Page 24 of The Torturer's Target

Someone knocked on the door. For a moment, Max wanted to dismiss whoever it was, but he decided against it. He’d told them not to disturb him unless it was important, so he called for the person to enter.

Harvey stuck his head in. “I’m sorry to intrude, sir, but Mr. Anderson needs your attention.”

“Keep an eye on her. I’ll be right back,” Max said before leaving.

Tesiera watched him walk away, and once he was out the door, she allowed herself to consider the impossible. Could this be a mistake? Could this man be innocent in my father’s murder?

It was scary to think about, so she quickly shut it out of her mind. He was an expert at deceiving people, that was all.

The door opened again, and she expected to see her tormentor, but it was Clinton. He closed the door behind him.

“If it was up to Bose, you would already be dead. And frankly, I think that’s what you deserve,” he said crisply. Tesiera arched her brows as he continued. “You see, my cousin was an orphan. Forced to live on the streets, eating from dumpsters, sleeping with one eye open, until Max saved him.” A hint of a smile played on his face. “He’s the only family I have left, and I thought he had died a long time ago.

Not only did Max save Kegan, but he also searched for me to reunite us. I was working for a cruel Yakuza Oyabun. Max paid so him so much to cover the cost of my loss. I didn’t even know what Max did, and I didn’t care. I’d do anything for him. He’s the first employer who’s ever truly cared about me, about the lives of those around him. I’ve never seen a man with his level of power lead the kind of life Maximilian Kingston does.” He paused, locking eyes with her. “I don’t know what the fuck you think he did to deserve death, but I’m certain he didn’t do it.”

“I was there. I know what he did,” she retorted. She knew what she saw twenty-years ago, dammit! She knew those fucking eyes. Yes, they seemed annoyingly kinder now, but they were still fucking familiar.

“Go and investigate the shooter, whoever he was, not the person you think ordered the hit. Whoever it was must have been a fucking scumbag,” Clinton said in a softer tone.

Tesiera suppressed the anger that rose, the doubt that surfaced. “He didn’t give an order; he took the shot himself, and his victim was an innocent man.”

“That wasn’t the boss,” he said simply, before he turned and walked out of the door.

By the time her captor came back, Tesiera was just tired. Tired of his façade, tired of her rage, tired of the doubt, tired of everything.

“How did you get these people to believe your lies?” Tesiera asked, genuinely curious. “How do you sleep at night, knowing that you deceive millions of people? How do you keep up with this façade and hide your true self?”

He simply stared at her, expressionless.

She shook her head. “You should kill me now while you have the chance. Kill me now, because that’s the only way you’re going to get out of this alive.”

“Let’s see if I’m understanding this correctly. You believe I killed someone from your childhood. Did I do that to someone you know? A niece, a nephew, a cousin?” He paused. “Is it you?”

Tesiera desperately tried to hide the emotion his question evoked. A muscle ticked in her jaw, and his words had traveled deep enough to strike a nerve.

Max caught the reaction. “You think I killed your grandfather? Your father?”

She averted her eyes and silence descended.

“When was he killed?” he asked, his voice gentle.

For the first time since she woke up restrained to this godforsaken chair, Tesiera struggled against her bindings, glaring at the man who murdered her father but had the audacity to forget about it. He’d killed so many people that he forgot their faces, their names, and the events surrounding their deaths!?

The fire burning in her eyes as she struggled caught him off guard. He’d never seen rage so raw before.

But it was fruitless. She went still and blinked before she focused her eyes on him again, her expression was blank. “You know, anyone can call me a monster, but you cannot. Ever. I have killed, but I remember the names of every target, every victim. I would remember if I pointed a gun at a man whose crying eight-year-old daughter begged me not to kill him. If I tortured and killed a man over a locket and left his daughter alone with his corpse. I would remember it.” She paused. “I am a monster, Maximilian Kingston, but you are the devil himself.”

One moment, he was sympathetic, and the next, his face just went…hard. The easygoing energy evaporated like it was never there before, and his muscles bunched with tension.

Silence descended and stretched between them.

“I thought those demons were gone.” His voice was so low that she wouldn’t have heard it if the silence of the empty room wasn’t so deafening. “I thought I’d never have anything to do with him again.”

“So, you finally admit it? You finally remembered it?” She let out a hollow laugh. “If I’d known telling the story would remind you of your brutality towards an eight-year-old, I would have done it hours ago and spared us some time.”

He rose from his chair and circled her. “I’ll tell you a story. There was this boy who was a giant bully, a major pain in people’s asses. People avoid him in school because if you caught his eye, you’d be his next target. He delighted in the fear he instilled, by the power he held over people because of his cruelty and their fear. This boy had a favorite target. Someone who he hated on sight. The second boy avoided the bully as much as he could, but it was hard to do when they both went to the same school and attended the same social events.”

Why is he telling me this? Tesiera asked herself, staring at a spot on the wall while he continued to circle her.

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