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.

The boy’s wide eyes were glassy with terror, tears streaking his cheeks, his small chest heaving with shallow breaths. Behind them, Ciara’s parents trembled, both bound, both crying, both whispering prayers that seemed to go unheard.

"Move," the criminal snarled, pressing the barrel tighter against the boy’s temple, "and a bullet goes into his head."

Ewan’s eyes narrowed. His gaze flicked quickly over the man. It-was-white singlet. Faded blue boxers. Feet bare. His hair was unkempt, sweat beading on his forehead.

Not a good shooter or thug. Not even ready. Ewan concluded.

The latter must have rushed here when the shooting started, too desperate to save his life. He had chosen to make a last stand with the nearest leverage available—innocents.

"You wouldn’t want to do that," Ewan said evenly.

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

Ewan tilted his head, gun still trained. "So you think I’ll answer your questions if you keep them alive? Trading their lives for information?"

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

"Spies?" Ewan’s tone was cold. "You mean Ciara."

The fellow smirked at the recognition. "So you found her out, then. Stupid girl who 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 for aiding and abetting a crime against the state."

Ewan’s lips pressed into a hard line. He didn’t blink. Didn’t lower his weapon.

to do this the easy way—or do you

criminal’s bravado cracked. His brow furrowed.

unstable pulse of

away now. Ewan

of his pistol, but an idea sparked in

said. His voice softened, dipped into something persuasive. "I’ll make you

eyes

pistol away, lowering it slightly. "You want to know who I am? Fine. But you’ll have to

lips curved into a shaky grin. "Now

keeping his movements smooth, deliberate. He crouched, lowering his pistol to the floor, inch by inch, making a show of compliance. His heart hammered, but his face betrayed nothing. The gun clinked softly as it touched

widening. He shifted his gun from the boy’s head and pointed it squarely at Ewan. "Now stand

rising to his feet, palms open, expression

the discarded weapon. His focus was split—on Ewan, on the gun he was bending

thigh. A sharp, high-pitched chirp echoed in the room—the alarm for backup.

the

a fluid motion, his hand darted to his waist, fingers wrapping around the hilt of the knife nestled

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

in shock, mouth opening soundlessly as he dropped both weapons, hands clawing at his neck. Blood spilled over his chest, bubbling from his lips as

the sobs

and slid it back into his grip with the familiarity of a man who had done this too many times before. His chest

you okay?"

tugging at the ropes 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 as if to

feet. Their legs were shaky, their faces pale, but they obeyed. "Keep your

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

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

in his chest.

of his voice, weapon still

going to shoot me?" Ewan

tried to mask it with irritation. "Let’s go. The police will be

Ciara’s family to walk ahead, keeping himself at the rear, every sense

the stairs, he asked, "Did we

insisted on

you don’t know what

He asked, seconds later.Chapter

Chapter 413: Being Present

touched your food. Is the food not to your liking?"

any injured? Especially those that had

throat bobbing as she forced her focus back to the present, and picked up her cutlery with

be pleased if something happened to Zane, unhappier if he got to find out that they had gone on a mission to retrieve Ciara’s parents—she wasn’t sure

pressing together as she glanced at the time on her wristwatch. They should be

at her watch passed the wrong message

you? Do you want to go

had been

do you mean, Antonio? I never

table and looking aside, his jaw tightening. "You act like I am. I have been the

then he would understand. But the need

and scooped food into her

with solving the recent case ravaging the state, or will soon be. You

upended their plans. You should think about the positives only. Or did you find something

shook her head slowly, her eyes lowering to

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

I should be." Easier

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, her mind kept derailing before

from him since the 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

at the lab if you had nothing to

nervously, counting herself lucky that she had heard her

chemicals to the Grey virus compound, should

didn’t look like he believed her. His brows arched slightly, his lips pressing in

bullet. "Okay, we invaded a certain hideout of the

"What!"

diners, seventy percent of whom had just been to the cinema which was just close by

turned to look, whispers starting

"Antonio, calm down."

down? How can I calm down? My girlfriend went into a gang’s hideout without letting me

considerably lower now, his hand leaving hers to clench into a fist against the

never said

a brow sharply. "Then what do you

the state security.

his reaction. The last thing she needed tonight

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

exhaled, relief washing over his features. "When you said we... I thought that meant you..." A

a serviette, folding it neatly and placing

actions with a frown,

else if I

lightly, strands of hair falling forward. "Being in the lab had sucked out my appetite without my

slowly. "I see. So,

forcing her tone to stay calm. "They reported scenting a certain chemical... I asked them to describe it..."Chapter 414:

Being

worry much, than in the question

hunch, what alternative did he have for her to curb the

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

minutes assuring them everything was okay. That was apart from those who had approached her

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

two minutes had passed. Her tone was soft, but carried an edge of impatience. "What do you think I should

than spending hours

mild irritation. "Sleep? With the unrest plaguing the state? Is that what you are suggesting? That’s your big

when he said nothing, only staring at her with

your workplace, maybe when numbers

ran his hand from the top of his head to the base behind, as if trying to straighten the

a

to ’darling.’ His lips pressed thin, his eyes

would try to find out what’s happening." He muttered, letting the matter go. He was

from medicine after all. Numbers were

same thing I’m trying to do here. I’m trying to find out what’s going on. As the business somehow depends on your intelligence, on your ability to spot the wrongs and right it, so do the lives of people depend on me. Don’t you get it? I bear a heavy burden of people’s lives. I’m not complaining... I love helping—but it also puts on me the need to find out what’s going on if there is a probability

though Athena

the screen. About nine p.m. She

then her phone dinged with a message. She muttered an "excuse me" to Antonio when she saw it was from Gianna, and picked up her phone

with some

friend wouldn’t surprise her with a bad

leave," she stated, looking up from

"Is there a problem?"

"I have visitors coming,

phone from the table. "That’s interesting. I would love to see them too... maybe make an

that mean? Was her

the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she was misinterpreting it. Maybe the statement wasn’t as

the visitors?"

she didn’t. Says it’s a surprise." She thanked Antonio when he opened the

you

"I don’t know really. I haven’t the mind to pick and cross out options,"

phone dinged with another message, pulling her eyes back to it.

causing her heart to palpitate both with

so

racing as Antonio started the car, prepping her tongue on how to break the news which she knew wouldn’t sit well

a message from Chelsea. I have to pick her up from a junction, so that we can head home together... her car developed

"Oh, don’t worry. We can

Chapter 415: More Guests

and gave greetings as she entered into the

curiosity wouldn’t pay heed to her mental instructions. Her heels clicked softly against the polished tiles, and she clutched her bag a little tighter, breath shallow with

restaurant so that her driver would find it easier to spot her in the throng of people going here and

hand in a small wave at Aiden as she spotted him talking on the phone near the porch. He caught sight of her, his lips still moving in conversation, and beckoned

there?" She exhaled in

she

chief of security... asking questions above his paygrade,