Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife: The Twins Are Not Yours!

Chapter 411: Two Teams IV

Chapter 411: Two Teams IV

Ewan had always wondered if he would be in this position again—before an onslaught of bullets, heart hammering, adrenaline surging—after taking his place in his family’s company.

For years, he had convinced himself that boardroom negotiations, corporate deals, and endless paperwork had replaced the days of ducking fire and leading missions. But some things never left a man.

The thought had haunted him often during quiet nights, the question whispering: what if it happens again? What if you find yourself before the barrel of a gun, and your team isn’t there to cover you? What if you’re alone?

Now, with walls echoing with gunfire and shouts, with plaster chipping above his head from a spray of bullets, that question was no longer hypothetical.

And strangely—he smiled.

Because as soon as the trigger pulled, as soon as danger pressed in on all sides, his body remembered. His training came alive in him like muscle memory. His hands and legs moved as if they had been waiting, itching for this exact moment.

Everything synced: his breath, his eyes, the rhythm of his heart. He moved in one accord, in one flow, like a current of water rushing through cracks in stone.

The first man came from the left, bursting forward, gun raised. Ewan didn’t even blink. His pistol lifted, barked once, and the man crumpled, his weapon clattering against the tiles.

But Ewan didn’t stay in one place, not with the incoming angry men. He darted forward, boots striking hard against the floor, then vaulted onto the wall in a smooth arc. His legs found grip where no normal man should have found footing, and he kicked off, twisting his body midair.

Bullets sprayed beneath him, but his pistol spoke more than twice before he landed, each shot finding its mark in the men below. Four bodies hit the ground, their fighting objects limp by their sides, before he even touched down.

The moment his boots kissed the floor, he was already rolling, already firing backward at the enemies chasing him from behind. His movements were so fluid it almost looked choreographed, like he had rehearsed every step.

He crouched as bullets flew past, firing back, sparks flashing from metal scraping against concrete. He ducked beneath a swinging baton, drove his shoulder into the assailant’s chest, and fired point-blank before the man could even gasp. He didn’t linger, didn’t gloat. Every move was transition into the next, a dancer in a ballet of death.

He pushed deeper into the hallway, every step measured, every breath controlled. Door by door, he moved, shoulder against wood, gun raised. He kicked one open thereafter and froze for a fraction of a second.

Inside were things that made his stomach twist—obscene scenes, naked abused women forced into corners, eyes wide with terror, the criminals using them like shields.

His finger tensed on the trigger, instinct screaming at him to shoot, but discipline held him back. He couldn’t risk hitting innocents.

The nearest thug smirked, thinking Ewan was hesitating in fear. He didn’t realize Ewan was waiting for the perfect moment.

And when it came—when the criminals finally turned their focus away from him for a second, in order to leave the bed to accost him, thereby leaving the women unshielded—Ewan acted immediately. His pistol spat fire, clean and precise. Three shots. Three men down. He lowered his gun slowly, letting the ringing silence fill the room.

The women blinked at him, trembling. One of them whimpered. Ewan’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t say a word. He turned, leaving the door wide open, a silent invitation for them to run. To escape.

But even if they didn’t, the state security service would soon invade the building. Aiden had dropped a tip to them, a late one, intentionally.

Ewan, meanwhile, repeated this through the rooms. Kick. Enter. Judge. Shoot. Leave. Always moving, always flowing. Some rooms stank of smoke and sweat. Others were dens of gambling or drugs. Each time, he found criminals, and each time, he cut them down with the merciless precision of a man trained for this exact nightmare.

Blood pooled on the floorboards, shadows stretched long under the flickering bulbs, and still he pressed forward, one door after another, one body after another.

By the time he reached the stairs to the last floor, his breathing was heavier, but his focus sharper. He climbed step by step, his pistol steady, eyes scanning every corner.

The second floor greeted him with silence—a silence he didn’t trust. He walked slowly, almost crouched, the muzzle of his pistol leading the way. And then...

A figure stood at the end of the corridor, just outside a heavy door. A girl. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, her hair tied back messily, a rifle steady in her hands.

She was pale under the hallway’s dim light, but her eyes were hard, defiant. She raised her gun, and Ewan froze.

Something about her stopped him cold. She reminded him of Heronica. The angle of her chin, the stubborn line of her mouth, even the way her hands shook but held steady anyway.

For a heartbeat, he hesitated.

And that hesitation cost him.

The crack of a gunshot ripped through the corridor, and searing pain tore into his thigh. He groaned, staggering back, hitting the wall with a grunt, settling behind it, just close to the stairs. His pistol nearly slipped from his hand, but he gritted his teeth and held on.

The girl kept shooting, each round tearing into the walls around him. From the sound and rhythm, he knew she was getting closer, step by step.

"Are you scared to fight, old man?" she shouted, voice shaking but loud. "Come out, sot!"

Him? A sot?

Despite the burning pain in his leg, Ewan almost laughed. Not because it was funny, but because of the absurdity of it—here he was, bleeding, hunted, cornered, and still his pride found the insult ridiculous.

He touched the wound at his thigh, grimacing. The pad he’d worn had taken the worst of it, but blood still seeped through. A surface wound, maybe, but no less painful.

His eyes flicked to his pack. Only one cartridge left.

"One bullet," he muttered under his breath. "Better be worth it."

He inhaled slowly, counting seconds, mind calculating, heart steadying. He needed her to take position—somewhere predictable, somewhere he could end it with precision.

And then he saw it: the broken glass scattered on the floor, catching faint light, reflecting her shadow as she stepped closer. Her boots crunched against it, revealing her exact spot without her realizing.

Perfect.

He steadied his hand, lined up the shot, and fired—not at her chest, not at her head, but at her right leg; mercy prevailing.Chapter 412: Two Teams V

Chapter 412: Two Teams V

Ewan left the bleeding girl where she writhed on the floor, clutching at her wounded leg, her defiance still smoldering in her glare even through the pain. He ignored her spit, ignored her muttered curses, and pressed his ear to the heavy door she had been guarding.

Silence.

He tilted his head, listening harder. No shuffling. No voices. Nothing that betrayed what lay behind the barrier. His jaw tightened. The silence could mean one of two things: the room was empty, or someone inside was waiting—poised, breath held, gun raised.

"Not even going to say anything when your life’s already hanging by a thread?" he muttered, half to the girl.

He turned his head slightly, his voice carrying the sharp edge of a threat. "One word could save you from bleeding out. Say nothing, and maybe I will blow off your other leg."

She glared, lips pressed into a thin line. Not a sound. Not even a flinch.

Loyalty.

Ewan breathed out slowly. Sometimes he hated the word."

He reached up, fingers tugging on the strap of his helmet. It was still snug, but he adjusted anyway, tightening it until it pinched at his jaw. The last thing he needed was a stray bullet glancing off and knocking it loose.

He tested the chin-strap twice, ensuring it was secure, then rolled his shoulders, loosening the tension in his muscles.

With one last breath, he lifted his boot and drove it hard into the door.

The lock splintered, the door swinging open violently, banging against the wall. His pistol was already raised, finger curled on the trigger.

And then—he froze.

A man stood in the middle of the room, gun pressed firmly against the head of a boy no older than twelve—Ciara’s little brother.

heaving with shallow breaths. Behind them, Ciara’s parents trembled, both bound, both crying,

the criminal snarled, pressing the barrel tighter against the boy’s temple, "and

flicked quickly over the man. It-was-white singlet. Faded blue boxers. Feet

shooter or thug.

too desperate to save his life. He had chosen to make a last stand with

to do that," Ewan said

criminal grinned, though his lips trembled. "Trust me, it would be my utmost pleasure. But I want to know who you

think I’ll answer

more than their dead bodies. They’re not

was cold. "You mean

can’t get anything right. She’ll pay for it, don’t worry..." He paused, a cruel light flashing in his eyes. "That’s if you haven’t punished her already

lips pressed into a hard line.

he replied quietly. "Now tell me, do you want to do this the easy way—or do you want to lose a leg like your

moment, the criminal’s bravado cracked. His brow furrowed.

on the gun. Ewan could see the tremor, the unstable pulse of his hand. The wrong word, the wrong twitch, and the little boy

to put him away now. Ewan thought,

but an idea

something persuasive. "I’ll make you a trade. Information—for their

eyes narrowed

know who I am? Fine. But

lips curved into a shaky grin. "Now you’re talking.

He crouched, lowering his pistol to the floor, inch by inch, making a show of compliance.

and pointed it squarely at Ewan. "Now stand up. Slowly. Hands where

rising to his feet,

Ewan, on the gun he was bending

his thigh. A sharp, high-pitched chirp echoed

was all the

darted to his waist, fingers wrapping around the hilt of the knife nestled there. His arm whipped forward,

knife buried itself into the man’s throat with a sickening thunk, before the

at his neck. Blood spilled over his chest, bubbling from his lips

Only the sobs of Ciara’s family

his grip with the familiarity of a man who had done this too many times before.

"Are you okay?" His voice was softer now,

cords came loose, and he tossed them aside. Ciara’s mother clutched

feet. Their legs were shaky, their

in the distance, faint but growing louder. The police were coming. And so, no doubt,

raised, his head jerking here and there, eyes wide as if expecting shadows to

a low rumble in his chest. "They’re

of

shoot me?"

he tried to mask it with irritation. "Let’s go. The police will be here any second. Neighbors must have tipped

said, falling into step. He motioned for Ciara’s family to walk ahead, keeping himself at the rear,

stairs, he asked, "Did we lose

have a lot of injured. Good thing you insisted on the truck. You really do make plans like your ex-wife—first

snorted softly, lips quirking. "Like you don’t know what attacking

Zane?" He asked, seconds later.Chapter 413: Being

Chapter 413: Being Present

food not to your liking?" Antonio’s voice was able

okay? Were any injured? Especially those that

as she forced her focus back to the present,

had gone on a mission to retrieve Ciara’s parents—she

glanced at the time on her wristwatch.

her watch passed the wrong message to Antonio.

boring you? Do you want to

cutlery, which had

you mean, Antonio? I never said you

like I am. I have been the only one talking, and even then, your attention

rubbed the middle of her forehead with the tips of her fingers, wishing she could tell Antonio everything—because then he would understand. But the need not to burden him with problems, the need to obey her grandfather,

she sucked on her lower lip and scooped food

You should understand my place in the situation of things... I have to find the

that you finding out the location had upended their plans. You should think about the positives only. Or did you find something else to prove that they already have a working drug with them to release

head slowly, her eyes lowering to her plate.

with his warm, steady one. "Quit worrying too much, Athena. It’s not good for your health. You

be." Easier said than

even as she did so, even as she tried to focus on Antonio talking about his day at work, even as she tried to forcefully

last one where he had informed her they would be going into position in the next five minutes. She had wished him well before returning to her task. But now, she was wondering why she hadn’t called

you do at the lab if you had nothing to

licked her lower lip nervously, counting herself lucky that she had

hunch... adding and subtracting chemicals to the Grey virus compound, should anything

her. His brows arched

"Okay, we invaded a certain hideout of the Demon

"What!"

had just been to the cinema which

few turned to look, whispers

"Antonio, calm down."

girlfriend went into a gang’s hideout without letting

voice had gone considerably lower now, his hand leaving hers to clench into

said

"Then what do you mean by ’we’? Who went for

shrugged lightly. "Members of the state security. They

keep the matter too from Antonio after seeing his reaction. The last thing she needed tonight was to feel the need to defend

Ewan, to know if everything had gone well, to know if he was okay. Her fingers itched to touch her phone, but she had kept from reaching for it because then Antonio would get curious if she turned away to make the call—if he knew

you said we... I thought that meant you..." A

a glass cup, taking deliberate, careful sips. She cleaned her mouth with a serviette, folding it neatly and placing

of actions with a frown, not pleased with the half-eaten food on her

have ordered something else if I knew you didn’t like

forward. "Being in the lab

nodded slowly. "I see. So,

"They reported scenting a certain chemical...

414: Being

more interested in pushing her thoughts away so that she wouldn’t worry much, than in

was canceling out the option of working with a hunch, what alternative did he have for her to curb the situation in the

she had left the lab—because she had stopped him from coming to pick her, mentioning that he wait outside the cinema for her—she had been approached by a couple of her neighbors, a couple of frightened neighbors, who wanted her firsthand comment on the issue, if they

apart from those who had approached her after the movies... and her boyfriend was telling

reply, to even know what

tone was soft, but carried an edge of impatience. "What do you think I should do?

be better than spending hours on wrong

the unrest plaguing the state? Is that what you are suggesting? That’s your big

slowly when he said nothing, only staring at her with furrowed brows, like

going wrong at your workplace, maybe when numbers aren’t adding