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.

small chest heaving with shallow breaths. Behind them, Ciara’s parents trembled,

against the

man. It-was-white singlet. Faded blue boxers. Feet bare. His hair was unkempt, sweat

a good shooter or thug.

rushed here when the shooting started, too desperate to save his life.

to do

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

I’ll answer your questions if you keep them alive?

eager. "Exactly. My boss would appreciate that more than their dead bodies. They’re not useful—just pawns to keep spies under

tone was cold. "You

anything right. She’ll pay for it, don’t worry..." He paused, a cruel light flashing in his eyes.

lips pressed into a hard line.

quietly. "Now tell me, do you want to do this the easy way—or do you want to lose a

a moment, the criminal’s bravado cracked. His brow furrowed. "You cut

tremor, the unstable pulse of his hand. The wrong word, the wrong twitch, and the little boy would

to put him away now. Ewan thought, jaw

pistol, but an idea sparked in his mind.

dipped into something persuasive. "I’ll

eyes narrowed

it slightly. "You want to know who I am? Fine. But you’ll have to let them live.

shaky grin.

nodded, keeping his movements smooth, deliberate. He crouched, lowering his pistol to the floor, inch by inch, making a show

He shifted his gun from the boy’s head and pointed it

obeyed, rising to his feet, palms open,

split—on Ewan, on the gun he was bending

the small button on the strap at his thigh. A sharp, high-pitched chirp echoed in the room—the alarm for backup. The sound made the man flinch, head snapping

all the distraction

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

throat with a sickening thunk, before the latter could realise what

he dropped both weapons, hands clawing at his neck. Blood spilled over his chest, bubbling from his

the sobs

a man who had done this too many times before. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, though inside, the adrenaline

"Are you okay?" His voice was softer

that bound their wrists. The cords came loose, and he tossed them aside. Ciara’s mother clutched her son, tears wetting her face. The father rubbed his wrists, his lips parting

legs were shaky, their faces pale, but they obeyed.

the distance, faint but growing louder. The police were coming.

the hallway. Sandro stood there, backing them, gun raised, his head jerking

rumble in his chest.

spun at the sound of his voice,

shoot me?" Ewan teased

his face, though he tried to mask it with

step. He motioned for Ciara’s family to walk ahead, keeping himself at the rear, every sense

hurried down the stairs, he asked, "Did we lose

injured. Good thing you insisted on the truck. You really do

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

seconds

Chapter 413: Being Present

And you have barely touched your food. Is the food not to your liking?" Antonio’s voice was able to

any injured? Especially those that

forced her focus back to the present,

find out that they had gone on a mission to retrieve Ciara’s parents—she wasn’t sure if Zane

prayer of protection mentally, her lips pressing together as she glanced at the time on her wristwatch. They should be

looking at her watch passed the wrong message to

you? Do you

meeting his gaze. The cutlery, which had been dancing aimlessly on her

I never

am. I have been the only one talking, and

he

and scooped food into her mouth

be. You should understand my place in

possible there isn’t any yet. It’s possible 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

slowly, her eyes

steady one. "Quit worrying too much, Athena. It’s not good for your health. You are a doctor, so you must know this. You should always be in

be." Easier said than

another portion into her mouth, but 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 take spoonfuls of food so as not to trigger Antonio’s questions again,

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 him. If

at the

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

working with my hunch... adding and subtracting chemicals to the Grey

believed her. His brows arched slightly, his lips pressing in a

"Okay, we invaded a certain hideout

"What!"

seventy percent of whom had just been

to look, whispers starting at

"Antonio, calm down."

calm down? My girlfriend went into a gang’s hideout

lower now, his hand leaving hers to clench into a

said

what do you mean by

the state security. They

her teeth, making the drastic decision to keep the matter too from Antonio after seeing his reaction. The last thing she needed tonight was to feel the need to defend

know if he was okay. Her fingers itched to touch her phone, but she had

you said we...

cleaned her mouth with a serviette, folding it neatly and placing it beside her plate

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

would have ordered something else if I knew

forward. "Being in the lab had sucked out my appetite without my knowledge... you know, a lot

slowly. "I see. So, continue your

"They reported scenting a certain chemical... I asked them to describe

Being

that she wouldn’t worry

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

wait outside the cinema for her—she had been approached by a couple of her neighbors,

minutes assuring them everything was okay. That was apart from those who had approached her after the movies... and her boyfriend was

pondered on this, she was more curious to know his reply, to even know what he was thinking,

had passed. Her tone was soft, but carried an edge of impatience. "What

than

plaguing the

her with furrowed brows, like he

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