HIS REGRET (Ex-Husband wants Me Back) novel Chapter 945

“Kill them.”

Falcon's voice wasn't loud. In fact, it was almost flat. Yet with those two words alone, the warehouse seemed to lose every last trace of silence.

Falcon's men moved almost simultaneously, raising their weapons and opening fire without hesitation. Explosion after explosion echoed off the concrete walls, deafening everyone inside. Sparks and fragments of concrete flew through the air as bullets slammed into the support pillars.

“Shield!” Brandon shouted.

In an instant, the Alpha Team members sprang into action. Some took cover behind steel shipping containers, while the others formed a protective barrier to shield Naomi and Viola from the gunfire. Muzzles flashed as shots were exchanged from both sides. The smell of gunpowder quickly filled the air, mixing with the scent of rusted metal and jet fuel that had already permeated the old warehouse.

Naomi instinctively pulled Viola behind a concrete pillar for cover. Her heart pounded even faster as she watched Brandon charge through the hail of bullets without slowing down in the slightest.

He moved with a calmness that was almost terrifying. Every step was calculated, every shot fired without hesitation. One man collapsed after a bullet pierced his shoulder, followed by another who went down from Brandon's powerful strike when he tried to attack from the side.

But every time one man fell, two more immediately stepped forward to take his place, as though they had come prepared to sacrifice themselves for the sole purpose of wearing Brandon down.

Brandon quickly recognized the pattern. They weren't trying to defeat him as quickly as possible. They were surrounding him, forcing him to fight without pause. His eyes immediately searched for the man he hated most.

Falcon.

The man was still standing exactly where he had been, only a few meters from the chaos. Both of his hands were once again tucked into his trouser pockets. His black suit remained immaculate, without so much as a speck of dust on his shoulders. His expression was calm, as though the gunfire filling the warehouse were nothing more than background music arranged for his entertainment.

From time to time, the corner of his mouth lifted into a faint smile whenever he saw Brandon take down another of his men.

“You haven't changed,” Falcon murmured softly, more to himself than anyone else. “You still insist on handling everything with your own hands.”

A large man stood beside him, gripping an assault rifle. “Sir, let me go down.”

Falcon merely gave a slight shake of his head. “No.”

“He's already taken down too many of our guard,” the man protested.

Falcon didn't seem bothered in the slightest. His gaze remained fixed on Brandon's every movement, like a professor observing the results of an experiment he had spent years preparing.

“Let him.” His voice was so calm that it was even more frightening than a shout. “I want to see where my little brother's limits are.”

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