The Commander Without A Name

Chapter 7

The room was suffocating. It had barely been designed to hold six people comfortably, and now over ten had crowded inside, bodies pressing against each other like they were about to explode.

The tattooed men who had barged in radiated authority and menace in a way Thomas Sawyer had never experienced.

Unlike the four sprawled on the floor, these were veterans, each a carefully honed instrument of violence, loyal only to Victor Hale, trained to kill without hesitation, and entirely unafraid of death.

Their presence made the air thick, almost unbreathable, as though the walls themselves were pressing inward, carrying the stench of sweat, fear, and cheap cologne.

Thomas’s face turned ashen, his knees trembling beneath him as he tried to swallow his panic and plead: “CEO Anderson! Please… save my son! It’s all my fault! I… I…” But his words were lost to the room, to the tension that wrapped around them like steel cables.

“Leave!” Samuel King’s voice cut across the room like a whip, sharp and commanding, though it held no warmth, no true authority.

His eyes did not waver from Hannah Stone, who had emerged from the shadows like some preternatural predator, her gaze cold and precise.

He could feel the fury radiating from her like the edge of a blade. “Are you Ethan Sawyer’s… companion?” he asked, trying to sound confident, though his voice betrayed him.

A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face as he licked his lips, his mind racing, hunting for a way to regain control of a situation he had already lost.

“You know she’s a fugitive, don’t you? Kneel. Apologize. Beg. Do it now, and I may let what just happened slide. Follow me from now on. Be loyal, and perhaps you might survive.”

Ethan Sawyer’s calm gaze never left Samuel King. He did not flinch, did not panic, did not allow the faintest ripple of surprise to betray him. “Not knowing when your life is at stake and acting like this…” His voice was a low, controlled rumble. “Deal with it.”

Samuel King’s laughter broke the moment like glass shattering. “Hahaha! The funniest thing I’ve heard all year!” He leaned back into the sofa, crossing his legs with mock elegance, lighting a cigar, inhaling the smoke with deliberate theatrics, and letting it curl around him like smoke over a battlefield.

“Ethan Sawyer, you’re not the same young master I remember. Still trying to show off? Wearing a uniform makes you think you own the world, huh? Let me make it clear—kneel. Beg. Or mark one year from today as the day you and your father die!”

“Shut up!” Hannah Stone’s voice sliced through the haze of smoke and laughter.

Her eyes burned like fire against Samuel King’s smugness, and the very air seemed to tense around her. “Do you even know who you are insulting? Do you know the danger you invite?”

Ethan’s hand tapped her shoulder gently, stopping her from stepping forward. He did not want to expose his true rank to Thomas Sawyer, not yet, and certainly not in this volatile room.

The Commander-in-Chief of Liton could be a force that toppled governments and armies, but even the reckless Thomas, fueled by grief and guilt, could misuse that power if he knew the truth.

Blood was thicker than protocol; Ethan would endure the insult, the mockery, the challenge — and protect his father’s fragile dignity while keeping his secret intact.

“Keep going,” Samuel King said, mockery crawling across his features.

“Why? Running out of lines? Shall I do it for you? The young master of the Sawyer family, a fugitive… and the old dog Thomas Sawyer, cursed by the Jin family! Oh, yes, terrifying indeed!” He drained the last of his glass with a grotesque smile, the smoke of his cigar rising to mingle with the tension in the room. “I told you I’d give you a chance. Kneel. Beg. Or…” His voice dropped, wet and dangerous, “…you die.”

The men surrounding Hannah Stone’s figure began to shift uncomfortably, lust and mockery colliding in their expressions.

Even in New Haven, where beautiful women were plentiful, few carried the aura that suggested power, danger, and inevitability all at once. To hold her… to even touch her… they fantasized in grotesque exaggerations. But none dared move; instinct screamed at them that the slightest motion could be their last.

Ethan Sawyer shook his head, calm and deliberate. “Thanks for the offer,” he said, voice low, steady, like iron winding tight. “But I won’t accept it.” He released Hannah Stone’s shoulder and stepped forward, guiding Thomas by the arm, his movements fluid, precise, controlled.

They moved toward the hallway. A tattooed man tried to block them. Samuel King waved him off. “Leave them. Only the woman matters now. The rest will serve the Sawyer family head and young master well.” The man, sensing the futility of resistance, stepped aside, and the pair slipped out.

In the hallway, a few karaoke employees leaned against walls and pillars, smirking at the sight. “Go quickly,” Thomas whispered, though he tried to mask the panic rising in his throat.

He shoved Ethan aside, attempting to confront the employees, to assert some control, to reclaim honor for himself in the midst of chaos.

Even with courage forced from desperation, his body still quivered, his age and guilt betraying him, but he was determined to do anything to protect his son.

Ethan Sawyer, however, grasped his father’s shoulder again, steadying him. There was warmth in that brief touch, the faintest reminder of human connection, and yet it was laced with cold judgment.

Thomas had chosen responsibility too late, but Ethan recognized the effort, brief and faltering, to protect his child.

It was not enough, and it would never be enough to forgive the years of neglect, but it was something to note.

Over ten men crowded the hall now, blocking all obvious exits. The air was taut, heavy with tension and expectation.

Then came screams, the sound of crashing bodies and a cacophony of grunts and curses. The enforcers exchanged panicked glances, confusion overtaking their arrogance.

The door flung open. Hannah Stone emerged, completely unharmed, her presence radiating lethal authority, and the entire room seemed to breathe with terror.

“Clean this up,” she said quietly, almost lazily, and Ethan Sawyer followed, his steps silent but purposeful.

Thomas trailed behind, still stunned, moving toward the scene, his heart sinking as his eyes took in the carnage.

The room was strewn with bodies, all motionless, sprawled across the blood-slicked floor.

He could not believe it. A frail woman — delicate, precise, and terrifying — had vanquished more than ten men without breaking stride.

Fear clawed at him. Victor Hale ruled this city. His enforcers were meant to be untouchable. And yet, in this small room, they had been obliterated by a single figure.

Thomas could only whisper, trembling, “Go… now… Ethan Sawyer, hurry…”

Ethan did not reply.

He moved deeper into the room. Samuel King huddled in a corner, his once-proud frame trembling, his face contorted, a grotesque mask of terror, the reek of alcohol and urine surrounding him.

Thomas assumed the men on the floor were unconscious. He did not realize — Samuel King did. They were all dead. Every last one.

The angelically beautiful, devilishly cruel Hannah Stone had killed them all with precision, silence, and absolute finality.

Ethan stooped, his calm voice cutting through the lingering terror. “CEO Anderson?”

Samuel King’s body convulsed. “No! Please! Don’t kill me! No! No!” He fell to his knees, banging his head on the floor in frantic despair.

Even witnessing such abject fear, Ethan’s expression softened briefly, but his resolve did not waver. “I won’t kill you. But take me to Lila Hayes. Now.”

Thomas shouted behind him, desperation in every syllable. “Ethan Sawyer! Leave New Haven! Get far away! You’re walking into the jaws of a tiger!”

Ethan turned slowly, his gaze locking with Thomas’s. Calm, measured, unyielding. “I came back this time to stay. I’ll do what you could not. I’ll protect Liam now.”

Thomas’s voice cracked. “You don’t understand who Victor Hale is! You can’t fight him!”

Ethan’s grip tightened on Samuel King’s collar, dragging him like a broken animal.

His eyes, hard as forged steel, never left the trembling man. “From the moment that happened to Liam, the sky has…”