by Nero Seal
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, Master. You wanted business, here it is. I’ll kill for you, but you make sure I don’t have problems with the police. You clean the mess, so Slater can kill more, and you can have Iblīs. Slater is too thirsty to survive on his own. Slater needs a capable Master who will protect Slater, who will control Slater. But Talha doesn’t get it. Talha wants to take but not give. Talha doesn’t want to entertain Slater. If you can’t do even this, then Talha isn’t good for Slater.” Flicking the cigarette to the floor, Slater moved for the door. “Find me more contracts, Master.”
For the first time since Slater’s appearance in his house, the ripper didn’t try to enter Talha’s room, but instead of long-awaited relief, Talha felt a knot of alertness forming in the depth of his stomach. The morning came after a restless, sleepless night; Talha fetched his phone and dialed Ejder.
“Find me a sadistic male escort. Slater is frustrated.”
“A-Abi, he is too much tro-ouble. Why don’t you put him do-own?” The way Ejder spoke through his nose and stretched the vowels suggested he was tired.
“Why should I?” Talha asked. “For the first time, I know what he wants. He brought Istanbul to Behçet. He will bring me Europe. I just have to learn how to use him. If anyone could handle Iblīs, wouldn’t it be disappointing?”
EJDER CAME WITH THE DUSK, bringing along a tall, tanned man with shoulder-length hair and confident black eyes.
“Go into that room and wait there,” Talha pointed to the wooden door of Slater’s bedroom on the first floor, then faced Ejder.
Humming, the man didn’t argue, but gave Talha a slow once over and then Ejder, obviously wondering whom he was supposed to please. When no one followed him, he wavered in front of the door, but still entered the room.
“Slater?” Talha called, adding a demand into his voice. “Come!”
The silence stretched for a few minutes before Slater stepped out of the kitchen. Holding a glass of milk in his hand, he crunched a cookie.
“What?” He sounded displeased as if he’d been disturbed. Talha frowned.
“Go into your room. There is a man waiting. He is here to satisfy your needs.” Talha said; his gaze glued to Slater’s face.
The uncertain smile that touched Slater’s lips grew wider until it froze in a toothy grin, and a neurotic knot in Talha’s guts slowly released. Cocking his head, Slater halted with a cookie halfway to his mouth. “Master brought me... a whore?”
He sniggered, shaking with his whole body. Slinking up to Talha, he shoved the glass of milk and the unfinished cookie into his hands, then stole toward his room.
Talha smiled at his brother. If the male escort could keep Slater in a good mood, Talha wouldn’t mind paying him full time.
“Wanna help me with dinner? If Slater is happy, I think you can return home.”
A DOOR SLAMMING into its frame shattered the silence. Putting a knife aside, Talha glanced at Ejder. Receiving a slight shrug at his silent question, he skulked out of the kitchen.
Standing in the middle of the hall, Slater shook the blood of his karambit, then wiped it against his pants before sheathing it behind his back. Noticing Talha, he grinned. “Thank you, Master, your gift was delicious.”
Smudges of blood covered his face as if someone had been trying to push him away with bloody hands. Dark spots marred his messy clothes, and a trail of bloody footprints stretched through the hall from the door of his bedroom to where he stood.
“What the fuck have you done?” Talha’s heart sunk. He stormed toward the bedroom and inched the door open. Red splashes of blood decorated the blue Persian carpets, walls, and the golden bedspread. Mutilated and disfigured, the body lay on the floor with his arms spread and guts out. Unable to tolerate the view and the sickening stench of blood and bile, Talha shut the door.
Slater didn’t reply, as all his attention was directed to the aisle that led to the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, Ejder pointed a gun at Slater’s head.
“Huh?” Slater chuckled; his palm curled up, and a black throwing needle slipped between his fingers. “A little boy hiding behind a gun. Come, you will die first.”
Tongue stuck to his pallet, Talha rushed to him and grabbed Slater’s hand the same moment Ejder pulled the trigger. Slater shifted and the bullet, catching the strands of his hair smashed against a marble wall.
Disregarding the black muzzle pointed at his back, Slater spun around and faced Talha. A needle, squeezed in his fist, swished through the air as Slater thrust his hand forward, using it like a knife. In the last moment, Talha reared back. The edge of the needle passed an inch away from his throat.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” Slater’s voice lowered to a dangerous whisper as he bared his teeth. “Talha is stupid! Talha is useless! No one has ever insulted Slater like this. The deal is off.”
“Ejder, leave!” Talha ordered. Grabbing Slater’s hand, he yanked it to himself. Installing eye contact, he captured Slater’s attention.
“But Abi…”
“Leave! NOW!” Talha snapped. Wavering, Ejder moved out of his sight, and in a heartbeat, the door clicked closed. At that moment, Talha prayed that Ejder would listen to him and go to his girlfriend. Unable to predict the outcome of the situation, he needed Ejder to be as far away from Slater as possible.
One on one with Slater, Talha felt the gravity of responsibility lifting from his chest. Boring into the large pupils of the ripper, he said, “No, the deal’s not off. I have been patient with you. I have wasted my time on you. I have tolerated your shit all these days trying to understand what the fuck you want! I have the blood of so many people on my name because of you! You want pain? I’m in a generous mood.”
Clenching his fist, he sent the first jab to Slater’s face, but the younger man, slightly inclining his torso back, let the punch cut the air.
“It’s too late for that, Talha.”
“IT’S TOO LATE FOR THAT, TALHA,” Slater whispered, but a slight doubt flicked in the depth of his dilated pupils.
Then I have nothing to lose. Taking his chances, Talha threw a backhand, this time hitting the mark. Neck strained, Slater’s head bounced to the side, but his glare remained glued to Talha.
“You raised a hand to my brother.” Clenching his fist, Talha sent a punch at Slater’s mouth. His bottom lip burst open, and blood seeped down his chin. “You murdered in my house.”
In one swift motion, Talha hurled his upper body forward sending a crashing punch into Slater’s right floating rib. Adrenaline shook his fingers as he lost the corners of his vision to darkness. He didn’t care if he harmed Slater anymore.
Slater shuddered, hands drew toward his middle, shoulders hunched forward, but Talha didn’t care. Blind rage, pulsing behind his eyes, filled his ears with the loud drumming of his heart that stuttered kill-kill-kill-kill. He lurched at the younger man with a series of short, fast jabs to his torso. The red fog condensed, filling his vision; he grabbed the ripper’s shoulder and granted him with a knee strike to his stomach. He vaguely registered Slater shuddering and dropping to his knees, hands pressing to the left side of his torso, right above the hip.
Talha bent forward. Fingers wrapping around Slater’s biceps, he yanked him upright. Not waiting for the ripper to find his feet, he stomped toward the staircase. Slater’s legs barely moved as he fought with the steep steps, trying not to lose his balance, but Talha didn’t slow down. The all-consuming flames of anger feasted on his soul. He wasn’t sure who he was mad at. Was it Slater who never listened to him, who brought the severed head of his enemy to his house, who killed in his home, who slept in his bed? Or maybe he was mad at himself for bringing a psychopathic murderer into his house. For being arrogant enough and believing that he could conquer the world and control the devil? Only today, when Slater drew out a throwing needle to send it at Ejder’s eye, did the gravity of his actions crash onto his shoulders.
For everything Slater had done, Talha was responsible. If Slater ki
lled Ejder, it would be his hands covered with the blood of his own brother, not Slater’s. Cornered with his actions, he’d locked himself in a cage of desperation, allowing Slater to gain influence over his life. But he was done being kind. He was done being understanding. He’d given Slater more chances than he should have. It didn’t matter what value Iblīs had. No money in the world, no power, was worth losing his brother.
Entering his bedroom, he dragged Slater to the middle of the room and dumped him on the red and white carpet. He didn’t see a human being anymore, but a beast he had no sympathy for. All he had for Slater was rage.
The mocking, questioning gaze, the bloody lopsided smile, the tilt of his head, even his fingers, curled in a defenseless way, everything screamed of farce. Slater didn’t treat him seriously. Allowing himself to be hit, he only proved his strength, but even knowing this, Talha couldn’t stop.
I’m an idiot… He has never been a victim. I should have figured it out sooner. Slater only does what he wants. All those scars, all those burns cover his skin because he wanted them. Not for a single day in his life was he used. But he used others alright. He probably only stayed with Behçet because the man kept the police away from him. For someone like Slater, spending the rest of his life in jail would be hell on earth.
Hit after hit, he crashed his fists down, sending occasional kicks in the same direction. His heartbeat echoed in his throbbing knuckles as the room soaked in red. His fists crusted over with blood; he halted. His vision cleared, bringing his focus to his right shoe; it was covered in a glistening mess of saliva and blood. The same mess covered Slater’s mouth.
He didn’t know where the words came from, but his voice didn’t sound familiar even to his own ears. “You wanted me to fuck you?”
His knees collided with the bouncy surface of the Persian carpet as his eyes linked with Slater’s dilated pupils. The ripper licked his lips, taking a shaky breath. Talha glanced down. Slater’s combat pants bulged, his chest rose and fell in labored breathing, and shimmering droplets of sweat coated his neck.
Talha’s body burned; his head swam. The drumming in his head resounded in his groin. He yanked Slater’s shirt open, revealing a torso covered with red bruises, then he unfastened Slater’s combat pants. Slater didn’t fight him even when he rolled the younger man to his stomach and wrestled his pants down.
If Slater had spoken or fought back, Talha might have sobered up and stopped, but Slater fisted the carpet pile, gazing over his shoulder. His transparent eyes, heavy with lust, burned the last layers of humanity out of Talha’s soul. He unzipped his pants and took his cock out. Spreading Slater’s butt cheeks, he forced himself through the tight ring of his sphincter.
The mix of pain and pleasure washed everything in bright red as Slater’s inner muscles clenched around his cock. Hissing, Slater pushed air through gritted teeth, and the lethal grip loosened, relaxed, and wrapped around Talha’s cock with incredible warmth.
“Master?” A half-plea half-moan broke from Slater’s mouth, and he cast another glance over his shoulder. A deep shade of red blossomed over his cheekbones, spreading to his ears, as his bloody teeth glinted from behind swollen lips.
A heavy, hot wave stormed into Talha’s head, erasing everything around. Grinding his teeth, Talha rocked his hips against Slater’s butt cheeks, then pulled out only to slam again into the gaping, willing flesh. His body, moving on its own, increased speed, and the last anchors of reality crushed under the avalanche of euphoria. His gaze, never leaving the side of the reaper’s face, watched his watering eyes roll up. Slater’s mouth slackened with ragged breathing and he lost the ability to swallow, as bloody saliva pooled on the carpet, absorbing into the pile.
Driven by the weird need, Talha seized Slater’s wrist, digging his fingers into the delicate skin on the inner side. Veins, tight as wires, drummed against his fingertips in a crazy rhythm, as the smaller body shook under his weight. Slater’s back arched, his ass went up as he begged, “Harder… More, Master… No need to be gentle. Slater won’t break.”
Blinking through the streaming sweat, Talha watched Slater’s spine tense. The soft tightness of Slater’s inner muscles messed with his mind. He clutched the younger man’s hip with his other hand, increasing the rhythm. The sweet pressure, building in his balls, spread up his chest with a heavy flood of boiling blood; hitting his head, it shattered his vision. Falling forward, Talha opened his mouth and sank his teeth into the naked shoulder in front of him. The skin broke under his teeth, flooding his mouth with a tangy, metallic taste. Slater groaned, and small tremors seized his body vibrating against Talha’s chest.
“Master..?”
Squeezing Slater’s wrist, Talha let go. Vicious jolts of electricity blasted through him seizing every muscle in painful pleasure. Releasing Slater’s shoulder from the clench of his teeth, he rested his forehead between his shoulder blades, wiping the sweat against the remains of the torn black shirt.
Impenetrable darkness swallowed everything around. Stretching time and reality, it muffled all sounds, except the chaotic drumming of his blood. For a second, Talha thought he would collapse. His lungs burned, bright sparks flickered in the darkness of his failed vision, erasing his ability to breathe. Tearing the air with his teeth, he emptied himself into Slater’s body.
The last jolts of pleasure dissolved into the silence, and Talha withdrew. Not a single thought inhabited his mind, chased away by his maddened pulse. When his throbbing vision focused, the reality of his actions crashed down. Slater’s knuckles blanched white as he clasped the carpet pile. His hips trembled, the puddles of cum marred the Persian carpet, Talha’s cum drenched down Slater's balls, as the bruised, bloody face grinned up at him.
“Slater was wrong. Master is fine. Master will do.”
Bitter taste filled Talha’s mouth. His eyes burned, skin crawled. He zipped himself up, and slowly, fighting through the dense air, entered the shisha lounge.
His nerves tight, but not even once did he look back to check if Slater was okay. Guilt, regret, and revulsion mixed into the deadliest poison that now corroded his blood.
With shaky hands, he put on a coal stove and added in a couple of coal cubes. Setting up a hookah, he stuffed the bowl with a mix of tobacco and cannabis, added water from a carafe into the water jar, before combining it all. He waited and waited, refusing to look back at the result of his actions. The moiré coal streaked with red and silver, trapping his gaze and emptying his head. He wished time would stop so he wouldn’t need to think about what he had done.
A steady, red glow settled in the coals. Talha picked up tweezers, picked the first cube and placed it on top of the bowl, then added two more. Grabbing the hose, he squeezed the mouthpiece with his lips and sucked. It took him around ten inhales to reach the thick, acrid smoke. He held it in his lungs as long as he could, wanting the emotional numbness to come sooner. Sinking onto the carpets covering the floor of the shisha lounge, he propped his elbows against his knees and rested his head over his clasped hands. For a moment, everything stopped mattering.
I fucked him… Or was it rape? I wasn’t even drunk, yet I did it. I wanted to hurt him so bad that I got turned on. How sick is that?
He wasn’t sure how much time passed before a soft rustle touched his ears. Talha lifted his chin. On all fours, Slater waited in front of him watching his every move. His left eye swollen closed; his puffy lips resembled a messy open wound oozing with blood. Slater would have looked pathetic, but the glowing flames in his right eye and his predatory, bloody smile brought to his features a demonic look.
“I can smell your hatred in the air. Hate fucks are the best, aren’t they? Master was so good, so passionate.” Slater’s hand stepped forward. “Did Master feel good?”
“Stay where you are,” Talha warned, rubbing his temples with his fingers, thick veins pulsing under his tips.
I should kill him. His gaze shot up and fixed on the top drawer of his nightstand where he kept his gun; too far t
o get there fast.
“Huh? Master is looking for a gun…” Slater didn’t ask but stated, and Talha dragged his attention upon the ripper.
Slater’s forehead wrinkled as a serious expression crawled up his face. The demonic look of his right eye shot through Talha’s defense. The black hole of Slater’s dilated pupil sucked out his soul, and Talha realized—there was no point in lying. Slater already knew everything.
“What, did I say it out loud?”
“Master is funny. So honest.” Slater’s head snapped to the side as a wide grin settled over his face. “Slater made a decision. The trial period is over, Master.”
Slater’s hand followed the zigzag of his right leg and drew out the black throwing knife from the top of his boot. Talha’s vision focused on the light-absorbing, matte surface, then jumped to the twist of Slater’s raw lips.
Is this how I’m gonna die? Talha couldn’t tell if it was cannabis that shushed his fear, or if he was too exhausted to care, but his heart didn’t halt when the blade reached his chest and stopped at the notch of his throat.
Slapping Slater’s hand away with a careless gesture, Talha said, “If you intend to use it—do it, but don’t make empty threats or I’ll think you are pathetic.”
Slater’s single-visible eye blazed with curiosity. “What do I do? I really like Master, but Master wants to kill Slater. That won’t do…”
The smile dimmed, and his canine tooth sank into his puffy bottom lip.
“Here you go, Master. Let’s settle it.” Flipping the knife in his palm, Slater offered it to Talha haft forward. Talha didn’t take it, and Slater’s scorching fingers clasped around his hand, shoving the warm metal into his palm. Curling Talha’s fingers in a fist, Slater guided the knife up to his own throat. “Do it…”
The edge of the knife scratched Slater’s throat, as the reaper drew it up and outlined his chin, a red trail stretching behind. His lips parted, and his pink tongue, slipping out, flicked over the blade as it leveled with his lips. Body heat rising, Talha watched Slater’s tongue curl around the edge. Killing Slater now would be so easy. He just had to sink the knife into the willing mouth, and Slater would choke on blood. All his problems would be solved. There would be no murders in his house. No one would watch him sleep, get into his bed, or threaten Ejder. No one would get Iblīs either. His life would return to normal. Then why was he wavering? Slater couldn’t be controlled, couldn’t be reasoned with. He was a ticking time bomb with a broken timer, but even knowing it, Talha couldn’t drive the knife in Slater’s mouth. He wasn’t’ sure what drained his anger but scanning the transparent eye, that glowed with determination and hope, he felt no hatred only crushing weariness.