Page 12 of The Torturer's Target

Jonathan got up, bowed his head to Max, and gave the grumpy bodyguard a nod in acknowledgment before he walked out of the door.

“Don’t give me that look, Clinton,” Max said without looking at him.

Clinton grimaced. “I think you work too hard, sir. You are healing from stab wounds, which I know from experience, hurts like a sonofabitch. You should be getting rest and taking as many painkillers as you can, but here you are, letting these execs bring in office work for the past three fucking days.”

Max sighed. “I know you care about me, Clinton, but doing nothing will drive me insane. Because then, I’d have to think about a certain woman who wants me dead for reasons I can’t comprehend.”

“I’ll kill the bitch if I get my hands on her. I don’t care what her reasons are, I’ll skin her alive,” Clinton hissed. “I’ll make her eat her own damn tongue.”

Max chuckled. “Hopefully, Bose comes back with something about the woman. If we know who she is, we might get answers we need.”

Just then, the door opened.

“Oh, to hell with this! Don’t step into this room, or I swear to God, I’m going to cut off your—oh, Bose, you’re back.” Clinton stopped his angry tirade when he saw that it wasn’t another businessman there to talk business.

Bose walked in. “Calm your balls, man. It’s just me.” He faced the boss and bowed to him. “How are you doing, sir?”

“I’ve been better. We were just talking about you. How did it go?”

Bose looked around the room. “Maybe we can discuss it at a more secure location. I don’t trust these walls.”

Max thought about it, then nodded. “That’s a great idea. I’m getting discharged soon. When we get home, I’ll take everything you got on that woman.”

Mickey—or was it Ricky? Tesiera couldn’t remember and didn’t care.

She had the man suspended above the ground from two pillars. Tesiera had stripped him nude, and tied coarse ropes to his wrists and ankles to hold him in a starfish position.

The pain that alone caused his straining muscles wasn’t enough.

She’d scraped the skin off his left arm and half of his face with a blade so hot, it had turned red. Tesiera took her time with the process, ensuring he was awake for every slice. All while engaging the screaming man in a discussion about the weather. She’d run the blade through his skin, slicing and peeling off his flesh. Blood was everywhere, his face flayed open.

The finesse and precision with which she worked would have impressed even the most skilled plastic surgeons.

“Please! Please!!” he screamed.

Tesiera took a deep breath and turned her back on Mickey/Ricky. An overstuffed chair, covered in a garish floral pattern, was positioned in front of him to provide her with the best view. The only other piece of furniture was the table where her tools sat in order, gleaming from the care she gave them. Except the ones she’d used already. She lowered herself to her chair and gave Mickey, or Ricky, a leisurely grin. “We can do this all day, Dave. I don’t have anything else to do today. And your screams make for pleasant music. I could listen to it for days.”

“You’re a monster! A fucking monster!!” he roared, writhing on the ropes.

“Thank you, Dave. That’s quite a compliment. I do aim to please” She gave him a cold smile before she rose from the chair and stepped in front of him. “You like when we play though, don’t you?” she asked silkily. “You must since you keep avoiding my question so let’s play some more, shall we?”

Her hands moved with precision and grace as the incredibly shallow cuts sliced through multiple layers of skin exposing his muscles. His screams filled the air as she gently yanked a sliver of skin from his face, and the blood seeped from the capillaries she’d severed. She watched, her expression dead, while Mickey/Ricky screamed in agony.

“I’ll ask again. Where is Cyrus’s daughter?”

“The boss will kill me if I tell you! He will kill me!” the man roared, his body convulsing with the strength of his sobs.

Tesiera sighed. “Honey, you’re going to die before your boss gets the chance.” She set the scalpel on the table, and chose a modified cigar cutter. She lifted his left hand and sliced off his pinky finger, asking, “Where is the girl, Dave?”

“No! Stop!!”

She chopped off his ring finger.

Agonized screams shook the room. “I can’t! I can’t!!”

She next removed his middle finger.

“We sold her! We sold her!!” He confessed.

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