My Unwanted Wife Is A Top Assassin

e of a small countr

n had not come back. A single text message was his only commu

et anothe

message without a

w inhabited. It was soft, undisciplined, and weak. The excess weight strained the

primary weapon. This one

me to re-

smaller woman. In a drawer, she found a small sewing kit left by the estate's housekeeping staff. Using the tiny, sha

the house. The Malone estate backed onto a private mou

arted

Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped

pain, focusing on her breathing, using the rhythmic techniques of s

heir expressions a mixture of surprise and disbelief. The new M

oaked her clothes, but her stride was now steady, pow

ion strained but controlled. She found large rocks and used them fo

eath, her eyes scanning the terrain. A sound drif

d the sound, her

to a root, his feet dangling over a hundred-foot drop. A small drone lay smash

were choke

e: fifty yards. Wind: negligible. Optimal

s and slid down the steep incline, using her hands t

e reached the edge. She lunged forward, her h

ow being reawakened, was shocking. With a single, expl

bling up the path, her face streaked

he woman was Wanda Kowalski, wife of a business associate of Harrison's, who had been invite

a said, her voice flat

ra lens pointed directly at them. Its markings were unfamiliar. Not commercial, not estate security. It was observing.

smooth, flat stone. In one fluid motion, she spun, her arm whipping forward.

es. One of the drone's four rotors shattered. The machine, small and dark against the

utching her son, her face buried in his hair, her own sobs muffling any

g run home. Her body ached, but it was a good ach

k control. One pai