Page 49 of The Torturer's Target

Taking the gun away, she saw that the bullet was slightly off target. She’d missed the bull’s-eye.

“That’s a very good shot,” he clapped.

His praise did something to her insides that she refused to acknowledge. “Thanks.”

Max returned to his stall and picked up his gun. He focused on the target then took the shot.

It pierced the center of the bull’s-eye. A clean, perfect shot.

Tesiera was caught off guard and her jaw fell open in astonishment. She was excellent in all kinds of combat, but she was way better with knives than guns. It was rare for her to see a shooter hit bullseye so perfectly.

She felt his hand gently lift her chin, guiding her jaw to close her mouth.

“You’ll catch flies,” he drawled with a smug smirk. “I’m in the lead. We should’ve placed a bet on this; would’ve made it more interesting.”

Tesiera rolled her eyes and stepped away from his proximity.

Max watched as she positioned for the next shot. Tesiera’s senses were heightened, every muscle in her body taut with concentration. She was on the cusp of pulling the trigger when a sudden brush of warm air caressed her neck. Startled, she turned to see him looming behind her.

He pressed his body to her back causing her heart to skip a beat. His hands glided down her arms, adjusting her body so her left side was slightly forward of her right. “If you stand like this, you will have better sight alignment and better balance. Fire at the bottom of your breath and squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull it.” He moved her finger so the trigger rested almost at the tip.

Tesiera found her attention drawn to the lack of space between their bodies. She had been close to men before, but they’d never created this kind of chaos inside her.

The sensation this man stirred inside her was entirely foreign to her. Normally, she would have pushed such thoughts from her mind, but this time, it was impossible to ignore them.

Her hands lowered, and she swiveled her head to look at him. Their eyes met and held. They lowered their gazes to each other’s lips.

“Hell,” he cursed lowly. He wrapped a strong arm around her waist, he turned her and pulled her close to him.

Then their lips inched closer…

CHAPTER 21. THE TORTURER OF THE NIGHT.

Tesiera could feel Max's breath on her skin, his lips mere inches away from hers.

But just as their lips were about to meet, a small voice filled the air. “Uncle Max! Uncle Max! Come play with me!”

Hazel’s voice shattered the moment, and they pulled away from each other. The three-year-old girl bounded down the stairs and into the basement, a smile lighting up her face when she saw her uncle.

Max turned to Hazel, his disappointment at being interrupted quickly replaced by a wide grin. “Hey there, little one! What do you want to play?”

Hazel grinned at him, her big brown eyes filled with excitement. “Hide and seek!”

Max chuckled. “Alright. I’ll count to ten and you go hide. Ready?” Hazel nodded eagerly, and Max began to count.

By afternoon, Max received a call from Harvey. Another assassin had been spotted en route to their home. The situation had escalated, and the assassin was killed during the attempt to apprehend him. That means they were back to where they were—with no new leads on the mastermind behind the attacks, and their current detainee still wasn't talking. With the day's events weighing heavily on his mind, Max decided not to risk Hazel's safety. He announced that their return to Manhattan would be postponed until the next day and also spoke with Val to alleviate her concerns.

Later that evening, after Hazel was safely tucked into bed, Max made his way towards the kitchen. The narrow hallway echoed with the sounds of grunts and heavy breathing.

Against his better judgment, he stopped by Tesiera’s bedroom, noticing that her door was slightly ajar. As he peeked in, he observed her executing pushups with precision, her back straight and core engaged, displaying both strength and stamina.

As she lowered herself back down, she counted aloud, her voice steady and unwavering. “Fifty-five,” she said, her muscles quivering with effort. “Fifty-six.” Her form was perfect, her movements controlled and fluid. She was an athlete, a warrior, and she was pushing herself to her limits.

Max stood behind the door and watched her in admiration. He was in awe of her strength, her power, and her determination. He could see the muscles rippling beneath her skin, the sweat glistening on her forehead. She had a bullet wound yet she was unstoppable, unbreakable, and a force to be reckoned with.

His body reacted to her. “Down, boy,” he muttered inwardly. She’s not for us.

She continued to push herself, counting each rep as she went. “Seventy,” she said, her voice a little louder now and breathless. She was deep into the rhythm, well in her groove. He watched as she powered through the set, her breathing becoming more erratic, her muscles trembling with exertion.

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