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Tesiera stepped back, staring at her bloody dagger. She really hated it when her equipment got bloody. They were a bitch to clean. “Go on.”
“We sold the girl to Hans! He’s a human trafficker. Last I heard, the girl works in his brothel!”
“Well, I need location of this brothel, honey. Don’t keep me waiting.”
The man blurted out the address and Tesiera memorized it.
“Is that all?” she asked.
“Y–yes. I swear it, that’s all. Please, don’t kill me!”
Tesiera shook her head. “It’s not in my contract to kill you, Dave. If it was, you’d already be dead.” She turned and started packing her things, ensuring the contaminated equipment was wrapped neatly and separately from her sterile tools. Her job was done.
As soon as she closed the door to Mickey/Ricky’s sobs, her client showed her the bathroom where she cleaned up. She confirmed her payment, gave the information she had extracted, and took her leave.
Another successful mission, she thought to herself. She would like to think that it made up for the failed mission from three days ago, but the satisfaction of a job well done just wasn’t there. Apparently, her mind didn’t buy it.
Maybe it was because she failed the one mission that had ever mattered to her. The one mission that was personal. It bugged her that she failed that mission as much as it bugged her that her father’s killers still walked the earth.
The thought weighed heavily on her mind, like a boulder lodged in her skull. She forced herself to think of something else, but the memory kept creeping back in, refusing to be ignored. It was impossible for her to let it go. She hadn’t expected things to end that way; for him to be a fighter, for him to have an alarm, and for him to be that good looking.
That last thought bothered her the most.
Tesiera had never cared about a person's physical appearance; it was not something she paid attention to. But now, her mind couldn't help but conjure up images of Max: his soft, silvery-gray eyes and the peaceful expression he wore while sleeping that night. It bothered her how gentle he looked, as if he wouldn't harm a soul.
Those piercing gray eyes held a mixture of pain and surprise when she accused him of being a murderer. That she couldn't shake the memory of that look only served to further irritate her.
As she delved into her research on him, she devoured countless videos of his charismatic personality on the internet. She couldn't help but notice his infectious smile that made his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunch up in an endearing way.
She remembered being taken aback by how genuine his smile seemed, especially for a murderer.
But she knew better than to trust appearances - men like him were masters at putting up a facade. After all, she had become quite good at it herself.
It was a pity that such a handsome man would soon meet his demise at her hands. But she was determined to try again, and this time, she would succeed.
With determination coursing through her veins, she slipped into her car and started the engine. As she drove away, the thought lingered in her mind - the one that had been plaguing her for days.
Why did those familiar eyes now hold emotions so different from what she had seen twenty years ago? Why did he look...kind? Almost...changed?.
CHAPTER 6. TESIERA ANDERSON
“Please don’t kill me! Please don’t—” The scream was cut short as Rex pulled the trigger. He watched in satisfaction as the man’s head snapped back and the life left his eyes.
“Eishh, he got blood on me,” Rex muttered angrily as he stepped back, giving room for his men to take care of the body. He hated it when blood touched his body. Damn stuff was a nuisance to clean.
He was still mumbling about it when his cellphone rang. At the sight of the caller, Rex quickly moved to the other side of the empty house to make sure he would not be interrupted. He cleared his throat as he pressed the accept button. “Hi, Siera. It’s been four months since I saw you! You stopped taking my calls and I don’t even know—”
“Where are you?” she asked crisply. Always the same question. Tesiera, the torturer, was not one to make small talk.
“I can get to your house in two hours,” Rex was quick to answer.
“Not fast enough.”
“An hour! I’ll be there in an hour,” he added desperately, hoping she hadn’t already hung up. He would break every fucking traffic rule out there, but he’d be fucked before he passed up on this opportunity.
Silence. Then. “I want to see you in my house in an hour. Not a minute later, Rex.”
“I swear it. Not a minute later.” Rex could already feel the excitement building. “Should I get condoms—” The beeping sound he heard cut off his words. She’d already hung up.