“You are such a good husband, Abi.” Ejder’s mocking words brought a foul taste into Slater’s mouth.
Have you submitted to a pussy, Master? Traded me for London… How weak.
His hesitant hand landed on the handle, recoiled, then twitched again. Slater wanted to push the door open and confront Master, but a deep-seated hesitation, scratching in the pit of his stomach, forced him to step into the darkness. Master will come to Slater. Then Master will have to explain. Slater will wait.
SITTING ON THE RIM OF THE STONE BANISTER, Slater rocked his legs in the air. His fingers did a mechanical job of sending one piece of rose locum after another into his mouth. His master had been missing since morning, and Slater had nothing to do. Staying alone in the basement had been boring, so despite the promised punishment, he unlocked his restraints and let himself out, but the dull grayness in his soul didn’t disperse. Quite the opposite, it darkened, thickened, and compressed into a stormy cloud.
Master is getting married. This thought, returning to him over and over, almost stripped him of appetite. He wasn’t sure why it made him feel filthy, but every time it occurred, the acrid stench of disgust replaced the air in his lungs.
Maids sneaked behind him every now and then. Their wary glares tickled his senses, but he didn’t pay attention. He needed to see Master, look him in the eye, and ask him why his chest burned.
The suffocating memory of the hotel suite and the white hand resting over Talha’s torso replayed in his mind with torturous frequency, flooding him with a sticky loathing. Slater didn’t know why he harbored such a strong feeling, as he had never been this agitated by anyone’s existence before.
His cheek flinched as a sour taste spoiled the tender rose flavor in his mouth. Wanting to spit, he looked around. His bored gaze wandered over the carved walls, jumped to the polished, white marble floor until it stumbled over a tall sculpture of Venus. Heavy marble folds, draping her hips, left her upper torso exposed. A gentle line of her stomach, with a slightly visible relief of her abdominal muscles, emphasized the swells of her small breasts and a long neck that supported a perfectly proportional head. The roughly cut stumps where her arms once were caught the light.
Now, admiring Venus, Slater was sure, the hand didn’t belong… but he wasn’t able to finish his thought, as the heavy double doors of the main entrance flew open. Bright light flooded the cold marble hall. Golden arabesques, decorating walls, and the split staircase flared with colors. The sunlight trapped in the corridor of tall, heavily-framed mirrors, ricocheted all over the massive Moorish interior.
Stricken with curiosity, Slater squirmed, watching a massive shadow eclipsing the lights. The bull neck, sitting on the broad shoulders, made the bodyguard’s head look small. Stomping in, Zaal faced the entrance and let six foreigners dressed in boring black suits into the mansion. Checking their surroundings, they tapped small devices connected to their ears with their fingers, constantly exchanging short messages with someone invisible.
Slater hummed. Picking up another piece of locum, he placed it on his tongue, then licked his sugary fingers. Someone spared him a glance, but their attention quickly moved on as the people spread through the mansion. He decided that there was no immediate danger.
“Pleaze, come on in,” Zaal said in rough English; his heavy accent scratched Slater’s ears. The light streaming through the opened door flickered, and the slender silhouette of a woman appeared. She took a step forward, her red shoe passing the threshold. Slater swallowed the warning growl vibrating in his throat. Hatred stormed in his chest as his body moved on its own. Jumping down from the rail, he landed on the first floor; his right knee touched the soft carpet, absorbing the impact. The box of locum that had lain on his knees smashed against the ground, dusting the fluffy pile with sugar powder. He took a moment to stabilize the powerful jolt that stormed up his chest, to his head.
Swirling, Zaal put a hand on his gun. A warning flashed in his black eyes. “Geri çekil, köpek[5]!”
Ignoring him, Slater straightened and moved toward the woman. An overwhelming flowery smell wafting in, spiraled nausea in his stomach, but step by step, he kept approaching. Their gazes interlinked and for the first time, he was able to study her small turned-up nose, soft chin, and big, bright eyes illuminating her marble-like face. So, this is what Master likes…
“Who is that?” she asked in a tone that demanded an immediate answer. Her features curled up with curiosity, not fear.
“No one,” Zaal said, fidgeting. The sour smell of his discomfort tickled Slater’s predatory instincts. “Just a dog. Ignore him, Hanımım[6].”
“Just a do-o-og?” she repeated, her coral lips parting in a smile.
Don’t call her Hanım; she isn’t your mistress! Slater suppressed a hiss. Irritation, bubbling in his stomach, rushed up his throat, urging him to make another small step, but Zaal’s large body rose in front of him, shielding the woman.
“Defol[7]!” Zaal warned, switching to Turkish, and reinforced the ‘go away’ order with a hand gesture. Pulling his gun out, he held it close to his hip so the woman wouldn’t notice.
Slater smirked as disdain corroded his blood. Zaal was only brave with a gun in his hand. Whatever… Pivoting, Slater stormed toward the bedroom, but Zaal’s bass stopped him in his tracks, syringing a new dose of abhorrence into his blood. “Not there, dog. Hanım is taking the master bedroom. You go to the basement.”
The invisible spring in his body shrieked with tension, transmitting waves of annoyance throughout his nerves. He spun on his heel and gave Zaal the once-over.
You think too much of yourself. The woman doesn’t belong. Not here. Granting the bodyguard a tight, promising smile, Slater decided that his patience with this man had reached its limit. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but you will pay for it… Master can’t protect you forever.
Shaking the insult off, Slater strolled toward the rear door, wanting to slip into the garden, but the ringing voice of the woman stopped him in his tracks. “Wait.”
The karambit burned the small of his back. With every second, the pull of the steel grew stronger, but Slater knew Master didn’t like his home messy. He spun, meeting her piercing gaze.
“What’s your name?” The woman eyed him up and down, as if evaluating a property.
Slater didn’t reply.
“Hanımım, pleaze don’t talk to him. He only followz Reis[8]’s orderz.”
“Really? Master’s only?” Her smile grew brighter as she drilled him with her tenacious eyes. She squared her shoulders, and her transparent white blouse stretched over her breasts. “Then you should serve me too. Bring the bags of your Mistress to the Master’s bedroom. I want to surprise Talha.”
“Surprise Master?” Slater cocked his head and responded to her smile. The spring in his body vibrated with pressure, ready to burst. “Certainly, Mistress-s.”
He stole a glance outside. Two men stood by the black jeep with darkened windows; a great number of suitcases gathered by the doors.
Ignoring the surprise and confusion written all over Zaal’s face, Slater picked up the nearest suitcase. “Follow me, Mistress-s.”
Two pairs of eyes burned the spot between his shoulder blades as he climbed the stairs. One—curious and impatient; the other—wary and full of mistrust.