by Nero Seal
“Do you think it’s fair, Talha?” His voice came out quiet. Talha frowned, alert to the rare serious notes in Slater’s tone. “She was young, beautiful. She didn’t have to die. Yet you killed her.”
What? Talha growled at the accusation, but Slater’s expression didn’t change, only his lips stretched in a flat smile.
“You think I killed her, huh? But Master, everything I do, I do for you…” Lifeless, emotionless, Slater’s voice sank through Talha’s soul, infusing the bitter taste of hopelessness into his mouth. “Too bad you didn’t want it… Now she is dead, and soon you will die too.”
Slater’s mouth slacked. Unshaved and untidy, he looked exhausted, and for a moment the kidnapping, torture, slaughter, and rape took second place in Talha’s mind. His gaze searched the pallid, desperate face. Slater watched him expectantly as if Talha could solve every problem in the universe, like he’d always done.
I wish I knew how to fix this, Slater…
Under his gaze, Slater’s cheek twitched, lips trembled, wrenching his facial muscles into a mask of agony and rage. In a blink of an eye, he got to his feet and his heavy boot connected with the side of Talha’s ribs, then again and again. “Don’t fucking look at me like this...”
Talha braced against the impact; dull pain spread from his side and stomach to his chest and lower belly. The air bounced in his lungs, suppressed by his strained muscles. The annoying, low noise of his blood vessels, buzzing with pressure, stuffed his ears, but he still refused to inhale, fearing once he let Slater kick through the shield of his muscles, he might never see the light again.
“Why are you looking at me like this?” Slater’s lips quirked as he growled in a low voice before the toe of his boot knocked against Talha’s left ear. “Don’t look at me, look at your bitch! Pity her!”
The high-pitched shrill pierced the air, substituting Slater’s heavy breathing. The room blurred, spiraling out of control. His head rolled to the side, leveling with Camilla’s dead glare as his eyelids grew heavy, and the darkness swallowed him up.
“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” Slater cursed, watching blood stream from Talha’s split brow. His chest spasmed and contorted, too tight to contain any air. His nails dug into his skin over his heart and clawed down, then again and again, attempting to ease the pain, but it only intensified.
Slater needs pain. Slater can control himself. Slater just needs pain. His other hand sank into his hair as he spun around, avoiding looking at Talha. No. No. No. Master should die. Master deserved it. Die. Die. Die!
Grinding his teeth, he crashed his fists against the wall. Pouring the fire of anger and dissatisfaction into the short, fast jabs, he scratched and burst his knuckles bloody, but the pain didn’t calm him, neither did it bring him that buzzing pleasure and excitement he had always rushed toward. It just hurt.
No… He got to his knees, shuffled up to Talha’s face. His palms sliding up the unshaved cheeks, he rolled Talha’s face to himself, noticing the tiny stream of blood seeping from Talha’s ear. Nooo…
“Master has always been stupid,” he said, slumping to the side on his hip and curling into a ball by Talha’s side. The cold ground grated his skin and made him shiver. He shuffled closer to his master to snatch a little bit of his warmth. He remembered the first time he’d seen Talha. His face had been covered with blood, just like now. Back then, Talha had smelled like sun and dust, blood and gunpowder. Now, everything around bathed in the stench of death, making it impossible to say how Talha smelled today.
He smirked, as the memory unwrapped. Walking into that room, Talha had no idea how close he had been to death.
That night Slater had celebrated his freedom. Completely letting go, he’d allowed the need to kill to overtake him. The same moment Slater heard three pairs of legs hurrying down the corridor, his hand automatically brushed up his thigh and extracted three throwing needles out of the loops.
He’d heard the door being opened and panting filling the air. He smelled their confusion and felt their wary glances all over his back, but he wasn’t in a hurry to kill, enjoying the attention.
Someone who hadn’t been his master commanded him to turn around and throw his hands in the air. He’d been curious to see the face of a man, who for some reason, decided that he had the right to order Iblīs around.
So Slater turned.
Hiding behind his gun and a bulletproof vest, the man in command had no idea that with a single flick of his hand, Slater could have finished them all. At that moment, only the liquid amber of Talha’s curious eyes stopped Slater from sending the throwing needles at their throats.
Instead, he’d waited. The more he listened to Talha talk, the more intrigued he had become, so he agreed to the stupid deal and even followed the man to his house.
At first, Slater hadn’t treated him seriously. Curious and bored, he’d watched Talha’s every move, expecting him to make a mistake, and Talha hadn’t disappointed. Time after time, he’d done something to irritate Slater, yet he hadn’t killed him. Slater couldn’t explain why. Maybe because Talha had been different from all of his former masters, or maybe because Talha entertained him. So many times in his life, Slater had spent hours on the floor, sleeping in pools of his bloody piss, because he hadn’t been able to get up. Slater had never complained. More than that, he’d learned to enjoy pain, but Talha had never hit hard. Even administering punishment, Talha’s focus had always been on Slater, constantly questioning if he did what Slater needed, if Slater could take it.
Many times Slater had questioned how such a person could have gained power. Unlike his ex-masters, Talha didn’t solely rely on fear and cruelty, so why had people listened to him, respected him? Slater did his best to test the limits of his tolerance, every time expecting the man to lose his self-control, and show his true face. Talha never had. No matter what Slater had done, Talha hadn’t rejected him and had never been cruel or unjust.
Slater’s finger brushed over his lips, as he remembered the uncertain kiss Talha had forced upon him and how he’d hit him the next instance, realizing what he had done and hoping that pain would distract Slater and make him forget. Slater had never forgotten.
For a long time, Slater had known that Master got weaker. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Talha had brushed his lips against Slater’s. At first, Slater hadn’t known how to react. Thrown from cold to hot, he’d itched to confront Talha, but every time he was about to bring the topic up, his lips stayed glued. The way Master watched him, treated his body after sex, and cared for Slater’s wounds. Everything Master had done made Slater feel revolted toward the same weakness that twitched in his own chest. At some point, Slater started thinking that maybe he could tolerate becoming Master’s only weakness or that Master would be Slater’s only weakness. Corrupted with kindness, Slater was ready to throw his principles away. For Master.
But Master chose a woman.
“Why?” Talha’s cold skin seared him with incandescent heat, and Slater shuffled away to the wall, got on all fours. Watching the side of the slack face, Slater asked again, “Why Master chose a woman? Why not Slater? Slater has done everything for Master.”
Talha didn’t answer, so Slater got up and strolled out of the chamber. When he returned, he carried a soft cloth and a tin bucket brimming with water. Putting it on the floor by Talha’s side, he dropped to his knees and undid the ropes spreading Talha’s legs apart. His hands worked fast, wiping Talha’s body. Starting from his head, he made his way down the stomach, then cleaned his groin. Washing his legs last, he gave them a slight massage, to restart the blood circulation.
Finished, he splashed the dirty water out of the door and fished a water bottle out of his backpack. Approaching Talha, he squatted by his side and wiped the drying blood that now barely seeped out of Talha’s split brow. He wavered for a second before unscrewing the lid and lifting Talha’s head, ripped the duct tape off his lips, then brought the bottle to his mouth.
THE TINY, ANNOYING NOISE DRILLED t
hrough the numbness of Talha’s consciousness and irritated his nerves. He scrunched his face, fighting the heavy fog in his ears and head, then unglued his eyes.
Examining his surroundings, he heaved a sigh. The ropes around his legs had disappeared. He bent his knees, and his eyelids dropped from the simple pleasure the free movement provided. Feeling the blood streaming through his veins, he moved his toes up and down, before opening his eyes again. The ropes around his wrists had loosened up, not enough for one hand to catch the other or to reach his mouth, but the length allowed him to roll to his side. Grazing the wall, his gaze stumbled over the powerful frame of the ripper. With his back pressed to Talha’s hip, he lay on his side, but no matter how many times Talha called for him, he never reacted. A few wisps of his hair rested in blood, but Slater didn’t look like he cared.
“Ugh-ur!” Talha called again, but the younger man only brought his head closer to his chest and hugged his middle.
Slater had always been difficult to talk to. Five years ago, it took Talha many weeks and a lot of patience to understand Slater’s needs, and many more to discover his past.
Slater couldn’t recall much from his early childhood, but he’d remembered his first master and the severe training he’d undergone. How, day after day, he and a few other kids had learned how to process pain and tolerate torture; how to use all kinds of weapons, and how to kill. Starting with stray and wild animals, they learned how to let go of their fears. Slater didn’t stutter as he told Talha about the dozens of pets he trained and later murdered to learn emotional control. Slater hadn’t appeared upset or hurt by the memories, as if things like this had been something natural.
A drunken fisherman who hadn’t paid his debts was his first contract, and had started a long chain of butchered victims, awakening Slater’s appetite for human murder. Like all the animals he’d killed, Slater gutted the man and put his organs on a fishing rack to dry under the scorching sun of the Philippines. Slater had been ten.
At the age of fourteen, Slater had been sold to a Mexican drug cartel, but he didn’t stay there long. After killing his master, he sneaked onto the cruise ship that brought him to America, where he stayed for six months, before stowing away on another ship bound for Europe.
Changing his masters, he had never found what he searched for. When Talha asked him why he even needed a master, Slater only grinned, replying that he needed to be controlled, but it took Talha too long to understand what that meant.
5 YEARS AGO
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?” Talha stormed into the spare bedroom. His ears rang with the blood storm that swirled in his core. The news on TV explained in every juicy detail about Iblīs slaughtering the whole Asani household, except the kids, who likely stayed in a summer camp.
Storming toward the bed, Talha seized Slater’s arm and dragged him to the floor. Considering granting Slater with a kick, he wavered, remembering the wound in his side that had taken the medical team an hour to treat. His fist clenched, unclenched, then clenched again, before his knuckles collided with Slater’s cheekbone.
“I told you to kill Bekir, not to slaughter everyone! Who do you think you are?”
“Iblīs, Master,” Slater snarled, exposing his teeth.
“You are useless if you can’t kill only one person. I needed an assassination, a message, not a mass murder! I don’t need the reputation of being a bloody psychopath who butchers kids and women. I need the strongest to fear me, not the weakest. This is politics, you idiot! I spend millions gaining a clean, strong reputation, so people would stay loyal and respect me for being fair, and you fucking ruin it in one day by marring my hands with the blood of innocents.”
“No one is innocent, Master.” Looking up at him from the floor, Slater didn’t attempt to get up. “The woman knew Slater. The staff knew Slater. Master is still young and naive, but Master will understand that Slater couldn’t let them live. Slater did it for Master. Now no one will come for Master. Master craved power. Master can have his territories.”
Taken aback with the sudden flow of words, Talha said, “You have only been here for a few days, and already you’ve managed to fuck over everything you touch!”
Why do I even argue? Talha wondered. He could have drawn a gun and sent a bullet between those crystal eyes, finishing this madness, yet he didn’t.
“Things change, Master. Get used to it. What did you expect when you decided to deal with Iblīs?”
Something quivered in the pit of Talha’s stomach. Something similar to doubt. What is the price of his loyalty? He butchered Behçet; he will easily kill everyone in this house once he decides to move on. He is insane. Dinçer was right; I should have killed him in that mosque. He has no moral compass at all. He can’t be reasoned with. What does the word Master mean if he doesn’t listen to anything I say?
Searching for answers, Talha let his gaze wander over the cream carpet toward the tall window, draped with golden curtains. The sun filtered in through the dense foliage of the apple tree lavish with ripe, red fruits.
Maybe, he thinks I don’t deserve to be his master. Maybe he doesn’t respect me enough to follow my orders. Was I stupid to think that I can control Iblīs? I wanted to have him before anyone else could. At that moment, I didn’t care how I would have to pay for it. What did I expect? I don't know. Nothing like this. Yet, he served Behçet for more than three years. That’s a lot of time. It means Slater can be loyal. What did that asshole have that I’m lacking?
Absorbing the blue, cloudless sky that hung above the tree, Talha queried, “Why did you kill Behçet?”
“Simple, Master. Behçet got weak. Behçet set a low trap. Behçet was scared and didn’t leave Talha a chance. A coward doesn’t deserve Iblīs.”
Spinning around, Talha granted him with a questioning look. The words left his mouth before he could stop them, “You don’t respect me, do you?”
A curious glint, one that had been missing for a long time, returned to Slater’s eyes as he cocked his head to the side. “Huh, Master isn’t all that stupid after all. No, but… did Master do anything to deserve Slater’s respect?”
So that’s what it is. Despite Slater’s words, the ripper didn’t attempt to get up. The contradictive vibes he emitted messed with Talha’s mind. If that’s the truth, why are you still on the floor? Why did you allow me to hit you? I don’t get you…
“Fair enough…” Talha ground his teeth, making a decision. “If I earn your respect, would you do as I say? Would you be loyal? Would you listen to me?”
Slater’s head went down, but his eyes shot up a predatory, animalistic glare. “Certainly, Master.”
“You stay here and rest. Food will be served at your demand. If you need something, use the intercom.” Saying this, Talha left the room, locking the door behind his back.
THE NIGHT STRETCHED INTO ETERNITY. Trying to shake off the pressure of the last days, Talha found consolation in alcohol, weed, and women as he’d always done when he needed to relax. But even the sweet embrace of Aylín hadn’t been able to calm him for long, and soon enough, he found himself strolling through the night in the ancient city. Alcohol buzzed in his head, fermenting his blood. He lost track of time and his whereabouts, until after another turn, the familiar form of his mansion greeted him.
Slamming the front door open with his palm, he spared the new security guard, who had been propping the wall, a glance. “Ayaz, I left my car at Aylín’s. Pick it up.”
Without waiting for a reply, he moved to the wall, intending to use it for support. The marble staircase doubled and shook, and every step he took felt like a Sisyphean toil because the steep steps refused to end. For a second, he considered taking a rest but forced through the exhaustion and took another step, then one more. The staircase ended. Impressed with his achievement, he looked down from the peak of the conquered height.
“U-u-u-u…” The breathtaking view from the oh so tall ‘Everest’ disappointed and didn’t look all that high anymore. It sway
ed, jumped, and spiraled out of control. Losing his balance, he flapped his arms in the air and slumped to the floor.
“Are you okay, Reis?” Ayaz asked, looking perplexed. He made a step toward Talha but froze.
“Do I look like I’m not okay?” Talha squeezed his eyes, then opened them again, trying to subdue the swirling room. His right foot burned from his long walk, so he lifted his leg and took one shoe off. Slipping out of his hands, the shoe rolled down the staircase. Talha snorted.
“No?”
Satisfied with this reply, Talha removed his other shoe and deliberately dumped it down, wanting to see if it would land close to the first one. But the liquid voice coming from behind drew his attention, and he forgot why he had been staring down the staircase.
“Master is drunk...”
The remains of energy Talha was fighting to contain left his body. He fell back, sprawling his arms wide on the cold marble floor.
“I locked you...” Talha remembered. He rubbed his temple with his fingers, then pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to concentrate. “Did you break the lock?”
“No need, Master. There is no lock Slater can’t open.”
“Do you know why locks exist?”
“Master is talking funny. Master needs to get in bed. Slater will help.” Slater bent forward, trying to catch Talha’s arm, but the man deflected his hand away with his own.
“No fucking way… You are a freak! There is no-o way I’m going anywhere with you. You are creepy! You need therapy! Ayaz, shoot him if he tries anything.”
Slater sniggered, rubbing the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand as his shoulders rocked.
“I’ll take him to his room,” Slater said to the security guard. The next moment, iron fingers clasped around Talha’s biceps. “Come on, Reis, get up.”
“No-o. Ayaz, shoot him!” Talha protested, but Ayaz didn’t move. “Why does no one listen to me? Am I Reis or not? Get the fuck out, traitor, you are fired!”