The Almighty Dominance novel Chapter 271

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.

“I want everything recorded–broadcast it live. Make that bastard grovel and plead before you put a bullet through his skull.”

“Understood, sir,” Yorick replied swiftly, relaying commands to his men as the helicopters began their descent.

On the hotel forecourt, Alex gently clutched Josephine in a protective embrace, his voice strained with regret and sorrow.

“I’m sorry I was too late,” he murmured painfully.

“It’s alright,” Josephine whispered, her voice trembling with exhaustion yet courageously defiant. “Alex, we must leave quickly -they’re dangerous.”

Alex’s expression darkened as his gaze traced the bruises marring Josephine’s delicate face and tattered clothes.

“Did they hurt you?” he demanded fiercely.

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Her eyes filled with tears, humiliation and pain etched deeply across her features.

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They they tried to violate me,” she admitted softly, her voice breaking. “But forget that–please, let’s just escape. They want

you dead.”

With tender resolve, Alex gently touched her forehead.

“Sleep,” he commanded softly yet authoritatively.

“Alex…” 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 Alex.

“Alex!” Yorick roared, voice booming with deadly accusation. “How dare you kill Henry Dupont!”

At that moment, Owen arrogantly stepped out of the hotel entrance and onto the forecourt, flanked by five of his guards. His eyes widened in disbelief at the scene before him–soldiers swarming the hotel forecourt, all with weapons trained on Alex. “Hold on!” Owen barked urgently, stepping forward confidently.

Yorick spun around sharply. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Owen Whitman,” Owen declared imperiously.

This is my hotel. That man owes me a Heaven Root. Before you turn him into Swiss cheese, I’m taking what’s mine.”

Yorick hesitated briefly until Conrad’s furious voice once again filled his ear.

“Let him take the Heaven Root first. It’s valuable. If he refuses to hand it over afterward, kill him as well.”

“Go ahead,” Yorick grudgingly allowed Owen, motioning him forward.

“Perfect,” Owen smirked arrogantly, strutting forward as though stepping onto a stage set just for him, utterly convinced the world revolved around his whims.

Facing Alex, Owen sneered with disgusting mockery, his voice dripping venom.

“Hand over the Heaven Root, bastard. Maybe I’ll let them leave your corpse recognizable.”

“Did any of you touch her?” Alex growled, eyes blazing with murderous fury.

Owen laughed cruelly, without a shred of shame. “Yeah, I ordered my bodyguards to violate her–we planned to enjoy every second of it. What are you gonna do about it? She’s our toy now.”

Alex’s silence turned deadly, the air vibrating violently around him

Owen’s mocking laughter faltered slightly as Alex’s quiet fury transformed into a chilling command.

“Explode.”

Instantly, an invisible force slammed into Owen’s five guards like a freight train from hell.

They tried to 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 that painted the pavement.

Owen froze, horrified, as hot blood splattered his face and drenched his clothes. Stumbling backward, Owen raised his shaking gun, terror replacing bravado. “Who…who the hell are you?” he whimpered, fear clawing at his throat. An invisible vice clamped painfully around his hand, shattering it explosively.

Chapter 271

Owen’s scream pierced the night as he stared numbly at the shredded remains of his limb. Gripped by terror, Owen spun around and bolted–desperate to escape.

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But before he could take a second step, another brutal force exploded 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 pavement.

The Dupont soldiers watched aghast, unable to comprehend the gruesome carnage unfolding 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 there’s no shooter visible-”

Conrad paused, considering the implications.