Return of the Northern War God

#3

Chapter 3

Trevor Rodrigez stepped onto the lawn with the swagger of someone who'd never lost a fight. 

Behind him, fifteen men fanned out in a semi-circle, hands resting on concealed weapons. The porch light cast shadows across Trevor's face as he gave a smile of a predator that had cornered its prey.

"Adrian Lancaster." Trevor's voice dripped with mock surprise. "Well, well. You walked right into our trap."

Adrian stood in the doorway, silent. Waiting.

"We've been working on your aunt and sister for hours," Trevor continued, adjusting his cufflinks casually. "Broke the old woman's legs. Made her scream. All to find out where you were hiding. And you know what? She didn't say a word. Tough old bird." He laughed. "But it doesn't matter now. You saved us the trouble by delivering yourself."

Adrian's expression didn't change. "What do you plan to do with me?"

Trevor's smile widened. "Same thing we're doing with your sister. Send you to auction. Though..." He tilted his head, pretending to consider. "Actually, no. Someone like you wouldn't even sell. You're too old, too damaged. Your sister, though? She's got value. Young. Pretty. Perfect for some rich bastard's bed."

Adrian's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "So you do know where she is."

Trevor's smile faltered for just a second. Then he laughed sinisterly. "You've got balls, I'll give you that. Even now, you're trying to extract information from me?" He snapped his fingers. "Boys. Take him."

The fifteen men moved forward as one.

The first man reached for Adrian's arm. Adrian grabbed his wrist, twisted, and the man's elbow bent backward with a sickening crack. Adrian used the momentum to throw him into two others. They went down in a tangle of limbs.

The second wave came with weapons — batons, knives, one man pulling a pistol. Adrian closed the distance before the gun could rise. He drove his palm into the man's nose, grabbed the weapon as it fell, and used it as a club to crack against the next attacker's skull.

It wasn't a fight. It was a massacre.

Adrian moved through Trevor's men like water through crack s— he was brutal. Every movement was efficient. No wasted motion. A knee here. An elbow there. Bones snapped. Men screamed. Within thirty seconds, fourteen bodies lay groaning or unconscious on the lawn.

Trevor stood frozen, his confident smile long gone. His eyes were wide, darting between his fallen men and Adrian, who stood in the center of the carnage without a scratch on him.

"You…" Trevor's voice cracked. He cleared his throat, tried again. "You're stronger than I thought. But if you touch me, you'll regret it. Natasha Christian-Grey will destroy you. The Rodrigez family will…"

"Who does Natasha think she is?" Adrian's voice was quiet and calm as ever.

Trevor's face twisted with disbelief. "You don't even know who she is? Are you stupid?" He gave a nervous laugh. "She's at the height of her power right now. And she's about to connect with the War God himself. The man who just won the war in the north. Once she has him on her side, she'll be untouchable."

Adrian tilted his head slightly. "The War God?"

"You don't even…" Trevor's laugh turned mocking, gaining confidence from Adrian's apparent ignorance. "You really don't know? The whole nation has been celebrating for days. The War God ended a ten-year conflict. United the northern territories. He's a legend. And Natasha is already making moves to ally with him. Once that happens, people like you? You're less than insects."

Adrian took one step forward.

Trevor's confidence evaporated. "Wait… wait, I can tell you where your sister is! Just don't…"

Adrian hooked a foot behind Trevor’s leg and sent him crashing to the ground. Before he could recover, Adrian’s boot came down on Trevor’s hand. Hard.

Bone crunched. Trevor screamed, clutching his shattered hand to his chest.

"Get to the point," Adrian said quietly. "Where is my sister?"

"Auction House D!" Trevor gasped between sobs. "She was sent to Auction House D on the east side! That's all I know! I swear!" Tears streamed down his face. "I told you everything! If you keep being hostile, Natasha will… my family will…"

"Should I be afraid?" Adrian's voice dropped even lower. "Of Natasha?"

"You should be terrified!" Trevor spat blood. "She owns this city! She owns the judges, the police, the politicians! You can't fight that kind of power!"

Adrian looked down at him for a long moment. Then he turned his head slightly and spoke into the darkness.

"Marcus."

Men emerged from around the house — twelve soldiers in full tactical gear, weapons ready. They materialized so quietly that Trevor jerked in shock, his head whipping around to count them all.

"Sir." Lieutenant Marcus stepped forward, tablet in hand. His usual easy smile was gone, replaced by professional focus.

"Status," Adrian said.

"Team Alpha is standing by for house repairs. Team Bravo has medical equipment ready for the primary civilian." Marcus tapped his tablet. "ETA on the mobile surgical unit is two minutes."

"Execute."

"Yes, sir."

The soldiers moved with mechanical precision. Half of them entered the house. The sound of movement echoed from inside — furniture being lifted, tools being deployed. The other half formed a perimeter, eyes scanning the street.

Two minutes later, a large white van pulled up. The side doors opened, and medical personnel in crisp uniforms poured out, carrying cases of equipment. They moved like a surgical team entering an operating room — fast, coordinated, professional.

Trevor watched all of this with growing horror. His eyes tracked the soldiers, the medical team, the way they all deferred to Adrian. Then his gaze locked on Marcus's face.

The color drained from Trevor's cheeks.

"You…" His voice came out as a whisper. "You're... you're the War God's assistant. I saw you on the news…"

Marcus didn't respond. He just looked at Trevor with the same expression someone might give a cockroach.

Trevor's head snapped to Adrian. "Who are you? Who the hell are you?"

Adrian crouched down, meeting Trevor's terrified eyes. "You don't need to know."

"No… wait… I can be useful! I can help you! I know all of Natasha's…"

Adrian's hand shot out, grabbing Trevor's throat. The movement was so fast Trevor didn't have time to flinch.

"You sold my sister to an auction." Adrian's voice was soft. Almost gentle. "You laughed about it."

"Please…"

"You said she was being violated. You thought it was funny."

"I didn't mean… I was just…"

Adrian's grip tightened. Trevor's words cut off into a choked gurgle. His good hand clawed at Adrian's wrist, but it was like trying to move steel.

Adrian stared into Trevor's bulging eyes for one more second. Then he twisted.

The snap echoed across the lawn.

Trevor's body went limp. Adrian released him, and he crumpled to the ground like a puppet with cut strings.

Adrian stood, wiping his hands on his combat vest. "Clean this up."

"Yes, sir."

Adrian turned back to the house. Through the shattered doorway, he could see the transformation already happening. The overturned furniture had been righted. The blood was being scrubbed from the walls. 

In the corner, medical personnel worked over Aunt Betty with the kind of equipment you'd find in a top-tier hospital — monitors beeping, IV lines running, a portable ventilator humming.

One of the medics looked up. "Commander, she's stabilized. Internal bleeding is controlled. We're prepping her for transport to the facility."

"Do whatever it takes," Adrian said. "I want her alive."

"Understood, sir."

Marcus approached, holding out a small object in a sealed plastic bag. "Sir. Our field medic extracted this from the primary civilian's abdomen. Tracking device, just like the intel suggested."

Adrian took the bag, studying the tiny chip inside. It was smaller than a grain of rice, but sophisticated. Military grade. Natasha had probably paid a fortune for it.

"And the house?" Adrian asked.

"Team Alpha estimates repairs complete in forty minutes. Full restoration — walls, furniture, everything. It'll look like nothing happened."

Adrian nodded slowly. He looked down at the tracking device one more time, then slipped it into his pocket.

"Auction House D," he said quietly. "How far?"

Marcus tapped his tablet. "Twenty minutes by vehicle. Fifteen if we ignore traffic laws."

"Then we leave in five."

Around them, the soldiers moved like ghosts. Bodies were being loaded into vehicles. Blood was being scrubbed away. The house was being rebuilt. Within an hour, it would be like the Rodrigez family had never been here.

Adrian turned toward the waiting vehicles, "Let's move."