me a Heaven Root. Before you turn

until Conrad's furious voice

valuable. If he refuses to hand it over

a stage set just for him, utterly convinced the world revolved around his whims. Facing Alex, Owen sneered with disgusting mockery,

touch her?" Alex growled, eyes blazing with murderous

without a shred of shame. "Yeah, I ordered

What are you gonna

the air vibrating

slightly as Alex's

"Explode."

an invisible force slammed into Owen's five guards like a

scream-but the breath was ripped from their lungs as their bodies were pulverized, bones shattering and flesh exploding in a gruesome spray of blood and gore

backward, Owen raised his shaking gun, terror replacing bravado. "Who...who the hell are you?" he whimpered, fear clawing at his throat. An

scream pierced the night as he stared numbly at the shredded remains of his limb. Gripped by terror, Owen

through the air, shredding his leg apart. He screamed as he was hurled to the ground, landing in a crumpled, blood-soaked heap on the cold

before them without a single visible attacker. "Please... help me," Owen sobbed pathetically, his pride shattered utterly. "Yorick!" Conrad barked urgently through the line. "Is Whitman being attacked?" "Yes, sir," Yorick stammered, confusion evident. "But