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.