Page 68 of The Torturer's Target

“Yeah, when it’s an equal opponent on an equal ground. When she woke up swinging, I’m sure the boss wouldn’t defend himself with an attack of his own.”

Silence descended between them. Bose reached into the cabinet and withdrew one of his rifles. Hell, he might as well keep himself busy since it was obvious he wasn’t falling back to sleep anytime soon. As he cleaned the rifle, he couldn’t get the image of The Torturer lying on her bed, crying and helpless against the ruthless grip that held her captive.

“After what we saw tonight, I think I understand her motives better,” Clinton said, breaking the silence.

“What motives?” Bose asked reluctantly.

“Her attack on the boss. Her resolve to kill him. I think it goes way beyond the fact that her father died, and it’s more like how he died. Max said he died in front of her, and the ambulance didn’t arrive on time. I can’t imagine how that felt to an eight-year-old as she watched the life drain from her father’s body.”

Bose’s hand paused, and he raised his head to focus his eyes on Clinton. “Don’t do it.”

“Do what?”

“This,” he gestured with his hand. “This pity. She wouldn’t like it. She might have your balls for it.”

Clinton sat upright in his chair, nodding. “I would never do this in front of her,” he said, his voice low and resolute. “I know that she doesn’t want to be pitied. As far as I’m concerned, tonight didn’t happen. I didn’t hear her scream and I didn’t see anything in her room.” He paused, his eyes drifting off to the distance. “But I’m glad I did,” he added after a moment of silence.

Bose looked at him incredulously. “You are?”

“I mean,” Clinton replied, his voice still low, “it makes it easier for me to forgive her for trying to assassinate the boss.”

Bose shook his head, a scowl forming on his face. “You’re crazy,” he muttered.

“Shut up, dude. I know you’re thinking the same thing too.” Clinton rose from his chair, stretching his arms and letting out a long, tired sigh. “I going to bed,” he said, his voice weary. “Gotta catch whatever sleep I can from this fucked up night. Goodnight, dickhead.”

“Fuck you, asshat,” Bose replied without heat, his eyes fixed on Clinton’s retreating form. Once the door was closed, Bose stared into space, his task forgotten.

The Torturer had always rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t like her, but he hated to admit that Clinton was right. Now he could understand what drove her.

He’d thought the woman was simply a killing machine that operated without a second thought and that was working with the boss to get close enough to finish the job. Bose had never bought into her bullshit about trying to make up for going after the wrong man, because from all he’d seen—and read about her—she had no conscience.

But tonight changed his perspective of her.

And just what the hell was going on in there now?

Tesiera kissed Max's lips with a fervor she hadn’t felt in her life. When she’d allowed herself to think of it, she had wondered what kissing Maximilian would be like. And now it was happening. It was better than she’d imagined.

Her body responded to him in ways she never thought possible. His lips were silky and warm against her own. She felt a new intensity she hadn’t before, aching with a need she couldn’t explain.

When he broke the kiss, it was all she could do not to tangle her hands in his soft, black curls and force his lips back to hers again. It took an incredible amount of willpower, but Tesiera managed it. Barely.

“Damn,” he murmured, his breathing heavy like hers and his gray eyes studied her carefully.

Silence lingered between them before he ran a hand through his hair and said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. Tesiera was becoming aware of her surroundings.

Her warm skin chilled when she remembered that she’d had one of her rare chapters in his house. The fact that Max was in her bedroom filled her with dread and she was as confused as she was disgusted with herself.

Just how loud was I?

“I’m sorry for the disturbance I caused.” The room was shrouded in darkness, with only a faint light seeping through the curtainless windows, casting shadows on their faces. She was grateful it shielded her face from Max's gaze, and the emotions she was struggling to control. She could feel the weight of the room bearing down on her.

Max stood up from the bed and straightened his robe, his movements slow and deliberate. “Get some sleep, Tesiera. We can talk about this in the morning,” he said.

Tesiera crumpled onto the bed as soon as he left. Her fingers gripped the sheets hard enough to turn her knuckles white. The memories of her father’s death that still haunted her after all these years were as vivid as the day they happened. The image of his lifeless body, lying before her, was etched into her mind forever.

I can’t go on like this. How much longer can I hold out before I snap?

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