Anger, mixing with dread and a settling panic, shattered his self-control, and he yelled, ‘Release me right fucking now!’ The duct tape blocked everything but his angry intonation.
“Your skin is so cold, Talha.” Talha’s heart stilled in his chest at the desert-like whisper of his name.
Talha, not Master… He looked up, trying to break through the icebergs of Slater’s eyes, but no curiosity, no testing mockery, no devotion shone within. Stripped of all emotion, Slater’s eyes reflected nothing.
“Your blood circulation had been cut off for too long. You can’t even feel pain anymore, can you?” Talha dropped his focus to his legs again. Absorbing all lights, the edge of the black claw knife scratched the skin on his left calf; red beaded out at either side of the blade. “If you stay like this all night, the loss of circulation will progress to ischemia and maybe even gangrene. Should I leave you here with your beloved Hanım so you can rot together? You can stay with her till death do you part. Isn’t it romantic, Talha? For such an occasion, I can even retrieve the remains of her body.”
Word by word, Slater’s speech seeped under Talha’s skin, stripping him of all the illusions and hopes he didn’t even know he’d harbored. The last dizziness the drugs instilled evaporated, clearing his mind, and the gravity of his situation dawned upon him.
Slater abandoned me. A painful lump in his throat prevented him from swallowing. The air burned his unfocused eyes, and all his muscles stiffened, as the realization blasted through his mind. I will die here. This is the end.
Many times, he had wondered how his life would end, but never in his darkest forecasts had he imagined such helplessness, such disgrace.
“Are you scared, Master?” The scorching words inflamed his ear washing Talha in a painfully familiar aroma of cloves and wood, mixed with the sweet scent of sugary treats. His skin prickled, sweat broke out, but he was unable to look away from the red brick wall.
‘Live a fast, colorful, fulfilling life without thinking how it’ll end and have no regrets,’ this was Talha’s motto. He’d always known he would die rather young, and most likely from Slater’s hand, but a slow, agonizing death from thirst, gangrene, complete disability, and helplessness had never crossed his mind. The realization that a death reeking of pus, urine, and shit, where pride was erased by disgrace and filth would be his end, instilled a mortal fear deep in his soul.
“Everyone has fears, right, Talha? You aren’t an exception. I can smell yours streaming in the air; such a potent mix of salt and sweetness.” Slater’s voice lost all liquidity, and for the first time was calm, mortifying. “Come on, tell me your fears. Beg me to spare you, and I might change my mind. Cry, Talha, cry because you are going to Hell.”
The sharp of the claw pressed to Talha’s temple and outlined the side of his face, stopping below his ear. Talha froze, waiting for icy cold steel to scald his skin.
This is exactly what you want, right, Slater? You can’t leave… You want to see my disgrace, my downfall, don’t you? Enjoy every moment of your power, as you did with all your previous masters. And once your soul is free from my hold, you will be able to move on. If you didn’t need this, I would have been dead already.
The blade trembled, dancing over the side of his neck, scratching and irritating his tender skin. One careless move and the blade would slash his carotid artery, making his death fast and painless, therefore unsatisfying for Slater.
Warm waves of calm and control, returning into his core, wiped his consciousness clean of all fears and confusion.
I’m sorry, Slater. I’ll never release you. I’ll never let you forget me. I will forever remain your Master. The one whose orders you’ll follow even after my death. You’ll never move on. Only I can control your demons, no one else. You’re mine.
Staring into the abyss of Slater’s dilated pupils, Talha shifted left. A sharp pain jolted down his neck as the blade cut through his skin. Slater flinched and drew the knife away from his victim, leaving behind burning pain and a warm, tickling stream of blood.
The cruel smile fell off the reaper’s face, replaced by a deep frown. Eyes dark and hard, he sheathed the knife behind his back.
“This is what you are scared of, Master,” he said, the liquid notes returned into his voice. He lurched in, and a warm tongue brushed over Talha’s neck, licking the wound clean. “Slater understands. Don’t worry, Master. Slater isn’t cruel. You will die from my hand.”
A rush of relief prickled Talha’s skin and released the tension from his body. For a moment, he believed Slater could leave him here—tied up, alone with a rotting head—watching, feeling his body decay day by day. Exhaustion washed over. Head falling back onto the floor, Talha closed his eyes. His body ached, screaming for him to move, and he strained every muscle, trying to start the blood circulation in his limbs and move his toes.
The fire of Slater’s lips stayed on his neck for another moment but soon retreated, leaving behind a wet, cooling spot. Two warm palms landed on his shoulders, traveled down his arms, entwined with his fingers, then instantly let go, jumping to his hips. Greedy and rough—almost possessively, almost painfully—the hand grasped his sides, squeezed his butt cheeks, then followed the zigzag of his tied legs, making Talha glance down.
Hands working fast, Slater unlaced the ropes around his legs. Talha groaned as blood streamed through his veins. Prickling, burning, buzzing, it inflamed every cell with the fire of life. Connecting the ends of the ropes to the second pair of the wall rings, Slater placed his hands on Talha’s thighs, giving them a few light strokes.
“Well, then.” A smile returned to his face. “I bet you and Hanım have a lot to talk about. I’ll leave you both to it.”
He withdrew, leaving behind only a small pull of gravity. Talha growled, then shook his head. Watching the younger man dress, he shouted and tested the ropes, frustration building up in his chest.
You, son of a bitch! I’ll kill you with my bare hands once I’m free! He jerked forward, screaming for Slater to release him, but the duct tape turned his orders into pathetic growling.
The muscular abdomen had disappeared under a black hoodie as Slater straightened up and faced him. A razor-sharp smile sliced Talha’s throat, cutting his breath. He had never seen so many emotions written over Slater’s face, and never before had Slater’s eyes shone with such hatred.
“Sleep tight, Master.” Heavy words echoed in the small chamber. The massive metal door opened, letting in dry, warm air. Slater said, “Happy wedding night,” before closing the door behind his back.
‘No, wait!’ Talha screamed, but his mouth never formed words, leaving them trembling in his trachea.
HIS BODY SHOOK, TEETH CHATTERED, and he desperately wanted to hug his middle to fight the night chill, but the evil ropes tightened around his wrists every time he moved. The annoying sound of trickling water, coming from behind the wall, intensified his thirst and the need to piss. His insides hurt, his back ached from lying in the same position, but the short restraints prevented him from rolling to his side. Occasionally he managed to half twist his body to the left, but refused to look right, fearing that the view of the rotting head would make him puke, and he would choke in his own vomit.