Page 78 of Iblis' Affliction
“What?” Dinçer and Ejder exclaimed with one voice. The car skidded as Dinçer gawked over his shoulder. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.” Talha cracked his neck, hoping the movement would drain the pain from the back of his head. “Ask him to come and see me. Tonight.”
They spoke simultaneously, Talha’s head felt like splitting. Slamming his palm against the window, he ordered in a low voice that left no room for negotiation, “Shut up, both of you. It’s already decided. Now, I want silence.”
Thirty minutes later, Talha climbed out of the car and grabbed a compact assault rifle AM-17 from the trunk. From the corner of his eye, he saw Englishmen pulling up and littering the small parking lot. The stomping of many feet and metal clanging suffused the air, as soldiers, dressed in black military uniforms, surrounded the warehouse.
He nodded to Güvenç, ordering him to begin. Someone rushed to the doors, installing a small explosive device over the lock. The hand grenade, breaking the glass window, blew inside, and a boiling hail of lead ignited the air, stammering in Talha’s head.
Yanking the bolt of his rifle, he rushed inside, hoping that Ifrit hadn’t played a joke on him.
GUNFIRE STILL RANG IN HIS EARSas he stood in the dark, cold room, surrounded by dead bodies and a sickening stench of blood and chemicals. His vertigo aggravated, and he needed a moment to slow down the constant spinning of the room.
People rushed past him in a blur, but he couldn’t care less. His body felt sluggish, as mortal tiredness washed over him.
“Oh my fucking god…” Someone breathed by his side, dragging his attention. The young, blond Englishman from the Hale family reached into the refrigerator, and Talha had to grab his forearm to stop his fingers from touching Camilla’s head.
“Don’t touch her…” He managed. “…with bare hands.”
Without looking in the huge refrigerator, stocked with meth, he wobbled toward the door. Sensing Camilla’s glare on his back, he stumbled outside, needing air.
Shoving his rifle to Ejder’s chest, he rested his hands on the roof of the car. The hot metal burned his skin when he doubled over and vomited. Spitting out the filthy taste in his mouth, he cringed, thinking that he should start taking the drugs Miraç gave him. The headache refused to abate, shredding his nerves, and seemed to be draining his body of life source.
“Talha?” Ejder touched his shoulder. “You look like shit… You should see Miraç.”
“I’m fine. Run the forensics. I want the official report before night falls,” Talha said, pulling the rear passenger door open and slumping into the seat. “I’ll rest when it’s over.”
But as soon as his head touched the backrest, a cold swamp of nothingness gulped him down.
SITTING ON THE MEDICAL BED,Talha stared at the cannula, stuck in his vein. “Seriously, I can’t stay here. I have no time for this.”
“You are staying. Miraç, tell him!” Ejder’s high-pitched voice sounded unbearable to Talha’s sensitive ears. He had to swallow to ease the pressure in his head.
“Ejder is right, Talha. I shouldn’t have let you go to begin with, so for the next week consider this home.” With a theatrical gesture, Miraç spread both hands, showing Talha his best room.
“One day, and then I’m out of here,” Talha compromised.
Propping up the door with his wide back, Dinçer yawned. “It’s better if you stay in the hospital. Everyone is talking about it now. A torture victim running around the city with a rifle is suspicious enough. Now, they are starting to believe your story. You vomited then lost consciousness after you avenged your bride. Isn’t it romantic?”
Dinçer searched for Ejder’s support and received an enthusiastic nodding.
Talha cringed. “I’m pretending I didn’t hear that.”
“People think you are in a terrible state. Even the Hale Family, so stay in, and we will do the rest. What’s left?”
“Savas…”
Dinçer’s face fell. “Don’t do this. What else can you possibly want?”
“Execution...”
WHATEVER MIRAÇ GAVE HIMwas working because even before sunset, Talha’s head stopped hurting. His thoughts cleared, and the nausea abated, leaving him starving and bored. He hated hospitals. He hated the stupid gown that left his ass exposed to the wind and gazes. He hated feeling weak and requiring attention.
“Like hell I’m staying,” he muttered under his breath. Tearing the hospital gown off, he threw his pants and shirt on, then opened the door.
For a moment, he considered going out for dinner, but his gaze fell on the familiar door across the corridor. He was on the same floor as Slater.
“Right,” he breathed, taking the first step toward Slater’s room.
