Page 82 of Iblis' Affliction
The conflict with the Hale Family had resolved without his presence. After finding traces of Musa Kiliç’s sperm in Camilla’s mouth, the Hale Family went berserk on the Kiliç group. While Istanbul wallowed in a blood feud, Talha watched time drip from the tall IV stand and stream into his veins, stretching his days and filling his mind with thoughts of Slater.
Savas’ work with the karambits completely removed the bullseye from Slater’s forehead, as Musa Kiliç was found dead, cut into pieces and fed to his guard dogs. His severed head was stuffed in a freezer with his chopped off genitals in his mouth. Despite Slater’s weapon and a similar style, the forensics report showed differences. Unlike Slater, who preferred to work on living victims, Savas recreated Iblis’ work on a dead body, after slitting Musa’s throat. Still, Talha didn’t complain. A small ‘donation’ altered the report, removing the traces of the copy-cat work from it. Very few were interested in digging into Musa’s death, and after the corrections, there was nothing anyone could find anyway, even if they looked.
His problems were melting, yet the reason for his main distress remained. Miraç’s constant updates didn’t help. On the contrary, they provided his bored mind with strong visuals of the ripper. He couldn’t help imagining Slater flinching every time someone entered his room and how the light died in his eyes as he realized it wasn’t Master.
A tiny part of him missed Slater, but the other half of his soul was inhabited by pride and wounded dignity. That part craved to see Slater suffer, if not dead.
“Fuck it!” Rolling and tossing on a leather sofa, Talha growled, as his body refused to get comfortable in any pose. Muscles shrieking their protest against a horizontal position, he sighed and got to his feet, shuffling out of the library.
Dead and desolate, his mansion once again felt foreign to him. Not a single sound disturbed the oppressive silence, as not a single soul remained inside. Once again, he was alone in his mansion, fearing Slater’s outrage.
Maybe I should follow Ejder’s advice and sell it, after all.He thought, cutting the air with his hand to disturb the thin net of dust that hung in it. Swirling away from his hand, the particles glittered in the sunlight.
That was yet another reason for him to get rid of Slater. He knew that after what had happened here, he would never feel comfortable with people staying under the same roof with Slater. More than that, now he had Savas. The boy was way more cooperative, and Talha often found himself thinking that he didn’t need two rippers.
Talha didn’t know how Dinçer had settled his accounts with Savas, but whenever the ripper was mentioned his friend paled a fraction. Still, even knowing that with every step he was getting bogged down in a game he didn’t understand, Talha didn’t fear Savas’ wish. He wasn’t scared to pay, except he couldn’t tell what he was paying for anymore, because he had decided that Slater should die long ago.
Ejder is right; I’m not right in my head.
Climbing the marble stairs, he froze in front of the Grand Hall. Scanning the interior, he felt remorse scratching in his chest. Petty, at first, it clawed at his organs, pulling him inside. He had avoided this place for days, along with the decision, but now he thought that the hideous memories could help him shake off the nostalgia and see Slater for what he was, not what Talha wanted him to be.
His bare feet slapped against the marble floor as he advanced into the room. He stopped before Camilla’s portrait, looking into her eyes. But instead of her beautiful features, he saw the severed head, maimed with death and covered with greenish spots.
Hand, running over the top of the frame, removed the thin layer of dust. To distract himself from the memory, he glanced at the gray covering his tips, then rolled the dust between them until it formed a few tiny balls. Dropping them to the floor, he sighed.
This can’t go on…His eyes raking around the vastness as he mourned the potential this room once held. Now it was forever robbed of its purpose and would never be used to host special occasions again. It would forever remain a mausoleum and a reminder of his carelessness, crushed dreams, and abortive future.
A strong emotion ripped through his chest setting his skin on fire, but he held his breath, pocketing it, as he had no mental capacity to process it now. Getting mad would solve nothing anyway.
“The graveyard of my ruined toys?” He repeated Slater’s words, tasting them, dissecting them. Bitter and harsh, they slashed through his throat with a shard of accusation. At that moment, paranoia awoke at the back of his head, as every portrait seemed to be glaring at him.
Every cell in his body demanded he leave, but he kept looking at the serious faces, trying to memorize them, until his gaze connected with Zaal’s. They had never been friends, but for five years Zaal had been his constant companion. They didn’t have much in common, they rarely talked, but they ended up sharing one burden—Slater.
Looking into Zaal’s black eyes, he couldn’t help wondering, where the chain of his mistakes had started. Was it when he’d closed the deal with Iblis? The way he had treated Slater? Or the moment he hired Zaal, wanting to delegate a part of his responsibilities to someone else? Talha didn’t know.
5 YEARS AGO
IT’D BEEN TWO MONTHSsince Talha sent Ejder to Mardin. Two months of prosperity, where Slater’s single visit to Iran settled a problem with an independent military group, who had decided that they were big enough to fix a price all over the Golden Crescent[29]. Two months full of struggle, where every day started with Slater sleeping by his side. Trying every approach possible, Talha finally gave up, realizing that Slater spoke only one language—the language of violence and domination because as soon as Talha lowered his guard, Slater’s behavior would turn pushy, overwhelming, threatening.
Still, with every passing day, Talha was growing used to Slater’s constant presence. Like a dog, Slater followed him everywhere. Like a dog, he demanded a lot of attention, took no responsibilities, and had no shame or guilt. Soon enough, Talha realized that it was easier to treat Slater like a pet, rather than a lover; on some level, this realization allowed him to accept their sexual encounters. Slowly and reluctantly, Talha was growing used to Slater’s body, as his hand dared to explore new regions. But even though they had had sex many times, it had never been tender and didn’t include kisses. Still, Talha’s needs for female bodies thinned out.
“Stop eating sweets all the time, you will get diabetes before you’re forty,” Talha said, as soon as he entered his bedroom, his eyes examining the ripper’s frame with disapproval.
“Huh? Slater won’t live that long.” The ripper grinned. His half-naked, sinewy frame stretched over his bed, as he kept stuffing his face with locum, the sugar powder scattering over the dark-blue linens. The predatory glow settled behind his pupils as Slater stopped chewing for a moment. “Why? Could it be that Master is worried about Slater?”
“You are my asset. If you get sick, I’ll have to replace you. It’ll be a hassle.” Blowing the gush of irritation out, Talha marched to the bed and snatched the paper box out of Slater’s hands. “How many times did I tell you not to eat in my bed? Change the linens.”
In a split second, Slater jumped to his feet, swirled around Talha, and snatched the box back. His fingers dove in and reappeared with a transparent yellow cube, dusted in white powder. “Want some?”
“No.” Pushing the ripper away from his path, Talha came to the closet and fished out a clean, white shirt, underwear, and a new tie. Tossing it over his forearm, he strolled toward the bathroom.
Slater licked his fingers and put the box aside. Voice prickling with concern, he asked, “Where are you going?”
“I have a meeting tonight. A Syrian group that’s interested in recruiting Güvenç’s army,” Talha said, before closing the door behind him. The hurried footfalls boomed from behind, making Talha wince. The door swung open as Slater barged in.
“Slater is coming with you.”
“No. Slater is staying home.” Hanging the clothes on a hook, he faced the reaper.
