“Hmm…” Slater’s face stretched in a toothy smile. He opened his mouth and put in the piece of apple that Talha hadn’t taken.
Is it a sick game? Is he testing me?
“Didn’t we talk about it yesterday?”
“We did. Master must have forgotten. Slater stays here from today.”
Talha grimaced. Suppressing a groan, he scratched his cheek. If Slater stays in my house we will end up killing each other. If I wake up tomorrow and he is in my room, I will fucking put him down… In and out, counting till fifteen on every inhale, he took a few deep breaths, willing himself to calm down.
A vice of tension releasing his throat, he drifted to the closet and fished out some underwear.
“No, Slater doesn’t.” He rolled his eyes, realizing that he was starting to talk about Slater in the third person. I barely know him, yet he’s already fucking with my mind. Dropping the towel to the floor, he put the black cotton trunks on, then added, “I have no time for this sick game of yours. Gather your things, you are moving out.”
Disregarding the ripper’s presence, he grabbed the black pants.
A chilling low voice reached his ears from behind. “No. Slater stays here.”
“Listen…” Pushing a calming breath out, Talha stuffed the pants back into the closet, faced the younger man, then said as clear as he could, “I don’t know what duties you carried out before, but with me, it will be simple. I pay you money—you kill for me. If I need you—I call for you. The rest of the time, you pretend you don’t exist. Understand? I don’t need you to protect me twenty-four seven. I don’t need you in my house and my fucking bedroom.”
“Master is joking again, huh?” Slater’s voice trembled with something deep and dark. “Master is funny. That wasn’t the deal. Slater stays.”
Talha shrugged. The more time he spent with Slater, the more he doubted that someone like him could be the bloodiest ripper of Anatolia. “I’m not even sure you are who you say you are. For all I know, you’re just a psycho who butchered Behçet. More than that, you haven’t proved yourself useful to me, yet you are already this close…” Talha used his index finger and thumb to make his point. “...to exhausting my patience. I have no reason to tolerate this… whatever this is. It’s my house, my rules, my fucking bedroom. Yet, you have no respect for any of this.”
SHHHH came without a warning. The black knife ripped through the air, sinking deep into the carved wood of the closet a mere inch away from Talha’s face. Talha’s heart dropped as his eyes followed the trajectory of the knife. In disbelief, he gripped the handle, then tugged it out of the wood.
“Never doubt me, Master.” An unconcealed warning vibrated in Slater’s voice, and Talha faced his ripper.
That’s it...
“I have lots of patience. I always give people a chance.” Talha’s jaw hurt with pressure as he pushed the words through gritted teeth. “I can be forgiving; I can be generous. However, I am going to say this once. If you ever do something like that again, make sure you don’t miss because there will not be the third time.”
“Slater never misses. A fly, Master,” Slater hissed.
Slowly, as if in a dream, Talha unglued his gaze from the reaper and dragged it to the knife. A fat, green fly jerked its legs in the air, stubbed through the guts with a long, thin throwing knife. He faced the door, but Slater had already disappeared.
THE FOLLOWING DAYS, THE FALLOUT of the war swept over Talha, distracting him from thinking about Slater. Ejder’s shoulder was healing well, but Talha still insisted on him staying in the hospital for at least a week. The ripper seemed to have gotten the message, as he didn’t show up again, but the haunting feeling of someone watching his every move never left Talha. It turned the night he invited a woman over into a complete disaster. No matter how many times he searched his room for signs of intrusion, he had never been able to catch Slater, only the faint smell of cloves and wood. But with every passing day, he grew more and more tolerant of the never ending feel of Slater’s presence.
The shoot-out in the mosque stirred up Istanbul’s criminal world. Left without their leader, the Asani Cartel wallowed in blood as Behçet’s young, sadistic brother tried to prove his right to inherit the family domain.
Standing in the middle of the cool, dim hall of his mansion, Talha held a fat paper envelope in his hand.
“Slater?” he called out. The sound of his voice, smacking against the marble walls shattered into a dozen fractions. “I know you are here.”
Separating from the impenetrable shadow behind the marble sculpture of Venus, Slater took a step forward.
“What is it, Master?” The look he gave Talha brought a frown of concern to his face and raised a question, Did I insult him? The reaper was paler than usual; his eyes feverishly glinted with a silent challenge and something else he couldn’t catalogue.
I must be overthinking it, Talha thought, watching the white slit of Slater’s lips hone his features. Slater stood still, yet his body moved with every breath as if his whole being wasn’t created from mortal flesh but from wind and fire.
“I have a job for you.”
Slater didn’t reply, but his head tilted to the side, suggesting he waited for an apology or continuation, Talha couldn’t say which. Unsure how to behave, Talha stepped forward. Stretching out his hand, he offered the envelope to Slater. “Prove yourself to me, and then we will talk about what you want.”
Slater’s expression darkened, morphing into an inquisitive glare. Grabbing the envelope, he tore it open.
“What’s this?” His voice caustic, aggressive, his fingers crumpled the paper.
“The dossier and part payment. Once you are done you will receive twice as much.”
Slater’s long fingers pinched the few sheets of the dossier and pulled it out before he flipped the envelope upside down. Green notes swirled in the air and littered the marble floor; the envelope followed. Slater didn’t spare them a glance. His whole attention was on Talha.
“Slater has already said, but Master didn’t listen. Master never does. Slater doesn't need money.”
Talha scowled. Slater had said it before, but he had indeed shrugged it off. There was no reason for Slater to work for free, and he never said what exactly he wanted. Vague and obscure, Slater’s demands confused Talha.
“What do you want then? You don’t make any sense. My soul, devotion? Don’t tell me you believe you are the Devil? So sorry to break your delusion, but you have too many scars to be Iblīs.”
Short, barking laughter escaped Slater’s lips as he observed Talha with shimmering curiosity.
“Master is funny. Master doesn’t understand yet, but Master will.” His chest brushed against Talha’s as he passed by. “Tonight, Slater stays in Master’s room. Master has to get used to Slater, even if Master isn’t ready.”
THE THICK SMELL OF BLOOD and sweat hauled Talha out of his sleep. Hot and heavy, the air stood idle in the room. Someone’s solid weight, adding to his suffocation, straddled his hips. Awkward, impatient fingers fumbled over his chest. Wet and warm, they snatched the blanket away, then landed on his shoulders, pinning him deeper into the mattress.