Talha had never bottomed before. Slater had never shown any kind of interest in topping him, so Talha had never raised this question, satisfied with how things had been. Talha had never touched another man in his life, making Slater the only exception… If he wanted to kill me, torture me, punish me, why did he bother with stretching me? This doesn’t make any sense…
The vivid image of Slater’s red, flustered face surfaced in his memory. Covered with sweat and trembling with primitive need, Slater had always been different from any man. The only one Talha could ever imagine in his bed.
The image blurred, then sharpened, plunging him into a mist of memories.
5 YEARS AGO
“MAKE A LIST OF THINGS YOU NEED, and Zeynep will take care of it. Do you have anything you want to pick up? Documents? Weapon? Money?”
“No, I have everything I need, Master.”
Talha frowned, listening to the rather unpleasant, oscillating voice of his new assassin. The curious gaze Slater gave him flickered with sparks of hidden laughter as if Slater doubted that someone like Talha was worth his loyalty. This thought pissed Talha off.
“Your room,” Talha said, controlling his temper. Pushing the door open, he invited Slater in with a careless hand gesture. Heavy with gold and blue, the spare bedroom was a little ostentatious for his liking, but he hoped Slater wouldn’t mind. “Zeynep will help you with everything else.”
Sparing the room no glance and ignoring the maid, Slater peered into Talha’s face.
“Slater stays here alone?” The constant jumping from the first person to third, confused the hell out of Talha, but he noticed that more often than not, Slater jumped to the third person when his voice trembled with emotion.
“Do you want a woman?”
“A woman?” A creepy smile stretched Slater’s lips as his head tilted to the side. His eyes lost all curiosity and now glared at Talha with an open challenge.
Touched by the same irritation that seized Slater’s shoulders, Talha uttered, “Whatever it is you want, tell Zeynep. She will arrange everything. And, I don’t know what rules you had to follow in Behçet’s house. You lived with him, right?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Here …” With the lift of his chin, Talha gestured to the small middle-aged woman, dressed in a black abaya[17]. A black hijab[18] covered her hair; she kept her eyes downcast. “... the staff is off-limits. Understand?”
“Where does Master sleep?” Slater’s foot tapped the floor.
“Second floor. Down the corridor. Why?”
“Slater should learn the rooms so Slater can protect.”
“Do as you please.” Brushing his new assassin off, Talha hurried upstairs. His hands still shook with adrenaline; gunfire echoed in his ears, and his head was splitting apart. The fresh stitches on his head, where the bullet caught him, ached, annoying him further. He needed to sleep before he could think of what to do next.
THE OMINOUS PRESENCE PUNCHED Talha out of his sleep, tightening every nerve in his body. He wasn’t sure what woke him up, but the haunting feeling of someone looking at him sent a chilly rush down his body. Reaching the nightstand, Talha switched the lamp on. Golden light illuminated the room.
Blood rushed to his head, his heart stuttering.
“What the fuck?” he growled, watching Slater’s full lips stretch into an innocent smile. Wearing only sweatpants, Slater sat cross-legged on the edge of his bed, snuggling with a huge bowl. His spare hand tirelessly sent one popcorn ball after another into his mouth. The sweet smell of butter and caramel suffused the air, joining the low crunchy sound. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Learning the rooms, Master.”
“Why the fuck are you doing it at night? Get the fuck out!”
Slater’s cheek twitched as he stretched out his words. “No. You sleep. I’ll watch. Unless you are scared of me, Master.”
What the hell? Confused, lost, alert, Talha stared into the handsome features of the younger man, unable to understand what the hell he wanted. Not sure what to do, he kicked the blanket off, got up, strolled up to a tall mashrabiya[19] window, and pried the wooden shutter open. The night wind, breaking in, caressed his face, calming his nerves.
“Let’s make something clear, Slater.” He wasn’t sure where the calm voice came from, because his soul boiled with anger, but when he turned around, the younger man listened with attention. “You aren’t allowed in my room unless I order you to come.”
Slater’s smile fell, but he didn’t stop eating. “Why?”
“Why?” Talha repeated, dumbfounded. “Because it’s my room.”
“So?”
“So you aren’t allowed in here. Leave or I’ll throw you out of the window.”
Slater’s jaw stopped working. He got up from the bed, shuffled to the window, and shoved the popcorn bowl into Talha’s chest. His naked torso moved with a slow, imposing grace, but his eyes lost their spark.
“It’s better for everyone if Master gets used to Slater sooner, rather than later. Slater will leave today, but Slater will sleep here tomorrow. If you want to have Iblīs, you have to forget about your privacy. Get used to me, or our deal will come to a rather sudden end, Master.”
Talha didn’t know what to say, except, “Why do you want to sleep here? Don’t you like your room? We can redecorate it...”
“Huh? Master is funny,” Slater said without a shadow of a smile before strolling out of the room.
What the hell…
TOSSING IN HIS BED, Talha tried to understand what had happened and what Slater expected from him, but the answers eluded him. Adrenaline wiped the sleep from his head, leaving only small, neurotic tremors in his fingertips. When the first red beams of the awakening sun sneaked into his bedroom weariness took him, plunging him into a heavy, thick sleep.
He dreamed about the old mosque, gunfire, and the bloody map decorated with organs. The fireplace crackled, chewing on wood with toothy flames. But instead of Behçet, he was the one lying on the floor with his arms spread to the sides. Throwing knives, stabbing through his palms, secured his hands to the ground as Slater took one of his organs after another, and pinned them to the map. When his split open stomach emptied, Slater slumped down onto his chest. The piercing ice of his cold gaze searched Talha’s face and fingers reached out to his eye.
“No, no, no, no…” Talha tossed his head from one side to another, trying to escape, but the scorching clamps of Slater’s fingers seized Talha’s jaw. Digging into his eye, the fingers seized his eyeball, squeezed it. A keen pain jolted through Talha’s head, stripping his scream of sound.
PRESENT
A MERCILESS KICK TO HIS RIBS kicked Talha out of the nightmare into the cold, painful reality. Lungs screaming for air, he wanted to fold over, but the evil restrictions, biting into his wrists, kept him sprawled. The air he drew through his nose wasn’t enough to fill his lungs, and black flies congested his sight. Through his marred vision, he registered Slater’s tall frame towering over him. A massive leather boot neared his face and nudged his left cheek.
Talha’s head swirled, his swollen tongue refused to move in his dried-up mouth, and not a single drop of saliva moistened his throat. He blinked. His eyelids scratched against his eyeballs as if invisible sand filled his eyes.