Darting a glance at Talha, Slater obeyed.
“Stay here; I’ll arrange a transfer for you to a private hospital.” He moved to the door, but a strong hand captured his forearm, stopping him.
“No hospitals. No doctors. Slater’s fine.”
Instinctively Talha dropped his gaze to Slater’s arm. Three needle marks dotted the inner side of his elbow. Unsure how to read it, he peered into Slater’s pinpoint pupils. Fuck my life... Feeling frustration building up in his chest, Talha prompted, “Are you high?”
“A little…” Slater giggled.
“What did you take?”
“Adrenaline, Fentanyl, a hemostatic, and …” Slater scrunched his face trying to remember what else but failed.
A crushing fist of regret battered Talha’s heart. Slater was trouble. Slater was bad news. Slater was everything Talha didn’t need, and he couldn’t see any way out of the deal, except by killing him. For a second, Talha considered this option, but the white lines of whip marks, so thick it was clear the skin had been broken over and over, surfaced before him. Has anyone ever treated him like a human being? He’s barely older than Ejder, yet he has so many scars… If Behçet hurt him too, no wonder he ended up dead. Why did someone like Slater allow anyone to hurt him?
So many questions swirled in his head without answers, so many problems to solve. A doctor, a cleaning crew, a fucking severed head in his bedroom, and a high, wounded psycho with a hard-on. Throwing a blanket over Slater’s hips, Talha moved for the door. “Stay in bed.”
“Slater doesn’t want a doctor.” Metal resounded in the ripper’s voice, but Talha had already decided on what to do next.
“I don’t care what you want. You need antibiotics. You need someone to remove the dead tissues from the wound, and you need a fucking tetanus shot. If you want to stay in my house, you follow my orders.”
PRESENT
ROCKING TO AND FRO, Slater squatted down by Talha’s side, watching the man sleep. His soul, shrinking and extending, trapped the air in his lungs. His chest hurt, and he couldn’t find the reason for his agitation.
It would be so much easier if Master fucked her face. Why does Master refuse? Why does Master want to suffer?
His thumb brushed over the top of his hot and swollen hand, pressing the pulsing burn. The jolting pain shot through his body, making him hiss and cringe, but it didn’t bring any relief. He kept pressing, hoping that with time the pain would replace his agitation.
“Master doesn’t want Slater. Master chose a woman over Slater…” Lips twitching in disgust, he whispered. “Slater was ready to do everything for Master. Slater slaughtered for Master. Slater blindly followed Master. Slater did everything Master asked. If Master wished, Slater would drown the world in blood and fire… Yet Slater wasn’t good enough. Why, Master?”
His left palm landed on Camilla’s head, caressed her tangled hair.
“Why is a woman better? Because of children, Master?” He cocked his head, considering. “Slater can steal as many children as Master wants.”
He scratched his cheek with his right hand and rolled his head to the other side.
“No… Who wants children? Children are annoying… They are messy. Master doesn’t like messy. If not for children, then why?”
Unable to find the answer within himself, he shot a glance at Talha’s blood-covered wrists, dry, pale skin that had lost its gloss, and black stubble. His attention, sliding down the muscular stomach, reached the dark hair in his groin and a soft, long cock that slept curling to the left. Saliva flooded Slater’s mouth, and he hurriedly swallowed.
Master was so hot inside… He bit his lower lip, remembering Talha’s eyes, full of pain. Desire sparked in his belly, warming his face.
No. If Slater wants Master, Slater can’t kill Master. Slater should stop… Master doesn’t want Slater anymore. If Master doesn’t want Slater, Master can’t live. There is no way back. Slater has to kill Master. Master has to die.
Despite his thoughts, Slater didn’t move. Sitting there, he watched Talha’s chest rise and fall with rhythmical, heavy breaths.
SEVERE PAIN WRENCHED HIS CALF in a seizure. Talha convulsed, limbs flapping against the ground. He needed air, but something prevented him from gasping. Panic, mixing with pain, shot his eyes open.
A red-stone ceiling... a weak glowing light filtered in from above... a gray, dusty floor... and the blue eyes of his tormentor, watching him with glowing hatred.
Fuck… Talha groaned. Sucking air through his nose, he shook his legs. Dehydration and complete immobility dried up his muscles, making them cramp. As soon as he curled his toes, vicious electric jolts shot down his right leg. He winced. Stretching his toes, he tried to absorb the pain. The pangs weakened; he rolled his head to the side, meeting Slater’s glare.
Slater said nothing. Sitting by his right side on his toes, he resembled a creepy gargoyle sculpture. Camilla’s grayish, rotting head stood by his side as his hand mechanically caressed her hair. His glare, glossy and immobile, made Talha wonder if the man could even see him. Talha groaned to attract Slater’s attention. The ripper cocked his head, and a weird, painful grimace crawled up his face.
Slater’s long fingers picked a tangled hank of Camilla’s bloody hair, let the length slide between his fingers, before releasing the strand; his vacant look never leaving Talha’s face.
“Do you think it’s fair, Talha?” His voice came out quiet. Talha frowned, alert to the rare serious notes in Slater’s tone. “She was young, beautiful. She didn’t have to die. Yet you killed her.”
What? Talha growled at the accusation, but Slater’s expression didn’t change, only his lips stretched in a flat smile.
“You think I killed her, huh? But Master, everything I do, I do for you…” Lifeless, emotionless, Slater’s voice sank through Talha’s soul, infusing the bitter taste of hopelessness into his mouth. “Too bad you didn’t want it… Now she is dead, and soon you will die too.”
Slater’s mouth slacked. Unshaved and untidy, he looked exhausted, and for a moment the kidnapping, torture, slaughter, and rape took second place in Talha’s mind. His gaze searched the pallid, desperate face. Slater watched him expectantly as if Talha could solve every problem in the universe, like he’d always done.
I wish I knew how to fix this, Slater…
Under his gaze, Slater’s cheek twitched, lips trembled, wrenching his facial muscles into a mask of agony and rage. In a blink of an eye, he got to his feet and his heavy boot connected with the side of Talha’s ribs, then again and again. “Don’t fucking look at me like this...”
Talha braced against the impact; dull pain spread from his side and stomach to his chest and lower belly. The air bounced in his lungs, suppressed by his strained muscles. The annoying, low noise of his blood vessels, buzzing with pressure, stuffed his ears, but he still refused to inhale, fearing once he let Slater kick through the shield of his muscles, he might never see the light again.
“Why are you looking at me like this?” Slater’s lips quirked as he growled in a low voice before the toe of his boot knocked against Talha’s left ear. “Don’t look at me, look at your bitch! Pity her!”