Top Assassins Call Me The Lady Boss novel Chapter 96

Chapter 96: Not a flinch. Not a groan. Nothing

Chapter Ninety-Six

Tied to a chair, his wrists bound to the armrests, his ankles secured to the legs of the chair. His dark hair was disheveled, and his shirt was slightly torn, but there were no marks on him— yet.

The others had followed her orders to capture him, however no one touched him because they knew who Cole was. He was her right hand.

And by the look on their faces, she knew what they wanted to ask her. What could Cole of all people do to her that she’d tie him up in the torture room?

His head lifted as she stepped closer, his deep brown eyes locking onto hers. No panic. No pleading. Just... confusion.

"Boss?" His voice was steady, but there was a crease between his brows. "What the hell is this?"

Cole had never spoken to her like that before. Considering he was caught and about to take her last breath, should he not be submissive even more?

She didn’t answer. Not yet. She studied him, searching for something— guilt, hesitation, a flicker of recognition that he had been caught.

But all she saw was him. The man who had stood beside her through every fight and mission, every impossible decision. The man who never hesitated to take a bullet for her.

Her nails bit into her palms. ’Was it all an act?’

She took a slow step closer. Then another. Her voice, when it came, was low and edged with something sharp. "Tell me the truth. And tell me fast. Who are you working for?" What she hated the most was betrayal.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. His eyes flickered, searching her face as if trying to make sense of the accusation. He leaned forward against the restraints, while the ropes bit into his skin.

"You think I’m working for someone?" His voice was quieter now, controlled, but beneath it, something simmered.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, but she didn’t let it show. She took another step closer, close enough to see the sheen of sweat at his temple, close enough to catch the faint scent of cologne still clinging to his torn shirt.

Cole had punished people before... More than he had taken his breakfasts this month. He should how this ended. Delaying this would be a stupid idea.

"I know you are." Her words were cold and precise. "The question is who."

His lips pressed into a tight line. A flicker of something crossed his face— hurt? Anger? It didn’t matter to her.

The man who was giving her the information mentioned his name before he was killed. She was sure Cole or whoever he was working with and for, found the dead man reporting to her and silenced him but unfortunately for them, he mentioned a name. And that was a great start. Regardless of who the person was.

She crouched in front of him, resting her elbows on her knees. Their eyes were level now. "My father?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Silence. A dangerous silence.

His breath was steady, but his fingers flexed against the armrests. He wasn’t giving her anything.

Her stomach twisted. Anxiety creeping in.

She forced herself to nod, swallowing down the bitter taste rising in her throat. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier. He knew what that meant. If he had been feeding information to her father, she was already as good as dead. And so was he.

But then he spoke.

"I’m not working for your father."

The words came slowly like he knew exactly what they meant to him and he sounded so genuine.

She exhaled softly through her mouth. The pressure in her chest eased— just a fraction. She was safe.

But he wasn’t.

If it wasn’t her father, then she was safe.

She stood, straightening her spine. The tension in her jaw returned. If not her father, then who? Who could he be working for?

And did it even matter anymore?

"Boss, I am not working for anyone." He whispered.

She exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her hair before turning away from him. She stopped where the tools lay waiting.

A metal tray sat against the wall, lined with instruments that gleamed in the room, waiting to work their way to the truth. Blades, pliers, a rusted hammer, a blowtorch... each one had its use, and each one had drawn screams from the guilty before.

Her fingers hovered over them, grazing the cold steel, the smooth wood of a bat, and the sharp ridges of a pair of clamps. She could break him piece by piece. She could make him beg.

But no.

Her hand stilled over the knife.

Sleek, familiar. Sharp.

She curled her fingers around the handle, lifting it, and feeling its weight. It wasn’t the most brutal choice. It wasn’t the most painful. But it was personal.

She turned back to him, rolling the knife between her fingers. His eyes flicked to it, then back to her. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.

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