Page 11 of The Torturer's Target

The way she moved so quickly with agility and dexterity was mesmerizing and etched to his mind. The memory of the attack played over and over, striking him with awe at the graceful way the woman moved. Then he would wonder how someone so young had such skills. He’d never seen a person throw knives like that before. A highly skilled assassin.

An exquisite, highly skilled assassin.

He’d seen a lot of beautiful women in his life, but only a few of them were as remarkable as her. Her features were impeccable; her lashes were long and lush, and those brown eyes... Those luminous brown eyes that held menace and a clear intent to kill him. He saw a tattoo on her arm, written in an unfamiliar language, and he would bet that that wasn’t the only tattoo his assassin had.

He was intrigued by the strange woman who nearly ended his life. It was funny, really.

“Boss, do you think Mira was the one who sent that woman to assassinate you?” Clinton reasoned out loud, and that snapped Max out of his thoughts.

He assessed what Clinton had suspected, and it didn’t take time for him to dismiss it. Mira might be a viper, but he knew she was incapable of doing something like this.

Kamira McDonald, his ex-girlfriend—crazy ex-girlfriend, if he was to quote his younger sister, Valerie—was obsessed with him, but she wouldn’t want him dead. They’d dated for two years—the longest he had ever dated any woman—but he had to end things with her when her toxicity had gotten out of control.

Max did not know when what they shared grew from love to obsession but that was where they ended up. She’d cheated, lied, and manipulated him. Mira was crazy, but not crazy enough to send an assassin to murder him. He shook his head. “I don’t think she’d do that. We’ve been broken up for over a year, and she’s still in France, the last time I checked.”

Clinton responded with a dubious grunt. If it wasn’t Mira, then who was it?

“Well, did her face seem familiar? Have you seen her before, boss?” Clinton asked.

A hint of a smile played at the edge of Max's lips. “Clinton, if I had encountered a woman like that before, I would definitely remember.” A woman like that would be a hard one to forget.

“Well, what about Walker? I knew the man’s quietness had been a fluke. What if he’d laid low all this while because he had something like this planned? It makes sense. That rat bastard. I’m going to kill him. “

But Max also doubted that Walker was behind the attack. He had the look in her eyes burned into his memory. That expression was way too raw and visceral to have been hired by someone else. The attack seemed more personal…

But why?

That question had troubled him since he woke up.

Before Max could give Clinton an answer, the door opened, and a man appeared. It was Jonathan Miller, one of the execs of Kingston Hotels. He was dressed in a crisp, black suit and a white button-down shirt, and a suitcase in his hand. Clinton figured the man was there for business.

“Good afternoon, sir. May I come in?” he asked uncertainly.

“I really don’t think you should, Mr. Miller. As you can see, the boss is—” Clinton began, but Max cut him off.

“It’s okay. You can come in, Miller.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m really sorry to bother you, but HJT Airlines sent in a business proposal for the partnership. You told me to update you if there was movement on this.” Jonathan took an empty seat beside the bed and went into details about the proposal.

Clinton sat there, glaring at the man. There were others in the organization the exec could have gone to for this, people like Alex Graham, the new CEO. Couldn’t he see that the boss was hurt?

“You have done a great job, Miller,” Max said at last after listening attentively to the man’s narration.

“Thank you, sir. I figured I should report to you before I sent the report to Graham, because I know you’re very much interested in this deal. Besides, Graham might be the man in the office, but you’re still the big boss, sir,” he said.

Max snorted. “You can’t go around saying things like that, Miller. I’m sure Graham wouldn’t appreciate it—not only because it undermines his authority, but because we wouldn’t want the press to find out that I still own my shares.”

The exec nodded. “You’re right, sir. I wasn’t thinking. Here is the folder I compiled for this project,” he added and handed the folder to Max.

Max opened the folder and flipped through the documents. “When is the next meeting?”

“That’ll be on Monday, sir.”

“That gives us four days to put everything in place and get ready for this meeting. Get in touch with our legal representatives. I will be there for the meeting.”

“I’ll do that, sir.”

“You may leave.”

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