“Slater hates delivery, and Slater doesn’t have money.” When the reaper voiced his next question, his warm breath tickled Talha’s nape. “Slater hates cooking too. Can Master cook?”
His tone never dropped the demanding notes and awakened another tornado of irritation in Talha’s chest.
“You have some nerve… I’m considering killing you here. What on Earth makes you think I’m going to cook for you?” Talha swirled, linking their gazes.
“Master sent people away. It’s Master’s fault we have no food. Master is cooking, right?” Without waiting for Talha’s reply, Slater drew out his karambit, hooked the nearest pigeon piece and placed it onto the plate he still held in his hand. “Slater cooked today. You cook tomorrow, right?”
“I don’t want your cooking.” Talha choked, exasperated.
“Too bad we have nothing else. If you don’t eat them, does it mean they died for nothing, Master?” Giving Talha an innocent look, Slater cocked his head, then handed the plate with the remains of a poor pigeon to Talha. “Eat.”
Grabbing another plate, Slater snatched two more pieces of pigeon before strolling away.
Unfuckingbelivable… Talha tried to remain mad, but couldn’t. For some reason, this childish behavior made Slater seem a little more human.
Approaching the island, Slater took one of the tall stools. Using his karambit, he picked up a pigeon piece and sank his teeth into the caramelized meat.
The question came unexpected, “Why was Master angry the other day?”
Fuck… Talha winced. A part of his soul hoped that Slater would stay clear of the topic and the sharp moment would pass quietly.
“Because I want to forget what happened that night. I would appreciate never talking about it again.”
“Why?”
Everything irritated. Grabbing a fork, Talha stabbed his pigeon piece with it then gave it a scornful look. “Because it was a mistake. It should never be repeated.”
“Why?”
“Because I like pussy, not cock!”
“Hmm… Master didn’t complain. Master touched Slater. Master licked Slater. Master was hard. Master felt good. Master came three times. Why is Master angry now?” Dropping a karambit on the plate, Slater snarled.
“Because this isn’t what I want.” Tossing the plate on the counter, Talha turned off the stove and said, “You can have a second helping. Don’t come into my room.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so! I don’t care who you fuck, but it can’t be me! I can’t imagine myself getting involved in a relationship with a man!” Talha slammed his hand against the white marble kitchen counter. “Can you fucking respect this?”
“Relationship?” Slater echoed and tugged at his left earlobe, then giggled. “Master is funny. So innocent... Slater doesn’t do relationships. Slater just wants to fuck.”
Dropping his attention to his plate, Slater picked up his karambit again, flipped it around his fingers before stabbing a piece of pigeon with the edge.
“Is that so?” Talha narrowed his eyes. “Then find yourself another object for your needs, and we will be good.”
Putting the frying pan aside, Talha strolled to the door.
“Oh, we will be good.” Slater grinned with his mouth full, but Talha suspected that Slater’s good was totally different from his.
WALKING THROUGH THE DARK, empty mansion felt weird, creepy even. Never before had Talha noticed the vastness of his home. Too many rooms, too much space. Always surrounded by people, he had forgotten the meaning of solitude, and the knowledge that the only person in the mansion was a psycho didn’t ease his discomfort.
If I don’t sort this shit out, we will drown in dirt and dust… I wonder if he even washed the dishes.
The clock on the wall pointed to twelve, leaving Talha with nothing much to do. After Slater destroyed the remains of the Asani family, the streets quieted down and didn’t need much of his involvement. Delegating control over seizing the new territories to Ejder, he had to start developing a new business strategy to open a channel to Europe, but he was too lazy to think about it today. Grabbing a book, he shuffled into his bedroom. Getting comfortable in his bed, he flipped the pages of the autobiography of Mahatma Gandhi Ejder had jokingly gifted him on his birthday. He was about to close the book, when his eyes stumbled over the line, ‘Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.’
Even though Talha knew it already, the line made him think. Any idiot could fire a gun and break bones. Fear, so often confused with respect, could never grant true power. The ones who follow out of fear were in a constant search for a way out. That thought, once again, brought him to Iblīs.
Slater feared no human, no god. He didn’t look like death scared him either, then why had he served Behçet? Though Behçet was a dangerous man, he relied solely on physical force and cruelty. If so, what had he done to keep Slater under control for three years? What did Talha lack that Behçet had?
Behçet had been a ruthless and greedy man. He’d never compromised to gain allies but slaughtered those who had the pride to reject his offers. Behçet constantly used Slater to eliminate everyone in his way. People were terrified to refuse him anything. Whenever he visited a restaurant, everything he’d ordered had always been on the house. The man, who built his Empire on fear, died at the hands of his own weapon.
Why? Why did Behçet set a trap, rather than using Slater against me?
Not sure what to think, Talha directed the course of his thoughts another way.
He didn’t need to drown the world in blood to create an empire of fear. Unlike Behçet, he didn’t need people to fear him solely because he had Iblīs. He needed people to fear and respect him for who he was, for what he could do, and because Iblīs served him. Internal wars never brought prosperity and often wasted resources and people without any result. Talha didn’t like them. He wanted people to cooperate, knowing they could earn more if they work for him or with him. He needed Iblīs to put down mad dogs who didn’t understand the voice of reason, not to butcher everyone who didn’t agree with him. Iblīs should be a message, not a weapon, only then would the name Talha Demir not dim in the overpowering reputation of Iblīs.
Iblīs should strengthen him, not to make him look weaker, and for that, Slater needed to respect him. How do you make someone who has no moral compass at all respect, follow, and obey you? What does Slater value?
After fighting with his thoughts for another hour and never finding answers, he flipped the book closed and switched the lights off.
THE DEAFENING SILENCE accompanied him on his way to the kitchen, as his bare feet slapped over the carpet, then the cold marble floor. His stomach rumbled with hunger, and Talha regretted not ordering delivery.
The bluish light of the full moon, sneaking into the window, lavished the marble island. The fork he’d used to threaten Slater still lay teeth up, glinting in the night. Falling into the trap the glint provided, his eyes refused to move, as his thoughts trailed to Slater and the slaughtered pigeon loft.
First the head, then sex, now pigeons… What’s next? What does he want? The doubt scratched in his chest. How can I control him if I don’t understand him? Maybe I should kill him. He served his purpose. The Asani Cartel is a matter of past. The road to Europe is open. I don’t really need him.