Page 5 of The Torturer's Target

As she approached the fourth floor, which was Big Cat’s main domain, she reluctantly surrendered her weapons at the floor’s security checkpoint. It was a rule that every single person who entered the mansion must obey. She was an exception when it came to carrying weapons around the other floors, but no one bent the rules on the fourth floor.

The guards bowed their heads and made way for her to pass without further question. Having known where Big Cat would be this time of the night, she walked straight to the training room. The big lion painting at the end of the hallway brought back memories. It was her favorite painting of the many scattered throughout the mansion. She’d lived there for six years, starting when she was eleven.

Most of the training she’d got to become what she was, came in this room. She learned from the best three experts in each field. The instructors taught her how to handle throwing knives, fight in hand-to-hand combat, and torture. As for guns, she learned from Big Cat himself. The mafia godfather was exceptionally talented and lethal with firearms; his business associates feared him and had good reasons to.

She leaned against the door frame of the training room and watched Big Cat spar with one of his men in a hand-to-hand combat in a ring in the center of the room. She watched how swiftly he moved and the sneaky ways he delivered those punches. The man might be in his late fifties, but he didn’t look it—he was well-built without an ounce of fat. You’d only guess his age when you saw that his once black hair was a mixture of black and gray.

Big Cat lifted his opponent and threw him on the ground. The few other men watching clapped and cheered. That was when Big Cat saw her. She waved at him reluctantly and he gave her a smile.

“You’re here, Siera?” he asked, stepping out of the ring, taking the towel that was offered to him and wiping his sweaty face and neck.

“I am,” she responded, walking deeper into the room.

“Let’s call it a night. Everybody, leave,” he said to his men before returning his attention to her. “I’m sorry for calling you out here so late at night. I know you had a stressful day. How was your mission?” He walked toward the door, and she fell into step with him.

“It went well.”

“As always. Let’s take a walk, shall we?” Big Cat offered, and she nodded, following him.

He led the way out of the fourth floor down to the second floor and took her to the terrace. They leaned against the railing. The gentle breeze carried the scent of fresh rain and the near-midnight sky was illuminated with stars.

“I heard your stats recently. Your reputation is growing in every corner of the underworld. Your missions always came out a success,” he said, pride in his eyes. She shrugged. “You make me so proud, Tesiera.”

She remained silent, staring out into the night. Never much of a talker, Big Cat knew that. His eyes surveyed her carefully. She was a beautiful woman but as lethal as Tsar Bomba—the most destructive bomb ever made.

“You like it? The serenity of the night and how calm the city looks even though there’s always danger looming around the corner. The people are oblivious to it,” Big Cat expressed, but all Tesiera did was nod. He wished she would at least try to converse with people more—he had been trying to make her talk since he brought her under his care—but she never said more than was absolutely necessary.

After he heard what happened to her father, he had raised her. She’d already been taken by social services and placed in a foster home. He found her two years later and took her under his care. By then, she’d moved from one foster home to another. Horrible experiences, all of them.

But what he was about to tell her tonight would definitely drag words out of her. “How have you been, Siera? Any serious man in your life yet?”

“No.”

Big Cat sighed heavily. Sometimes, he felt a prickle of guilt about the way she turned out. Tesiera had no social life and zero social skills. All she knew was the dark world. She was the only family he had left and the child he never had. Good thing, too, because apparently his parenting skills were lacking.

“You said you had something to tell me.” She pulled away from the railing and stared at him.

“I found what you’ve been looking for.” A pause. “Or who you’ve been looking for.”

Her brown eyes darkened. “Which of them?”

“The Teenager.”

The target that had eluded her for ten good years. She’d combed every nook and cranny for information—anything at all—on that bastard but she’d come away with nothing.

“Finally.” Her fists clenched on her sides. “Finally,” she repeated in a whisper.

Big Cat smiled. “Let’s go see, shall we?”

“Yes, please.” She allowed him to lead the way, following close behind him. Familiar emotions flooded her: pain and fury. The Teenager’s face flashed in her mind; it was the usual visual. His face as he pointed the gun to her father’s forehead and took the shot without pause. Those gray eyes that glistened in twisted glee as he shifted the gun and pointed it at her own face.

Big Cat and Tesiera took an elevator down to a conference room. Upon entering, he gestured for her to take a seat. He then switched on the television, where a clip was already queued up on the screen. Lifting the remote, he pressed the ‘play’ button. An image popped up, and Big Cat smiled in satisfaction. “There he is.”

For a full second, Tesiera was taken aback by how handsome he was.

Over the years, she had made up a lot of images of what The Teenager would look like as an adult, and not one of those times did she envision him to look like...this.

“His name is Maximilian Kingston, but he is mostly known as Max. This profile is an intriguing one,” Big Cat began. “He is a thirty-seven-year-old multimillionaire who owns several hotels spread out all over the States and beyond, but he is also a successful neurosurgeon at Med Stone Hospital, one of the most prestigious hospitals here in the States. He has won several awards in neurosurgery, and at such a young age, he has risen to the position of Chief of Surgery.”

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