Nico frowned, wishing he could hit Emel or even bite him till he bled but he had to stay still... This was what he signed up for when he decided to become this man's 'pet' for three months straight.
"Do not dare talk back to me," Emel said as he released Nico's lips, his breath ragged and his gaze menacing.
"Or what?" Nico dared to ask, pushing every button he could touch and making a mocking grin. "You'll cut off my tongue?"
Though Nico had agreed to his terms, there was nowhere in the contract that stated he could not talk back or curse at Emel.
So, he could retain his freedom of speech and was very much going to abuse it on this man.
"Just get off me, you fucker. I need to get off." He slapped Emel's hand off his hair and then got out of the car.
Once he was down, the car zoomed off, leaving Nico with a man Emel had placed to watch and 'guide' him.
He sighed, his face contorting as he gritted his teeth, wishing this day had never happened. He spat out the blood in his mouth, wishing he could spit out the taste of that man as well.
'Disgusting,' he thought as he wiped his mouth with the back of his palm.
And then, they headed in.
Nico's POV
The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and old floor wax, a scent that usually made me gag. Now, it was just a backdrop to the painful pull of the needle through the skin of my forehead.
Even with Anesthesia, it still hurts like hell.
The doctor's hands were steady, but his eyes kept darting toward the door. I knew what he saw: the 'handler' Emel had left behind, a man whose suit was too tight around the shoulders and whose face was carved out of granite, to be a regular bodyguard.
To the doctor, it was obvious that I was a victim of violence… involved with some gang, too.
As he stitched me up, I began to have a few regrets.
'I should've listened to Jeremy,' I thought, the regret stinging worse than the needle.
Jeremy was my roommate and a longtime friend. He knew the cafe's condition and had asked me to take a break.
If I'd listened, I'd be on our mismatched sofa right now, arguing over what to order for dinner or what channel to leave the TV on, and not bearing the pain of a needle going through my skin… or the thought of being a humiliating piece for weeks to come.
But instead of that cozy life, my phone was in Emel's pocket, I had signed my soul to the devil, and Jeremy was probably staring at a door that probably won't open tonight.
He's going to be so worried, but I have no way to contact him. I hope he drops by the cafe sometime… he probably will, since he knows I don't mess with it.
'That's the only place he can find me without Emel thinking I pulled any funny stunts.'
"Are you sure you're alright, son?" the doctor whispered, leaning in close as he reached for a fresh gauze. He flicked his eyes toward the hallway again, cautiously. "I can call the police if you want." He whispered. "Or even social services. Just give me a sign that you need help, and I'll help you."
I looked at him, a faint, lopsided smile touching my lips. It was a kind offer, but it was a death sentence, nonetheless.
"I'm fine, Doc," I said, my voice barely a rasp. "Just a clumsy fall. I'm always tripping over things I shouldn't."
The doctor looked at the state of my clothes, the bruises over my body, and how messed up my face was, and he sighed. He clearly did not believe me, but since I did not ask for help, he did not push further and went back to his work.
I needed to be smart. If I made a scene here, if I called the cops or made a move for the phone, Emel wouldn't take it lightly. He'd take it that I was up to funny business, and he'd use it as an excuse to annul the contract before the ink—or the blood—was even dry.
No, if I was going to ruin Emel's life, I had to do it from the inside. I had to irritate him like a grain of sand inside a silk glove. Subtle, constant, and just enough to make him regret ever looking at me.
I leaned my head back, my left shoulder throbbing in a heavy, low-frequency rhythm that matched my heartbeat. Every stitch felt like a physical tether to the contract I'd just signed, and I closed my eyes.
From now on, it was no different from walking on eggshells.
"All done," the doctor announced, taping the final bandage, and I opened my eyes. "Try not to move your face too much. You'll pull the stitches."
"Hard to do when the world is this funny," I muttered.
The handler appeared in the doorway immediately, as if he had been watching the whole time. He didn't say a word; he just jerked his head toward the exit.
I stood up, my vision tilting for a second. My hand went to the wall to steady myself, my fingers trembling.
'Three months,' I reminded myself. 'Ninety days of being his pet.' The corner of my lip curved in a mischievous grin. 'I wonder if he knows how much a pet can bite when it's cornered.'
Emel… you better watch your back because I'm coming for you. For the debt you owed me two years ago, and the debt I'm going to collect this time too.