Slater couldn’t recall much from his early childhood, but he’d remembered his first master and the severe training he’d undergone. How, day after day, he and a few other kids had learned how to process pain and tolerate torture; how to use all kinds of weapons, and how to kill. Starting with stray and wild animals, they learned how to let go of their fears. Slater didn’t stutter as he told Talha about the dozens of pets he trained and later murdered to learn emotional control. Slater hadn’t appeared upset or hurt by the memories, as if things like this had been something natural.
A drunken fisherman who hadn’t paid his debts was his first contract, and had started a long chain of butchered victims, awakening Slater’s appetite for human murder. Like all the animals he’d killed, Slater gutted the man and put his organs on a fishing rack to dry under the scorching sun of the Philippines. Slater had been ten.
At the age of fourteen, Slater had been sold to a Mexican drug cartel, but he didn’t stay there long. After killing his master, he sneaked onto the cruise ship that brought him to America, where he stayed for six months, before stowing away on another ship bound for Europe.
Changing his masters, he had never found what he searched for. When Talha asked him why he even needed a master, Slater only grinned, replying that he needed to be controlled, but it took Talha too long to understand what that meant.
5 YEARS AGO
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?” Talha stormed into the spare bedroom. His ears rang with the blood storm that swirled in his core. The news on TV explained in every juicy detail about Iblīs slaughtering the whole Asani household, except the kids, who likely stayed in a summer camp.
Storming toward the bed, Talha seized Slater’s arm and dragged him to the floor. Considering granting Slater with a kick, he wavered, remembering the wound in his side that had taken the medical team an hour to treat. His fist clenched, unclenched, then clenched again, before his knuckles collided with Slater’s cheekbone.
“I told you to kill Bekir, not to slaughter everyone! Who do you think you are?”
“Iblīs, Master,” Slater snarled, exposing his teeth.
“You are useless if you can’t kill only one person. I needed an assassination, a message, not a mass murder! I don’t need the reputation of being a bloody psychopath who butchers kids and women. I need the strongest to fear me, not the weakest. This is politics, you idiot! I spend millions gaining a clean, strong reputation, so people would stay loyal and respect me for being fair, and you fucking ruin it in one day by marring my hands with the blood of innocents.”
“No one is innocent, Master.” Looking up at him from the floor, Slater didn’t attempt to get up. “The woman knew Slater. The staff knew Slater. Master is still young and naive, but Master will understand that Slater couldn’t let them live. Slater did it for Master. Now no one will come for Master. Master craved power. Master can have his territories.”
Taken aback with the sudden flow of words, Talha said, “You have only been here for a few days, and already you’ve managed to fuck over everything you touch!”
Why do I even argue? Talha wondered. He could have drawn a gun and sent a bullet between those crystal eyes, finishing this madness, yet he didn’t.
“Things change, Master. Get used to it. What did you expect when you decided to deal with Iblīs?”
Something quivered in the pit of Talha’s stomach. Something similar to doubt. What is the price of his loyalty? He butchered Behçet; he will easily kill everyone in this house once he decides to move on. He is insane. Dinçer was right; I should have killed him in that mosque. He has no moral compass at all. He can’t be reasoned with. What does the word Master mean if he doesn’t listen to anything I say?
Searching for answers, Talha let his gaze wander over the cream carpet toward the tall window, draped with golden curtains. The sun filtered in through the dense foliage of the apple tree lavish with ripe, red fruits.
Maybe, he thinks I don’t deserve to be his master. Maybe he doesn’t respect me enough to follow my orders. Was I stupid to think that I can control Iblīs? I wanted to have him before anyone else could. At that moment, I didn’t care how I would have to pay for it. What did I expect? I don't know. Nothing like this. Yet, he served Behçet for more than three years. That’s a lot of time. It means Slater can be loyal. What did that asshole have that I’m lacking?
Absorbing the blue, cloudless sky that hung above the tree, Talha queried, “Why did you kill Behçet?”
“Simple, Master. Behçet got weak. Behçet set a low trap. Behçet was scared and didn’t leave Talha a chance. A coward doesn’t deserve Iblīs.”
Spinning around, Talha granted him with a questioning look. The words left his mouth before he could stop them, “You don’t respect me, do you?”
A curious glint, one that had been missing for a long time, returned to Slater’s eyes as he cocked his head to the side. “Huh, Master isn’t all that stupid after all. No, but… did Master do anything to deserve Slater’s respect?”
So that’s what it is. Despite Slater’s words, the ripper didn’t attempt to get up. The contradictive vibes he emitted messed with Talha’s mind. If that’s the truth, why are you still on the floor? Why did you allow me to hit you? I don’t get you…
“Fair enough…” Talha ground his teeth, making a decision. “If I earn your respect, would you do as I say? Would you be loyal? Would you listen to me?”
Slater’s head went down, but his eyes shot up a predatory, animalistic glare. “Certainly, Master.”
“You stay here and rest. Food will be served at your demand. If you need something, use the intercom.” Saying this, Talha left the room, locking the door behind his back.
THE NIGHT STRETCHED INTO ETERNITY. Trying to shake off the pressure of the last days, Talha found consolation in alcohol, weed, and women as he’d always done when he needed to relax. But even the sweet embrace of Aylín hadn’t been able to calm him for long, and soon enough, he found himself strolling through the night in the ancient city. Alcohol buzzed in his head, fermenting his blood. He lost track of time and his whereabouts, until after another turn, the familiar form of his mansion greeted him.
Slamming the front door open with his palm, he spared the new security guard, who had been propping the wall, a glance. “Ayaz, I left my car at Aylín’s. Pick it up.”
Without waiting for a reply, he moved to the wall, intending to use it for support. The marble staircase doubled and shook, and every step he took felt like a Sisyphean toil because the steep steps refused to end. For a second, he considered taking a rest but forced through the exhaustion and took another step, then one more. The staircase ended. Impressed with his achievement, he looked down from the peak of the conquered height.
“U-u-u-u…” The breathtaking view from the oh so tall ‘Everest’ disappointed and didn’t look all that high anymore. It swayed, jumped, and spiraled out of control. Losing his balance, he flapped his arms in the air and slumped to the floor.
“Are you okay, Reis?” Ayaz asked, looking perplexed. He made a step toward Talha but froze.
“Do I look like I’m not okay?” Talha squeezed his eyes, then opened them again, trying to subdue the swirling room. His right foot burned from his long walk, so he lifted his leg and took one shoe off. Slipping out of his hands, the shoe rolled down the staircase. Talha snorted.