“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” Standing in the middle of the crowded airport, Talha stared Slater in the eye. Even after taking a shower and sleeping for an hour, Slater looked flustered, worked-up. He shifted and the warmth radiating from his body hit Talha’s skin with the faint smell of body wash.
“Yes, Master.”
“No one else, just him,” Talha repeated, making sure Slater understood.
“Yes, Master.”
“Once you’re done, you catch a return flight to Istanbul. You talk to no one, you go straight home without stopping anywhere, and you wait for me there. If you’re good, I’ll reward you,” staring into the icy-blue eyes, Talha instructed articulating every word to make sure the order stayed with Slater. “But if you’re bad, you’ll never have freedom again, understand?”
“Why Master doesn’t go with Slater to Edinburgh?” Slater cocked his head to the side. His fingers grasped the middle button of Talha’s shirt and tugged.
“I have important things to do in London.”
“Why can’t Slater go to London? Slater wants to be with Master.” Slater’s glare was hard, questioning, as he inched forward, his breath playing over Talha’s lips.
“I have no time to deal with you, and you proved that you can’t behave for even four hours.”
A deep crease cut between Slater’s brows. His ears twitched with tension that seized his facial muscles. Before Slater could protest again, Talha added, “Can I trust you, Slater? Or should I send you home with Zaal and assign this job to someone else?”
“No, Master.” All the hatred in the world boiled in Slater’s voice. His hand withdrew as his eyes found Zaal. Talha thought that if a glare could kill, his bodyguard would be long dead. “Slater will do it. Master will be pleased.”
“Good boy,” Talha said, catching Slater’s cold gaze and his hand. “I’m going to give you something in advance. If you are good, I promise, I will make sure you are satisfied.”
His thumb found the fresh bandage on the top of Slater’s hand, then pressed. Slater hissed; his lips drew up in an animalistic grin. His eyes shut in an attempt to contain the pain that trembled in every muscle.
“Will you be good, Slater? Can I trust you?”
A soft smile of satisfaction touched the edges of his mouth. “Yes, Master.”
“Here is your ticket and some cash.” Releasing his hand, Talha fished an envelope out of the inner pocket of his jacket. “Only him, Slater. No one else.”
With a quick nod, Slater took the envelope, spun on his heels, and strolled toward the departure gates.
OILY, BLACK EYES STARED AT SLATER from below, as the colorless lips froze in a silent ‘O’, chasing for air. Limbs contracting, trying to regain control over the cut muscles, the man wobbled with his whole body, creating ripples that rushed from his lower belly up to his second chin. And with every twitch of his abdomen, his fat mole trembled above his nearly non-existent upper lip.
Slater’s fingers curled with painful urgency he couldn’t understand. He tilted his head left, then right, his shoulders tensing as he searched for the reason for his discomfort. Usually, a murder brought him delight. The smell of fear and panic so dense in the air, he should be high with it, but something about this man made him itchy. Spinning the karambit around his index finger, Slater bent forward, examining the terror-stricken face. Beady eyes, small nose, and thin lips. Nothing special, then why did this man annoy him this much? Oily skin with huge pores, rare black facial hair, and a fat, ugly mole. Trembling and vibrating, the mole captivated him, making his chest buzz with irritation. Unable to tear his focus away from it, he said, “You are so ugly... I can’t kill you like this. Let me fix it for you.”
The edge of the knife touched the base of the mole, slid under, and sliced it off. Slater shook the black piece of flesh off the blade with disgust, then looked the man in the eye.
“See? So much better! Now we can proceed.” A smile of relief released the tension, as Slater put the knife over the man’s belly, drove the karambit in his solar plexus, then tore down.
“ANOTHER MURDER IN EDINBURGH consumes the attention of the law machinery. The brutality of the murder suggests that this is yet another victim of the infamous ripper from Anatolia—Iblīs. A few hours ago, Boris Alby was found dead in his house in Ravelston. Pieces of his disfigured body were scattered throughout the house along with a large amount of disturbing child pornography.”
Talha switched off the TV and smiled at his business partner.
“I did my part of our agreement,” he said, looking into the warm gray eyes of the silver-headed man. In his sixties, Steven Hale was fit and lean. The straight line of his spine and the broad shoulders screamed of his military background, but his expression was confused, lost; he scouted his surroundings. “Your turn.”
“Yes, of course, my turn…” the man said, and glanced at his hands, then at the door, but the confusion remained in his eyes. “I’m sorry, what are we playing again?”
“I’ll take it from here, Daddy.” The ringing voice made Talha face the door. A woman entered the room, and Talha searched his memory. Camilla Hale, the only daughter.
With her platinum hair slicked back in a ponytail and the hard stare of her blue eyes on a doll-like face in her thirties, she looked both young and old. Closing a massive mahogany door behind her slender frame, she came up to Steven and placed her palm on his shoulder. “It’s okay; you can go, Daddy. Mr. Demir and I have a lot to talk about.”
Carefully guiding her father toward the exit, she let him out, then closed the door behind him.
She faced Talha. Never offering him a seat, she remained standing. He wondered if it was some kind of psychological warfare or urgency. “The conditions have changed, Mr. Demir.”
Curiosity curled his lips up as he watched the delicate woman move.
“You see,” she smiled back, but her eyes remained cold, attentive. “Daddy isn’t getting better. Alzheimer’s is a bitch, and right now, I’m taking a risk telling you this. But I believe we can find common ground.”
She drew closer; the faint smell of camellias washed over Talha. Her white blouse, unbuttoned at the top, revealed a pearl necklace and a simple gold cross. “The Hale family is only this old because we trust in blood. So, now the alliance comes with me.”
“That wasn’t a part of the deal,” Talha rapped out the measured words.
“No. But it’s on the table now.” Her confidence suggested that Steven Hale had transferred his empire to his daughter long ago, and Talha now spoke to the true leader of the Hale family. “You see, the older father gets, the more unstable my position in the organization becomes. Being a woman is hard in our world. I work harder than anyone, yet it’s never enough. I constantly have to prove that I’m better than everyone else, or people won’t follow me. To be honest, I’m tired of it. I made a decision: I need a man to represent my power, to support me. Now, I extend the offer, Talha. It’s no longer just a channel; it’s control over the heart of Europe, but it comes with a ring, and you adopt my surname. The Hale family will not stop with me.”