Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 486

Chapter 486: SLAP... SLAP... SLAP

Even the girl on Jack’s arm was laughing—she tried to hide it behind her hand, but her whole body shook with it.

Tommy had just dick-slammed Jack Morrison in the most public way possible. In front of his crew. In front of girls he was trying to impress. In front of the entire Lincoln Club who would spread this story to every social circle in LA by tomorrow morning about the Morrison Prince’s dick game.

Complete and total annihilation.

Jack’s face went from red to purple. Not embarrassment—pure, unfiltered rage. That mask of calm shattered completely, revealing what was underneath: humiliated eighteen-year-old who’d just been destroyed by someone he’d always considered beneath him.

His fist came up—no warning, no thought, just pure animal reaction—swinging toward Tommy’s face with every ounce of wounded pride and anger behind it.

Time slowed.

My body moved before conscious thought finished processing.

One second I was seated at the bar. Next second I was there—grabbed Tommy’s collar, yanked him backward hard enough that he stumbled and nearly fell. His drunk reflexes were too slow, but mine weren’t. Pulled him completely out of range a split-second before Jack’s fist would have shattered his nose.

And caught Jack’s wrist mid-swing.

My hand closed around his wrist like industrial vice, stopping his punch with force that made audible impact.

Not just stopped—dominated. I felt bones grinding together under my grip, felt him instinctively try to pull back and fail completely because I was stronger now, so much stronger than he could comprehend.

Our eyes met.

And for the first time in his privileged life, I saw real fear flicker across Jack Morrison’s face.

Then I shoved.

Not hard—didn’t need to be hard. Just redirected his momentum, sent him stumbling backward three steps until he caught his balance, clutching his wrist and staring at me with this expression mixing shock and growing rage and something that looked suspiciously like panic.

"You little—" He looked at his wrist—already bruising, already swelling—then back at me.

And attacked.

Came at me with both hands this time, throwing all technique out the window in favor of pure aggression.

I caught both his hands—one motion, fingers wrapping around both wrists—and his forward momentum just... stopped. Like he’d hit a wall made of physics that refused to negotiate.

Time for a lesson in humiliation.

SLAP.

Open-handed across his face—deliberate choice, more insulting than a punch—the sound echoing through the club louder than the music. Sharp, clear, unmistakable.

His head snapped to the left.

SLAP.

Other direction, same force, same deliberate humiliation.

His head snapped right.

I grabbed his shoulder and pushed—not threw, just firmly redirected with strength he couldn’t hope to match—and Jack went flying backward into the nearby chairs. They scattered under his weight with loud crashes and clatters, Jack landing in a heap of furniture and shattered dignity.

For exactly one second, Lincoln Club was perfectly silent except for the music.

Then Jack’s crew moved.

All seven of them making simultaneous decision to defend their fallen leader. Pool cues raised like weapons. Faces showing that particular combination of anger and pack mentality that made groups dangerous even when individuals weren’t.

The blonde linebacker came first—fastest, biggest, probably thought his size made him intimidating. He swung the pool cue like a baseball bat, aiming for my head with enough force to cause serious damage.

I ducked under it—easy, almost lazy—feeling the cue whistle past where my head had been a second ago. Came up inside his reach and drove my palm into his solar plexus—not full strength, didn’t want to kill him, just enough to make breathing difficult.

He folded like a cheap lawn chair, pool cue clattering to the floor as he dropped to his knees gasping for air.

Two more came at me simultaneously—dark-haired guy from my left, redhead from my right, attempting to flank me with pool cues raised.

I let the aura pulse once—just once, just enough—and watched them hesitate. Not stopping completely, but their confidence wavered, their attacks became uncertain.

I grabbed a chair—one of the ones Jack had crashed into—and swung it in a wide arc.

The dark-haired guy got it in the ribs. Heard something crack—hopefully just the chair—and he went down hard.

The redhead managed to swing his cue at me. I caught it mid-swing with one hand—just grabbed it out of the air like catching a thrown ball—and yanked hard. He came with the cue, off-balance, stumbling forward right into my waiting fist.

Lights out. He crumpled.

Three down. Four to go.

The remaining four had enough sense to not attack individually. They spread out, trying to surround me, pool cues raised, moving with coordination that came from actually playing team sports together.

Smart. But not smart enough.

One came from behind—I heard his footsteps on the polished concrete. I spun, grabbed his wrist as the cue came down, twisted hard—heard his shoulder pop out of socket—and used his own momentum to throw him into one of his buddies. They went down in a tangle of limbs and groaning.

Five down. Two remaining plus Jack still trying to extract himself from the chairs.

The last two looked at each other, looked at their fallen crew, looked at me standing there barely winded, and I saw the exact moment they reconsidered their life choices.

"Anyone else?" I asked, voice carrying calm that was somehow more threatening than shouting.

SLAP.

"Fuck you—"

SLAP.

"Listen very carefully, Jack. This is the only warning you’ll ever get." My voice stayed quiet, but the Lust Presence leaked through, making my words feel like physical pressure. "You don’t talk about Sofia. You don’t talk about Tommy. You don’t talk about me. You don’t even THINK about us. Because the next time you do, I won’t stop at humiliation."

He didn’t just fight back. He dominated.

"Dude." Tommy’s voice was reverent. "That was the most badass thing I’ve ever seen. Like, ever. In my entire life. You just—they were SEVEN of them—and you just—"

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