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.

us to decide," he replied quietly. "Now tell me, do you want to do this the

cracked. His brow furrowed. "You cut off her

the gun. Ewan could see the tremor, the unstable pulse of his hand. The wrong word, the wrong

put him away now.

against the cool steel of his pistol, but an idea sparked in his

he said. His voice softened, dipped into something persuasive. "I’ll make you a trade. Information—for

criminal’s eyes

want to know who I am? Fine. But you’ll have to let them live. I’ll even throw my

man’s lips curved into a shaky grin.

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

from the boy’s head and pointed it squarely

rising to his feet, palms

eager to claim the discarded weapon. His focus was split—on Ewan, on the gun he was bending to retrieve,

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,

the

knife nestled there. His arm whipped forward,

the man’s throat with a sickening thunk, before the latter could

dropped both weapons, hands clawing at his neck. Blood

sobs

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

the family. "Are you okay?" His voice was

he tossed them aside. Ciara’s mother clutched her son, tears wetting her face. The father rubbed

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

faint but growing louder. The police

into the hallway. Sandro stood there, backing them, gun raised, his head jerking here and there, eyes wide as if expecting shadows to leap

rumble in his

spun at the sound of his voice, weapon

to shoot me?" Ewan teased

gun to his side. Relief flashed across his face, though he tried to mask it with irritation. "Let’s go. The police will be here any second.

Ciara’s family to walk ahead, keeping himself at

he asked, "Did

replied quickly, though his brow furrowed. "But we have a lot of injured. Good thing you insisted on the truck. You

snorted softly, lips quirking. "Like you

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

Chapter 413: Being Present

touched your food. Is the food not to your liking?" Antonio’s voice was able to coax Athena from her thoughts about the mission

Were any injured? Especially those that had gone to

her focus back to the present, and picked

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

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

at her watch passed the wrong message

boring you? Do you want to

The cutlery, which had been dancing aimlessly on her plate, stilled in her

Antonio? I never

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

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, triumphed over that

on her lower lip and scooped food into her

the recent case ravaging the state, or will soon be. You should understand my place in the situation of things... I have to find the cure to

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

eyes lowering to her plate. "Just a

with his warm, steady one. "Quit worrying too

should be." Easier said than done.

Antonio talking about his day at work, even as she tried to forcefully take spoonfuls of food so as not to

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 task. But

tell me about yours? What did you do at the lab if

lower lip nervously, counting herself lucky that she had heard

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

look like he believed her. His brows arched slightly,

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

"What!"

shout attracted the attention of the other diners, seventy percent of whom had just been to

look, whispers

"Antonio, calm down."

girlfriend went into a gang’s hideout without letting me

gone considerably lower now, his hand leaving hers to

said I

do you mean by ’we’? Who went for the

the state

drastic decision to keep the matter too from Antonio after seeing his reaction. The last thing she needed tonight was to

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 it was

features. "When you said we... I thought that meant you..." A pause. "So

careful sips. She cleaned her mouth with a serviette, folding it neatly and placing it beside her plate

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

would have ordered something else if I knew

shook her head lightly, strands of hair falling forward. "Being in the lab had sucked out my appetite

see.

stay calm. "They reported scenting a certain

Being Present

pushing her thoughts away so that she wouldn’t worry much, than in the question she had

have for her to curb

from coming to pick her, mentioning that he 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

even know what

was soft, but carried an edge

than spending hours

the unrest plaguing the state? Is that

shook her head slowly when he said nothing, only staring at her with

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

and ran his hand from the top of his head to the base

a rhetorical

tilt to ’darling.’

what’s happening." He muttered, letting the matter go. He was

nothing? Business was different from medicine after all. Numbers were different from chemicals.

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 of something coming to hurt

though Athena wondered if he really

her phone and checking the screen. About nine p.m. She had to

message. She muttered an "excuse me" to Antonio when she saw it was from Gianna,

with some visitors. It’s

to make of the message. But knowing that her friend wouldn’t surprise her with a bad gift released the tension on her shoulders,

she stated,

"Is there a problem?"

head. "I have visitors coming,

"That’s interesting. I would love to see them too... maybe make an acquaintance... no one that

that

was already calling for the server, and she gave him the benefit of the

a name... you know, for the visitors?" Antonio asked as they walked out of the restaurant

Says it’s a surprise." She thanked Antonio when he opened the

who do you think

her bag on her lap. "I don’t know really. I haven’t the mind to pick and cross out options," she answered when he stepped into the

phone dinged with another message, pulling her

message read, causing her heart to palpitate both

How could she have forgotten so soon about the

the car, prepping her tongue on how to

from a

a cute smile, dimples appearing faintly. "Oh, don’t worry.

Chapter 415: More Guests

gave greetings as she entered into

though she wanted them slower—her 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

called Rodney while walking back to the restaurant so that her driver

He caught sight of her, his lips still moving in conversation, and beckoned her over with a hand

"Everyone is in there?" She exhaled in relief when Aiden

that?" she asked,

of security... asking questions above his