Page 45 of The Torturer's Target

"Don't forget, I’m a trained physician. A surgeon, in fact."

"Experience is the best teacher," she retorted sharply, then reluctantly added, "Sir."

Tesiera had always despised the idea of anyone touching her. Over the years, she had become adept at treating her own injuries, a skill born out of necessity and solitude. She didn’t know how to react when someone offered to help her, especially him.

The feelings he stirred within her were confusing, uncharted territory. She couldn't shake the memory of how it felt when he had wrapped his arm around her waist to prevent her fall – a sensation both foreign and unsettling.

"Bullet wounds are tricky," his voice suddenly interrupted her thoughts. “Just because you've managed this kind of thing before doesn't mean it's always possible to do it yourself."

Tesiera remained silent, and Max decided to back off. He took a deep breath and turned to leave the room, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the background.

She remained in the bathroom for over an hour, trying to remove the bullet from her back. In the end, she gave up, wrapping a white towel around her body and opened the bathroom door.

As she stepped into the bedroom, she stilled at the sight of a big box on the bed with the label “Box 3” boldly written on it. What was this?

Curiosity piqued, Tesiera walked towards the box and opened it. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw medical supplies ranging from bandages to surgical tools. Everything she needed to take care of her most pressing injury.

All except a pair of helping hands. She slammed the door against the unwanted thought.

Tesiera needed to thank him, so she opened the door of her bedroom and saw Max coming out of the master bedroom. They paused for a moment in the hallway, and an awkward silence ensued.

She noticed that he had also freshly showered, and she couldn’t help but admire his still damp hair that was sleeked back. His gray eyes were the highlight of his face, and their mesmerizing essence appealed to Tesiera, even though she’d couldn’t bring herself to admit it.

Her nose crinkled in disgust at herself for letting herself ogle at him. She shook off the thoughts. “Thank you for the supplies, sir,” she said politely and inclined her head.

Max simply nodded and headed towards the sitting room. She watched him leave, wondering what the hell was wrong with her. Normally, she wasn’t one to linger on the physical features of a man, no matter how good looking he was. But for some reason, Max made her forget about the bullet in her arm.

Back in her bedroom, Tesiera opened the box on the dresser and dug around the kit until she found the tool she was looking for—an angled microfracture chisel. A thin metal with a small curve at the end.

Tesiera washed the injury and disinfected the entrance. She opened the sterilized tool and prepared herself for the excruciating pain. She sucked in a breath and then inserted the chisel into the wound.

The harsh, brutal pain hit her with a paralyzing intensity, making her clench her jaw tightly. It was enough to make her scream, but she didn’t. She further slotted in the chisel and the pain increased threefold, blood gushed out, and she put the arm over the sink, letting the blood flow down the drain. She navigated the wound, searching for the bullet, but it eluded her.

Tesiera continued to carefully dig about her flesh to find the bullet, and the more time she spent swiveling the chisel around, the more it hurt, and more blood flowed.

A single tear streamed down her shut eyelids. Hospitals would administer anesthesia so the patient would not feel any pain. But in the absence of that, Tesiera surfed the agonizing waves of pain she inflicted on herself. Yet, she couldn’t find it.

Tesiera felt a large pair of hands over hers as they stopped her from going any further with her botched attempt.

So engrossed was Tesiera in her struggle that she didn't notice someone entering the bathroom. The fact that she had left the door unlocked escaped her entirely. Thank goodness she was in a towel.

She tilted her head and her teary eyes met with gentle gray spheres filled with worry.

“I can handle it on—”

“Let me do it, Tesiera.” His voice was so gentle, it felt like a caress.

Slowly, she let go of the chisel.

“Thank you,” she replied in a whisper as she stared at their reflections on the bedroom mirror, watching as he skillfully examined the wound.

“Christ, you’ve made a mess of this. Are you trying to lose your arm?” he chided, but she caught the underlying worry and annoyance at her carelessness.

She remained silent, as she didn’t know what to say—she was used to solving her problems alone. Letting somebody actually help her was foreign to her.

“This is going to hurt a lot. But at least it will be safe. Are you ready?” Max added. She gave a slight nod, then Max began tenderly attending it.

A sheet of paper laid on the bedside table and the three fragments stained with blood rested on it. Max and Tesiera sat on the bed, and he was bandaging her wound.

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