The Almighty Dominance novel Chapter 333

Previously, while Alex was still trapped in the prison cage, Major General Marcus Hale sat comfortably in his Chicago office, enjoying a cigar when his phone rang.

He picked it up casually.

"Laura Montclair," Marcus drawled with a lazy smirk. "You wanted this Alex guy dead, right? Consider it done. Mind telling me again who exactly he is?"

"He's just some nobody doctor running a tiny clinic in a Vancouver slum," Laura said coldly. "Nothing to worry about."

Marcus chuckled, exhaling a slow stream of smoke.

"I’ve wiped out thousands like him—he’ll vanish, no question. But…" He smirked, voice dropping into a darker tone.

"If you give me another night like last week, I might even take my time. Drag it out. What do you say?"

"Perfect," Laura shot back coldly. "I was craving that too."

The line went dead.

Barely moments later, the phone rang again. Marcus frowned when he saw the caller ID.

"Governor Tom Jones? What’s the matter now?"

"I hear you're holding someone named Alex," Tom Jones said in a calm, icy voice.

Marcus grunted. "If you're talking about the Vancouver doctor, yeah, he's mine."

"I’ll send you his photo. Confirm it’s him," Tom ordered.

Marcus glanced at his phone, nodding sharply. "Yep, that's him."

"Good. Kill him," Tom said flatly. "Same rate as always, one hundred thousand dollars per person."

"Business as usual," Marcus shrugged.

"Actually, I'll triple it," Tom continued with a sinister edge. "But make it brutal. I want him to suffer horribly."

Marcus laughed darkly. "Consider it entertainment. I'll livestream his torture. You bring the popcorn."

The second Marcus ended the call, his phone rang twice more, with Dupont and Hernandez making identical demands.

Torture Alex. Make it agonizing. Kill him.

Marcus shook his head in disbelief, muttering to himself, "What the hell did this guy do to piss off four out of the five Chicago Lords?"

Suddenly, an assistant burst through the door, face pale, holding out a paper with trembling hands. "Sir, you need to see this."

Marcus snatched the paper and scanned it quickly. His eyes widened with shock and delight.

"Johnson’s throwing a hundred million on this guy’s head. That’s not a bounty—that’s a goldmine."

Marcus' eyes burned with greed, sharp and electric.

"Four Lords already want him buried. Johnson—the fifth—wants his head on a spike. I bag him, and I’m set for life. This is my damn retirement plan."

Marcus stood up abruptly, eyes blazing with excitement.

"Bring Alex to the center of the field. We're going to put on a show. Torture him slowly, painfully, until he's begging for death. Afterwards, we’ll barbecue his remains."

Minutes later, Alex was chained to a tall post in the center of the open field, vulnerable and exposed.

Marcus barked an order, and a soldier stepped forward holding a whip lined with razor-sharp thorns.

Each lash would shred flesh, exposing bone instantly.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" Marcus barked, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

He shot a glare at the soldier still talking to Alex.

"These people didn’t come for conversation—they came for blood. Now whip him!"

Around the field, prisoners watched anxiously, whispering their grim expectations.

"Poor Kid," someone muttered. "He'll be dead soon enough. Let’s hope it’s quick."

The soldier, Montana sneered at Alex, brandishing the vicious whip.

"Say goodbye, asshole. This whip has tasted plenty of blood already."

He swung the whip back, but suddenly his arm jerked violently, forcing the whip to lash brutally across his own back.

The soldier howled in agony as the sharp barbs tore through his flesh.

The entire crowd gasped, horrified and confused.

"Montana! What the hell are you doing?" another soldier shouted, rushing forward.

Montana's face twisted in anguish and confusion, his movements not his own.

Before anyone could stop him, he swung again, this time wrapping the whip tightly around the approaching soldier's neck.

"No—" the trapped soldier gasped desperately.

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