To Seduce A Cold, Heartless Huntress

The door to Vicker's lounge opened and his assistant, Oliver, stepped inside. Vicker had been pacing around the room, lost in thought. He was particularly worried that the informant he had finally managed to capture after years of searching had refused to talk, even after being kept in the basement and tortured for four days.

It seemed he had reached a dead end.

"Good evening, sir. I wanted to inform you that-"

Vicker had no time for small talk or whatever Oliver had to say at this point. All he wanted were results. "Has he started talking yet?"

Oliver shook his head in disappointment. "No, sir. He still refuses to say anything."

Vicker slammed his fists on his desk in frustration as anger surged through his veins. His impatience and annoyance reached new heights upon hearing that the informant had still refused to talk.

"That son of a bitch in there knows what happened to the drugs and who stole them. He knows! Why is he refusing to talk?" Vicker seethed in anger, his rage overwhelming him. Vicker wanted answers, goddamnit!

Oliver chuckled. "Oh, don't worry, sir. He will talk, alright."

Vicker turned to Oliver with a confused glare. "What are you talking about, Oliver? He's refused to talk for four days. What could possibly make him talk now?"

"The Torturer."

The Torturer. That name struck something in him, and his eyes went wide like saucers. It's a name that was known by all, feared by all, and one that commanded the highest level of authority. The mere mention of it never fails to instilled enough fear to send chills down the spine.

"You're joking. right?" Vicker swallowed tightly, backing up a step as though he'd seen a terrifying monster––or heard of one, in this case. "The Torturer? She's here?" He whispered her name as if it were a taboo to be caught speaking of it.

As if on cue, a scream that spoke volumes of immense pain erupted and shook the atmosphere. It was coming from the basement of Vicker's house, where the informant was being held.

It didn't take a genius to know that she was, indeed, here and was already doing what she did best. Instilling pain.

"How did you get her, Oliver? Where did you find this woman?" Vicker questioned, bewildered and unable to understand how The Torturer was right there in his house.

Despite the fact that everyone knew her name and knew the terrible harm she was capable of inflicting, she was rarely seen and rarely accessed. If you were able to lay your hands on her, or see her with your eyes, then you had struck gold. Where the problem laid was whether or not you would be alive to tell the tales.

Oliver smiled smugly. "I have my ways, boss. No need to worry about it."

"But Oliver, you have to tell me where you-"

The sentence was cut short as another horrifying scream-even louder than the first-erupted, so loud that it shook the two men and sent goosebumps down their spines. They were terrified.

Oliver and Vicker shared a look.

"Let's go see," Vicker stated and walked briskly out of the lounge, with Oliver following closely behind. They both walked down to the basement and, just as they were contemplating whether to knock and go in or wait for her to come out, the door opened and she stepped out.

Their jaws dropped.

The woman before them exuded a unique beauty, one that could only be described as otherworldly. Her looks were so ethereal, that it was almost as if she were an angel sent straight from heaven. But her actions were those of a woman who inflicted pain, almost as if she were a fiery demon from hell.

Her hair was dyed to a striking burgundy-red color that shone like molten lava and flowed down her back in a sleek ponytail. Her olive-colored skin was silken and smooth, perfectly complementing the fierceness of her hair. She was dressed in black leather and matching leather boots. A tattoo on her upper left arm had letters that weren't written in English.

But it was her eyes that truly captivated anyone who laid their gaze upon her. They were a pair of glassy brown orbs that seemed to radiate their own light, like two eternity jewels that projected their own beams of light. They were mesmerizing, yet also dangerous. One could see the beauty in them, but one could never truly touch it, as they gleamed with a menacing glint that suggested danger for anyone who dared to come too close.

Her brows were always furrowed, and her plump coral lips were permanently set in a scowl, as if she had never smiled in her entire life. She was a woman of endearing beauty, yet also savage and dangerous.

"Water," she simply said, paying no mind to the two men visibly admiring her poise and beauty.

"Water?" Vicker repeated. He looked down at her hands and was taken aback by the sight of blood staining them. His eyes shot back up to her, and he couldn't believe how unbothered she seemed by the fact that she had just murdered a man.

"Yes, water. To wash my hands," she replied, her voice crisp and stern, yet ethereal and silvery.

"Yes, j-just a moment," Oliver said, scurrying off to get some water for Tesiera, while Vicker was left alone with her, feeling a bit scared of her. A frown marred her brows as she looked at her perfectly manicured fingers, stained with blood.

Oliver returned with a bowl of soapy water and a towel, and Tesiera washed her hands and dried them off.

"Is he dead?" Vicker asked, the question that had been on his mind since he saw her hands.

She paused in her towel-drying, looking up at Vicker with her glassy brown eyes. He felt a bit frightened and took another step back.

"He's alive. It was not in our deal to kill him, or he would already be dead," she stated and handed the towel back to Oliver. "Vladimir, a Russian gang boss, attacked your ship and stole your drugs. The man in there is one of his men. Vladimir went back to his country, currently hiding from a rival." She finished by giving him the exact address of the gang leader's hideout.

Vicker was happy for the first time in a long time. Finally, he would get the bastard that thought he could get away from stealing his drugs worth billions of dollars. But how was this woman able to get that man to talk? They had kept him in the basement for four days, with no food or water, and tortured him with various forms of electricity, yet he refused to say a word.

But this woman, in less than twenty minutes, had made him talk and reveal everything. What kind of woman was this?

He liked women like that. Exactly his type.

"My payment?" Tesiera asked, pulling out her throwing knives from her leather boots and completely ignoring the way the two men stepped away from her. She flipped them around expertly before slipping them right back where they came out from.

"Already paid in full. Please check," Oliver delivered instantly.

They waited nervously like reprimanded children while she confirmed the transaction. It was the longest two minutes of their lives, and when she gave a curt nod, they released audible breaths of relief.

She turned to be on her way when Vicker's hand shot out and touched hers. "Please, wait..."

Pausing, she swiveled her head and scowled at his hand holding her arm. Vicker let her go immediately, clearing his throat. "I was...um...hoping we could...um, you know, eat dinner sometime. What do you say?"

"No."

"Oh, alright. Um..." He cleared his throat again. "Okay, then."

But Tesiera didn't leave immediately. Instead, she walked back to him threateningly, until she was standing in front of the trafficker. "Let's get one thing straight. The next time your hands, or any other appendage of yours touches my body, I'll cut it off."

The frosty tone sent a chill down Vicker's spine. He hated that a boss like him cowered for a mere woman, and his ego was in tatters, especially since it was happening in front of his men, Oliver and two security guards.

He wanted to say something to save face, but Oliver rushed forward, stepping in front of him. "Please forgive my boss, Torturer. He is still distraught about the news he got. He's not thinking straight. Is there anything else we can assist you with-"

She was already out the door, leaving it to slam shut behind her.

"Please don't kill me! Please don't-" The scream was suddenly cut short when Rex pointed his gun at the man's forehead and pulled the trigger. He watched in satisfaction as the man's head snapped back and 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 thing was a nuisance to clean.

He was still murmuring about that 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 answer 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? Are you far away?" she asked crisply. Always the same question. Tesiera was not one to make small talk.

"Hell no, I'm not far away. 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 damned before he passed up on this opportunity.

Silence. Then. "I want to see you in my house in an hour. Not a minute late, Rex."

"I swear it. Not a minute late." Rex could already feel the excitement building. "Should I get a condom-" The beeping sound he heard cut off his words. She already hung up.

Rex grinned. "Alright boys, wrap things up here. I gotta go see my lady."

"You only smile like that when it's one woman. The caller was The Torturer, right, boss?" one of his men, Dorn, asked.

"You got that right, Dorn. I'm outta here."

Dorn pursed his lips and shook his head. "You might be a killer, boss, but you hold no candle to that woman. I don't know how you can sleep with a woman like that. She might be beautiful, but when I think about who the devil would be if he were a woman, it's always her image that comes to mind." He shivered. "That woman is all iron. All ice. I'm surprised your dick hasn't frozen over."

Rex snorted and strode past his second-in-command, saying nothing. He couldn't tell them the truth between his arrangement with The Torturer because it would only hurt his pride. Dorn was right about one thing, though.

Tesiera Rinderson, also known as The Torturer, was made of iron. She was all metal that nothing-no man or woman-could ever penetrate her defenses enough to reach her.

He would know because he had been trying for three years. And failing woefully.

ππππππππ

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Tesiera earned more than enough money from her job to afford the luxuries of life. She had a penthouse apartment, fully furnished and luxurious. But she barely stayed in it; she was always going on missions. Some of her jobs would require her to travel across the world and make her stay at locations for weeks simply observing before she would strike.

Her handler always had one job or another for her, but Tesiera was a picky worker. She chose her missions according to the most dangerous because she loved challenges. She didn't give a shit about the law, legality, or what was right and wrong. Tesiera did what she wanted, however she wanted.

Tonight was one of those few nights she slept at her home and after a hard day's job, she felt tensed and needed to unwind. Which was why Rex was lying on the couch and she was straddling his face.

"God, you're so sexy," Rex mumbled against her pussy, skillfully running his tongue around the folds of skin, sucking and teasing her clit, all the way down to the entrance of her core.

"Don't go further than that," she commanded.

Rex obeyed instantly by curbing his wandering tongue. Though, it was worth a try. If there was one thing he had learned in all the times she'd used him to get off, it was one crucial fact; The Torturer detects penetration of ANY kind.

She thrust forward, holding his head still the way she wanted him and began riding his face the way she wanted to. He licked, raved and sucked her expertly until her movements lost uniformity and her breathing changed before she peeked over the edge.

A deep breath left her lips as she straightened and pulled away from him. He straightened too, her juices dripping from his mouth, and smiled in satisfaction. "Ah, that felt too good."

Rex was Teisiera's favorite currently among her array of playthings, comprising of different men and women. Like most of them, Rex was a killer she'd made acquaintance with three years ago. He was frequent, and she called for him more often than the others.

"You taste so good," Rex said, licking his lips. He was past the stage where it bruised his ego that he could never get her to really moan or cry out or scream during their oral play.

She wasn't a noisy woman; the most he'd heard from her was a grunt and a hiss as she came. Mostly, he knew she was enjoying it by the change in her breathing. That was just the kind of woman Tesiera The Torturer was, and he'd made peace with it.

She arranged her clothes methodically, her face hard like granite. You'd never associate her with someone who just rode someone's face like it was her playground. "Leave."

Hell, not this again. He needed to come. "Um, I was hoping you'll let me take you to bed..."

"Leave." Tesiera eyed him, his refusal to obey her command irking her as well as the fact that he made her repeat it.

"Please, Siera, you're so beautiful and sexy. I want to fuck you, please," he practically begged her, and he was ready to do anything-literally anything-to make that happen. The thought of fucking her had kept him awake at night more times than he cared to admit.

"Why do you ask for the impossible? No man fucks me, Rex. I don't bend over for any man. Ever. I do the fucking, never the other way around. So, unless you're ready to bend over this couch for me, you'd better leave my sight," she stated, looking him dead in the eyes.

"You know I'm not into that," Rex whined and pouted his lips.

"Don't make me repeat myself again."

"Okay, what about a blow? I'll take a blow. I want a blow, pleaaase," he was quick to add. The anticipation was beating at him. Tesiera was as skilled with her mouth as she was with torture weapons.

No one would look at him now and peg him to be the lethal assassin he was. He would keep whining until she gave in, and Tesiera couldn't just kill the guy because he was actually among the few people she actually liked. "Take off your pants," she ordered.

Rex had never taken his pants off so fast in his life. He stood naked, his dick coated in precum.

"Get into that room." She pointed behind her. "Get on the bed and spread your legs for me."

His smile dimmed. Spread his legs? What the heck? Rex would have protested if he wasn't so aroused, so he did as she commanded and headed for the bedroom.

In the bedroom, she climbed in with him, got into the space in between his spread legs, and before Rex could say in a word, her head dipped and she took him deep into her mouth. He let out a raspy groan at his entrance into her warm and welcoming mouth.

Her tongue drew imaginative patterns on his tip, as she glided around it and went further down his dick with calculated strokes and skill. And after a while of teasing, she increased her pace and took him in further, until he was touching the back of her throat. Then she simply held him there and sucked him so damn good that Rex was howling and twitching in pleasure, his hands trembling and his toes curling. He was in heaven.

She didn't let go until he was tipped over the edge and she swallowed his release reluctantly. Then she straightened and wiped the smeared side of her mouth with the back of her hand. Rex laid there, reveling in his aftermath. So languid, he could feel sleep hovering.

"Get out."

"What?" Rex's eyes shot open and met with those sinister eyes of hers. She had been generous with him today, making him come. He didn't want to anger her. He pushed himself up from the bed. "Can I get a moment to put on my jeans?" He picked up his pants from the floor.

Tesiera shook her head, pointing toward the door.

Rex nodded and started walking out of the room, half naked. He was about to open the door but paused, turning around to face Tesiera. "Um, do you think I can spend the night?"

So quick that she was almost a blur of movement, she withdrew her tiny, panty-knife from the pocket of her panties and threw it at him.

The knife made contact with his thigh, and he grunted. His eyes widened at the very tiny knife that stuck to his thigh and the blood that flowed. "Fuck!"

She walked forward and ruthlessly pulled the knife, taking her weapon back. The fact that her precious knife was bloody made her scowl harder. Then she pinned him with furious eyes and said through gritted teeth. "The next time I say walk, you run. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am. "

She took his hand and shoved the knife into his palm. "Have her cleaned out and returned to me tomorrow morning."

"I will, ma'am"

"Get out."

Rex practically ran out of her bedroom. Within seconds, she heard the front door open and close.

Tesiera turned, walked to the bathroom, and slammed the door shut.

Tesiera was in the grip of a nightmare, her face twisted in a grimace as she thrashed about on her bed, mumbling incoherent sounds. This was a common occurrence for her and one that she found deeply frightening. The dream always started the same way, with memories of the happy times she shared with her father–the joy, laughter, and thrill of their father-daughter bond.

She could hear her father's genuine, hearty laugh-a laugh that seemed to stem from deep within him-and she would smile. He was always in good spirits and his happiness was contagious. But as the dream progressed, that laugh slowly transform into pained screams, the sounds he made as he was murdered.

Tesiera was forced to relive the final moments of her father's life-the moment the doctor closed his eyes and covered him with a sheet-and with that moment, she felt like she lost her own humanity. All the pain, sadness, and agony would come flooding back and she would scream, until everything faded away.

She woke up with a jolt, tears streaming down her face and her breathing heavy. The wound was freshly opened again, just like it was every night. Her finger rose to her cheek, and she collected a single tear, scowling at the liquid.

Her chest hurt. it hurt badly.

This was one of those times the nightmares made her past so fresh on her mind, her pain so great like the years had been wiped away, and it was all happening all over again.

Without hesitation, she reached under her pillow, withdrew her pocket dagger, pressed it to her thigh, and cut a clean line atop one of the thin scars from similar cuts she'd made in the past.

A calmness settled over her heart as she washed the blood spill out of the wound and drip down her thigh. The pain was almost delicious, especially because it numbed the one that came from her nightmares. Physical pain she could deal with; emotional pain...not so much.

With a sigh, she got up from her bed and went to the window, staring out into the rain-soaked night. The stars had vanished from the sky and the moon shone exceptionally bright.

As she looked out into the night, she remembered the girl she once was-the girl who screamed in terror-and she felt disgust and anger. Screaming was a sign of weakness, and she hated being trapped in her nightmare doing just that. For twenty years, she channeled her pain into strength until she was almost unbeatable. A torture machine, as most people in the dark world called her.

For ten years she had searched for her father's killers. It was hard since she only had their faces on her mind as the only lead on those four people, but when she wasn't torturing people, she dedicated her entire life to finding those murderers. Five years ago, she finally made a breakthrough and found their leader, Jaden Newman.

He was a crime boss in the dark world, and most of his wealth came from human trafficking-selling women. Her eyes closed as she remembered Miselle.

Miselle had been her only friend for ten years and she knew everything about Tesiera. Miselle was helping her to gather information about her father's killers; she was the one who got the only information they have on Jaden Newman. But when Miselle had gone to dig deeper, she was murdered and her body washed up a shore in Bahamas.

Tesiera was almost sure that Jaden Newman was the one who killed her only friend, just like he'd killed her father. Well, he ordered, and the teenager pulled the trigger. Without hesitation.

She never forgot that part. Or the look of utter enjoyment on the teenager's face as he pulled the trigger.

They will all pay. Every last one of them.

Just as she was about to head to her gym room downstairs, her cellphone rang. The caller ID showed "Big Cat".

The man who raised her. Her Uncle Damian but well-known as Big Cat in the dark world. When he got the news of what happened to her father, 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 been from one foster home after another. Horrible experiences, all of them.

Big Cat was a very dangerous and powerful mafia lord, and he rarely called at night, which made her wonder why he would be calling her this late.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Siera, can you come to the mansion right now? It's urgent."

She was instantly alert. "Is everything alright?"

"I'll tell you when you get here," his voice came through before the line went dead. She stared at the phone blankly for a moment before putting it down and walking away from the window.

She opened her closet filled with lined-up black leather outfits, picked out the pants she wanted, and dressed within minutes. Then she closed the wardrobe and opened a bigger closet beside it, staring at her variety of weapons and countless torture devices.

If Big Cat said it was urgent, then weapons may come in handy. Plus, she never went anywhere without arming herself. So, she withdrew the newest of her gun collection-the Korth Combat revolver. She smirked as she loaded the gun with bullets and strapped it to the leather that was tied to her arm.

What could be so urgent?

Pulling her hair up into a bun, she stalked out of her home like a soldier on a mission.

*****************

Tesiera walked into Big Cat's mansion. She had been there countless times, and the interior, which was luxuriously decorated with gold, didn't faze her anymore. The mansion was heavily guarded, with high level security so vast that it was even complicated for someone like her.

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 bends the rules on the fourth floor.

The guards bowed their heads and gave way for her to pass without questions. 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 always her best painting in the numerous paintings scattered in all parts of this mansion. She'd lived there for six years, since she was eleven.

Most of the trainings she got to be what she was today, she learned from the three best fighters from each field. The three instructors that taught her how to handle throwing knives were the best. As for guns, she learned from Big Cat himself. The mafia godfather is very lethal when it came to guns; his business associates feared him and had good reasons to.

At the door of the training room, she leaned on the door frame and watched Big Cat spar with one of his men in a hand-to-hand combat. 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 his once black hair, now 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 audibly, 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 directed to his men before turning back to her again. "I'm sorry for calling you out here so late at night. I know you had a stressful day today. How was your mission?" He began walking 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 after him.

He led the way out of the fourth floor down to the second floor and took her to the terrace. They leaned on the railings. The gentle night breeze was blowing and the near-midnight sky was illuminated with stars.

"I heard your scores. Your story is being told in every corner of the dark world. All your missions always came out a success," he said, pride in his eyes. She shrugged. "You make me so proud, Tesiera."

She remained silent, just 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 despite the fact that there's always danger looming around the corner, and people are oblivious about 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 that happen since she was brought under his care-but she never saw the need to get chatty.

But what he was about to tell her tonight would definitely drag words out of her mouth. "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 lacked in so many ways.

"You said you had information for me." She pulled away from the rails and stared at him.

"I found what you've been looking for." A pause. "Or Who."

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 came away with nothing. The beginning was the hardest; their faces were the only thing she had on them.

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

Big Cat smiled. "Let's go to the information room, shall we?"

"Yes, please." She allowed him to lead the way, following closely behind him. Emotions she was familiar with flooded her: pain and age-old 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 hesitation. Those gray eyes that glistened in twisted happiness as he shifted the gun and pointed it to her own face.

Big Cat and Tesiera took an elevator down to the consulting room, and when they entered, he gestured for Tesiera to take a seat. He then switched on the television, and a clip prompted on the screen. He lifted the remote control and hit the 'play' button. An image popped up on the screen, 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 Kracusian Kingston, but he was mostly known as Kracus. 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 MedStone Hospital, one of the most prestigious hospitals here in the States. He has won several award in the medical field as the best brain surgeon, and at such a young age, he has risen to the position of Chief of Surgery."

Tesiera couldn't tear her eyes away from those gray eyes. Those very familiar gray eyes she saw in her nightmares almost every night. The man who murdered her father right in front of her in cold blood was a fucking doctor? The man who put a bullet through her father's brain was a freaking brain doctor?

"So, he's a doctor and he owns a hotel?" she asked at last when she could finally get her throat to work.

"Chains of hotels," the mafia godfather corrected. "He has so many of them, spread across the country and way beyond. He's fucking loaded and he's a public figure too. The image he shows the world says he can do no wrong. The world loves him. According to our Intel, he pursued his dream of being a doctor after his father-who had always wanted him to take over the family business-died. Now he has capable hands handling his businesses while he went back to pursuing his dreams. But all those hotel managers and executives answer to Kracusian Kingston. He's the big boss."

Kracusian Kingston. She rolled the name through her head, hating the motherfucker's name as much as she hated the man. Her brows arched. "With all that money, he's a doctor? He made himself an easy target to his enemies; it's a surprise he's still alive."

"There's a reason for that. Although Kracus Kingston doesn't move around with paparazzi and entourage, he has two shadows that are always looking out for him, protecting him. According to reports, those two men are highly skilled in all kinds of combat; they've won both the black belt in fighting and the silver belt. Dangerous men that are very good with knives and guns. They have killed every threat that ever surfaced in Kracus Kingston's life. We couldn't get much information about them apart from their names: Bose and Clinton. Apart from that, they are almost like ghosts that don't exist. "

Interesting. Teisiera's eyes went back to the clip, which had started to replay for the second time. She noted the way her target smiled and the way he received the award like a man of dignity and integrity. Like he couldn't hurt a fly and would rather go to the ends of the world to save it. A cold-blooded murderer who killed a man over a locket and pointed a gun at his eight-year-old.

"Is that everything we've got?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. The Kingstons might be public figures, but they managed to keep their lives away from public eyes. That's all we could get for now."

"It'll do," Tesiera simply said. For the first time in a long time, an unfamiliar feeling surfaced in her. Impatience.

She was well-known in the dark world for her patience. She could torture her victims for days if that was what it could to get what she needed from them. And she could stayed holed up in a mountain for weeks, tailing her victims. But now that she knew the face of the fucker who killed her father, all she wanted was to go to where he was and plunge a knife deep into his chest.

Her hands itched for blood-his blood. Her fingers tingled to pull the trigger and blow out his brains, and her ears ached to hear his dying screams and bask in victorious revenge.

Taking a deep, unsatisfying breath, she asked. "Where does he live?"

Big Cat studied her face carefully, then he turned around and picked up a folder from the television rack and stretched it out towards her. "All the information you need is in this file."

Teisiera rose from her chair and collected the file. "Thank you so much for this."

"You've had a long day; it's better you go back home and rest. I know you've waited your whole life for this, but I don't want you to make any rash moves. Think about your next step before you take it, Tesiera. If those two guards he has shadowing him protected the man enough to keep him alive for so long, they must be so damn good at it. Be careful. If you need anything, let me know."

"Thank you," she said.

He smiled at her again, then she left the consulting room and took the elevator to the last floor, leaving the mansion.

She held the folder in her arms tightly. For the first time in a very long time, Tesiera could feel the emotion that could be easily identified as happiness. A hint of a smile played on the sides of her lips.

With this, she would carefully draft out a good plan to make this bastard pay for what he did. He was her new prey.

I'm coming for you, Kracusian Kingston.