The Paramount Warlord

Chapter 3

John clenched his fists tightly. 'Who the h*ll would dare touch Mr. Brown's wife and daughter? They're asking for it!'

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he quickly assured, "Mr. Grant, please don't worry. I'll take care of Mr. Brown's wife and daughter myself. If anything happens to them, I'll take full responsibility—even with my life!"

"Good!" Calvin's voice was grave, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Mr. Brown has sacrificed so much for this country. His wife and daughter must not suffer any harm. You must bring them back safely!"

With that, Calvin ended the call.

John didn't waste a second. He grabbed his phone and dialed another number, barking into the receiver, "Get to my office immediately. Now. Move!"

Moments later, his secretary burst into the room, her black suit slightly disheveled, her face pale with worry. "Mr. Brad, what's happened?" she asked, her voice trembling. She could tell from his tone that something serious was unfolding.

"Alert the entire police department—mobilize every officer we have. Send them to this address immediately." John thrust a piece of paper into her hands, his expression cold and unyielding. "Make sure the trapped people are rescued. And get Deputy Mayor Franklin Wright here right away. I need to speak with him."

"Yes, sir!" The secretary's hands shook as she glanced at the address. Her mind raced. 'Who are they trying to save? It must be someone important to get Mr. Brad this riled up.'

"What are you waiting for? Move!" John snapped, his voice sharp as a blade.

"Y... Yes, sir!" she stammered, quickly turning on her heel and rushing out of the office.

***

The skies over Philadelphia darkened as the storm rolled in.

Lightning split the sky, thunder cracked like a whip, and rain poured down in relentless sheets.

Inside a car speeding through the storm, Whitney sat rigid, his face a mask of fury. His bloodshot eyes, crisscrossed with red veins, burned with rage.

The sound of his daughter's desperate cries echoed in his mind, and the image of his beloved Monroe being helpless against those criminals tore at his soul. His entire body trembled, and a guttural growl escaped his throat, raw and animalistic. The air around him seemed to thrum with energy as if his sheer presence could crush the car into scrap metal.

"Monroe," he growled through gritted teeth, his voice low and hoarse. "I won't let anyone harm you, I promise." His hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles turned pale. "Seven years ago, I failed you. I should've stayed. I should've been there instead of running off to the Middle East. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

The energy radiating from Whitney grew stronger, warping the air inside the car. It was as if his fury had a physical presence, threatening to tear the vehicle apart. Only his iron will kept it in check.

Sitting beside him, Kenson clenched his own fists, his jaw tight with anger. 'D*mn it. How dare they touch Mr. Brown's family? They're doomed!'

But Kenson knew better than to let his emotions take over. The entire upper echelon of Pennsylvania had already been mobilized. He knew Whitney's wife and daughter would be safe, absolutely.

The full power of the state was being summoned, just to give him peace of mind.

"General, your wife and daughter will be fine. I swear!" Kenson said, his voice firm as he slammed his foot on the gas pedal.

The engine roared to life, the car surging forward like a beast unleashed. The tires screeched against the pavement, and the air seemed to tremble under the sheer force of their speed.

"Faster. Faster!" Whitney growled, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned pale. His bloodshot eyes burned with fury, and his uneven breathing betrayed the storm raging inside him. Every second felt like an eternity, and the thought of his wife and daughter in danger made his entire body tremble with the urge to destroy whoever dared harm them.

"How much farther?" he demanded, his voice sharp and strained.

Kenson glanced at the GPS, his own nerves fraying under the pressure. "Five minutes, General. We're five minutes away from the apartment!" Kenson tightened his grip on the wheel, his foot pressing the accelerator to its limit. The car was already pushing 200 mph, but it still felt agonizingly slow.

"Where's the apartment?" Whitney asked, impatient.

"The apartment is just ahead. At the second traffic light, turn left, then go straight for 600 yards. That's Azure Apartments," he said quickly.

"What floor?" Whitney asked, his tone clipped.

"The eighth floor," Kenson replied.

Whitney didn't hesitate. "Kenson, Peter, I'm going ahead. Catch up as fast as you can."

Before Kenson could respond, Whitney slammed both feet down, and the car jolted violently as if struck by an earthquake. In the blink of an eye, Whitney launched himself out of the vehicle like a missile.

Bang!

The car's roof caved in from the force of his departure, leaving behind a gaping hole. Whitney soared through the air, his figure a blur against the stormy night. With a few powerful leaps, he disappeared down the road, leaving behind a trail of shattered asphalt and deep footprints.

Like a bolt of lightning, he streaked through the streets, his speed inhuman. Within moments, he arrived at Azure Apartments.

He didn't pause. His eyes locked on the eighth floor, and with a single leap, he propelled himself upward, scaling the building's wall with ease. In just three seconds, he reached the eighth-floor window.

With one powerful punch, the glass shattered into a thousand shards. Whitney slipped through the opening like a shadow, landing silently in the corridor.

A burly guard standing at the door witnessed everything unfold before him. He turned pale with fright and fell flat on his backside.

Whitney stepped forward, instantly positioning himself in front of the muscular man. His eyes, cold as ice and piercing like daggers, seemed to penetrate the man's soul. He spoke in an icy voice, "Tell me, where are Monroe and my daughter?"

His overwhelming presence felt like an avalanche collapsing. The middle-aged muscular man was terrified, his mind going blank as he instinctively shook his head. "I don't know... I don't know! It's not my fault! Please don't kill me, please!"

Bang! Whitney threw a punch directly into the middle-aged man's chest. A thunderous force swept through, and the man couldn't resist being violently thrown back, crashing into the door.

The hallway trembled as the solid anti-theft door instantly disintegrated, with the man's body smashing into the apartment.

"Who's there?" Kevin, who was about to r*pe Monroe, suddenly heard a noise. His expression darkened. He quickly pulled up his pants and glared toward the door, cursing, "D*mn it! Didn't I have Nolan guarding the door? How dare someone interrupt me?"

"Let's see who dares ruin my plans. I'll make them wish they were dead!" Kevin sneered and quickly walked toward the door. As he entered the living room, he saw Nolan lying on the ground, motionless like a corpse.

"Nolan!" Kevin's face paled, and a bad premonition suddenly rose in his mind.

Thud, thud, thud... At that moment, footsteps echoed from the doorway. Kevin instinctively turned his head to look, only to see Whitney walking in with a dark expression.