Fuck, no wonder he didn’t defend himself. Sour saliva flooded Talha’s mouth as he watched blood oozing out of a bullet wound on the left side of Slater’s lower belly, right above his hip. An inch away from the outer edge of his torso, the wound looked like the bullet passed through the muscle layer without causing any internal damage, yet blood kept streaming down Slater’s side.
Talha cringed as the guilt for hitting Slater and not paying attention to his condition sooner washed over.
“There is a lot of blood. Is it all yours?”
Bending forward, Slater pushed his trunks down, and Talha wondered how he could move with such blood loss. The wound didn’t seem to bother him at all. When the last piece of clothes disappeared into the garbage bag, Slater straightened up, not even a little embarrassed of his nakedness; quite the opposite, he appeared excited, thrilled, expectant. “No…”
Debating for a second if he should waste time cleaning the blood from the ripper, Talha passed Slater a small hand towel. “Apply pressure.”
Dropping a big, bath towel onto the floor, Talha ordered, “Get down,” then pressed the wall above the sink with both hands. The mosaic slab depressed and slid aside, revealing a hidden closet. Fetching the first aid kit, Talha put it on the floor next to Slater and kneeled by his side.
Slipping sterile gloves on, he picked a swab, soaked it in hydrogen peroxide, and cleaned the area around the wound, before pouring the rest of the solution into the wound. Connecting with the blood, the transparent liquid foamed, turning pink. Waiting for a moment, Talha took another bottle and repeated the process. With the bleeding subdued, he wiped the excessive moisture, examining the edges of the wound. Inflammation bloated the pink skin around the bullet hole.
Fuck… He unpacked sterile gauze, soaked it in hydrogen peroxide, then wrapped the end around the long tweezers.
“I have nothing to help with pain. Do you want to bite on something?” Hand hovering over the wound, he eyed Slater.
“No, Master. Slater is good.” He looked flustered, eyes glistening; his tongue slipped out and outlined his plump lips, wetting them.
“Suit yourself.” Talha shrugged, bringing his attention to the task. He hadn’t performed tamponade for years; his fingers felt stiff.
Talha guided the tweezers into the wound. Slater tensed and the blood flow increased.
“Try to relax,” Talha ordered, packing the wound with gauze. Once the cavity was tamped and the blood stopped, he put a clean layer of the dressing over the wound and secured it with a square piece of waterproof, transparent film dressing.
“Okay, this should do until the doc arrives.” Pushing out a breath of concentration, he said, “Roll over.”
Slater did. Talha almost dropped a swab he’d picked. Prominent scars crisscrossed his skin descending to white parallel scars on his ass.
“Oh my fucking god…” he said, unable to blink. His hand, moving on its own, pressed to the ugly, rippled surface of the uneven skin. Thick and bumpy, it burned Talha’s fingertips. Slater flinched under his touch, and red spots popped out around his neck and flowed up, flooding his ears with an intense color of what Talha took for shame. “What the hell is this?”
“A whip, Master.” Slater’s strangled voice came out hoarse and quiet.
No wonder he is freaking insane if he was treated like this.
“Who did this?” Talha’s fingers traveled lower, examined the small of Slater’s back, and the bullet hole entered his field of vision. Wincing, Talha mentally kicked himself for getting distracted from the wound.
“Dead people.” Something twisted seeped into Slater’s vague reply, and Talha wanted to look him in the face to see if he was smiling.
Grabbing another bottle of hydrogen peroxide, Talha worked on the wound, performing the process of tamponade yet again.
“Why did they torture you?” He kept glancing up to the white welts as his hands did the mechanical job of packing the wound with soaked gauze.
“Tortured? No, Master. Educated.” The words worked like a slap, making Talha flinch. Regret, washing over, shuffled his thoughts, but he still asked, “Your former masters?”
“Yes.”
“How many were there?”
“Five.”
Talha frowned. “Did you kill them all?”
“Yes, Master.”
Fuck me… Shaking the topic off, Talha got from his knees. “Done. Can you stand up?”
Slater’s shoulders shook as he pushed himself off the ground. Unsteady on his feet, he swayed, and Talha wondered if forcing him to shower was a good idea, but the amount of blood on his body would raise too many questions. Slater didn’t look like he was about to collapse, so Talha ordered, “Shower. Now.”
Obediently, Slater stepped into the cubicle. Grabbing the showerhead, Talha pointed the tepid stream at the blood-covered torso. The shimmering needles hit Slater’s skin, absorbed the color, and cascaded down in crimson rivulets. Snaking down his muscular legs, the water swirled around Slater’s feet, before disappearing into the drain.
Watching Slater’s hands move up and down his torso, Talha couldn’t help examining his build. With a low amount of fat under his skin, Slater’s body could be used as an anatomical exhibit for studying the muscular system. Rather slender, he wasn’t built like a heavy lifter or a boxer. With his long sinewy limbs, he probably relied on speed and technique in fights, rather than on brute force. His thin waist and wide, muscular shoulders only magnified his resemblance to the antique sculpture of Discobolus, the disc thrower.
A few long minutes passed in silence before the last smudges of blood disappeared from Slater’s front.
“Turn around,” Talha ordered. Slater’s gaze darkened, obscured. His pupils zoomed out, bleeding into the icy rings of his irises. Nervously licking his lips, he swallowed and provided Talha with a view of his back.
Trying to ignore the welts, Talha took a soft sponge and carefully washed the blood off Slater’s head, back, and the top of his legs. It felt like the blood would never clear up, so when Slater was finally clean, Talha felt wiped. Cutting the water off, he huffed, “Done.”
Slowly, Slater faced him. Red spots speckled the top of his chest, a pink color that Talha took for shame, flushed his face and dropped his eyelids half-closed. Slater’s stomach tightened, bringing Talha’s attention to his lower part.
“You are hard…” Talha commented, dumbfounded, and Slater granted him with a toothy grin.
“Master looked. Master touched.”
“Slater, are you gay?” Talha winced, realizing that he didn’t want to know. The information overflowed his mind, making his head spin. Grabbing the towel, he covered the reaper. “It doesn’t matter right now. Can you walk?”
“Yes,” Slater said, and Talha wondered what question he answered.
On their way to the spare bedroom, Talha couldn’t help remembering the ugly scars decorating Slater’s skin. How old was he when someone did this to him? Education, huh? He wanted me to hit him, to make it hurt. Is it the same as the control he asked for? Or did he come to my bed for another reason?
He wedged the wooden door open, slapped the switch, and warm light illuminated the calm interior of the white and beige bedroom. Approaching the bed, he tossed the cover away and spread a clean towel over the sheets. “Lie down.”