Chapter 464: A Choice To Camilla

Drake and the others had no idea where these soldiers had come from. One moment the forest was empty except for their own ragged group; the next, dozens of red laser dots danced across their chests and foreheads like deadly fireflies.

Black-clad female soldiers emerged silently from the trees—tactical gear matte and professional, rifles raised with calm precision. The sight alone was enough to freeze them in place.

But what truly shocked them was me.

I stood there completely relaxed, a calm smile on my face, with Camilla tucked under my right arm and Mira under my left. Camilla, her massive Mexican tits pressed against my side, nipples hard from the cool night air and lingering shame. Mira leaned into me, trembling slightly but staying close, her body language screaming submission.

Jack was the first to break.

He dropped to his knees instantly, raising his hands in surrender, eyes wide with desperate hope.

"Soldiers!" he shouted, voice cracking with false relief. "You’ve got the wrong person! I’m a military pilot—Jack! This man—" he pointed a trembling finger at me "—this scoundrel Dexter is the real threat! He kidnapped my wife! He’s been holding her against her will, turning her into his whore! He’s the criminal here! Arrest him! Save us!"

Lisa stepped forward, pistol still in hand, and looked at him with pure disgust.

"Shut up," she said coldly.

The entire group went silent for a heartbeat—then erupted.

One of the survivors—a middle-aged man with a scraggly beard—shouted angrily, "What the hell is this?! You’re soldiers! You’re supposed to protect civilians! We’re tax-paying citizens! If the government sent you, then you have orders to rescue us, not help some psychopath!"

Another man, younger and thinner, joined in with venom in his voice:

"Yeah! This is treason! You’re pointing guns at innocent people! We’ve been surviving out here for months—starving, fighting for our lives—and now you show up and take orders from this bastard? You’ll all be court-martialed! Dismissed! Thrown in prison for the rest of your lives!"

A man in the back—yelled hysterically:

"You’re supposed to be the good guys! How can you stand there and let him treat women like property?! This is illegal! This is against every law! You’re all going to burn in hell for this!"

Even one of the older survivors spat on the ground and shouted:

"We paid taxes for decades so people like you could protect us! And now you’re working for a warlord who cuts off hands and collects slaves?! Shame on you! Shame on all of you! You’re no better than him!"

Lisa didn’t even blink.

She turned to me—completely ignoring the angry shouts—and asked respectfully:

"Boss... what should we do to them?"

The shouting stopped abruptly. Everyone’s eyes widened in shock as they finally processed what they were seeing: Lisa—standing right beside me—was the one giving commands to these heavily armed soldiers. Not the other way around.

Drake’s face twisted in disbelief.

"It’s you..." He rasped, voice hoarse from screaming earlier. "They’re your people... all of them..."

I chuckled—low, amused, almost bored.

"You guessed right," I said casually. "But there’s no reward for that."

The protests exploded again—louder, more desperate.

"You can’t do this!" a man screamed. "We’re American citizens! You have no right! The government will hang you all for treason!"

"Traitors!" another man bellowed. "You swore an oath! You’re supposed to defend the Constitution—not some rich psychopath with a harem!"

A younger survivor—barely twenty—yelled with tears in his eyes:

"My little sister is back at camp! She’s only eight! If you kill us, who’s going to protect her?! You’re monsters! All of you!"

I raised my hand—silencing the chaos with a single gesture.

The soldiers didn’t move. Their rifles stayed trained.

I looked at the group in front of me—Jack still on his knees, face twisted in a mixture of rage and terror; Drake pale and handless, stumps seared black and leaking through the crude bandages; the rest of the survivors trembling on the ground, eyes darting between the soldiers’ rifles and my calm face. The air was thick with the metallic smell of blood and the sharp tang of fear-sweat.

Then I smiled—slow, cold, and utterly calm.

Angela stepped closer, still completely naked, her body glowing softly in the lamplight. She slid an arm around my waist and leaned in, lips brushing my ear as she spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Husband," she purred, voice dripping with dark amusement, "why don’t you send them to the laboratory? We need new specimens. They would be of some use... especially the healthy ones. Think of all the tests we could run."

I nodded slowly, eyes never leaving the kneeling men.

"Yeah," I said. "Do as she says."

The female soldiers moved immediately—efficient, ruthless. Zip ties snapped around wrists and ankles. Jack tried to resist, spitting curses, but a soldier slammed a knee into his back and forced him face-down into the dirt. Drake screamed as they grabbed his arms—stumps flailing uselessly—while the others were dragged into a neat line like cattle.

I raised a hand, stopping them before they could bind Megan and Hailey.

"Leave those two," I ordered. "And leave Jack and Drake for now."

The soldiers stepped back instantly.

I turned to Camilla—still kneeling topless in the drying blood, her massive Mexican tits rising and falling with panicked breaths, dark nipples hard in the cool air, thick thighs trembling.

"Camilla," I said quietly, almost gently. "I will give you one more chance. If you want to stay with me... go ahead and kill Drake. Prove your loyalty. If not... you’ll be going with them."

Camilla panicked—eyes flying wide, breath coming in short, terrified gasps. She looked at Drake—his charred, handless stumps, his pale face twisted in pain and fear—then back at me. After witnessing the soldiers, the effortless power, the casual way I ended lives... she was only human. Temptation, survival instinct, and raw terror warred across her face.

She nodded—slow, shaking, tears spilling fresh.

I gestured to Lisa.

"Give her a gun."

Lisa pulled a compact pistol from her holster and handed it to Camilla without a word.

Camilla’s hands shook violently as she took it. She stood—legs unsteady—then walked over to Drake, who was still on his knees, staring up at her in disbelief.

"No... Camilla... don’t..." he begged, voice cracking. "I know you love me... you’re doing this because of a threat, right? Please... think about our children... don’t do this..."

Then his fear turned to rage.

"Bitch—don’t! I’ll kill you—!"