Seth by Nero Seal

Small hairs bristledon Seth’s nape. His lungs refused to draw the air in as he stared into the chest with unblinking eyes. There, in plain sight, the evidence of the murder shimmered under the orange light of the crystal chandeliers. Laid out for everyone to see, yet no one noticed.

He understood the provocation. Whoever sent this tribute wanted to see him react. It was obviously a test, and he was failing it. He knew he should at least try to fake some distress as that would give his stalker a false sense of control and security, yet he couldn’t be bothered to act for the entourage because all he felt was relief and excitement.

Finally…

Whatever information his body language revealed, Seth received a clear message that the man who took his sand, his Justin, had realized the great value he possessed. The antique package containing the sand spoke volumes about it. Not in a box, not in plastic bags, but in a beautiful wooden chest with bronze corners that had turned green with time.

Somehow, it pleased him.

“What is it?” someone asked; he didn’t react. His gaze lingered, caressing the rusty splotches. The sand called for him. His fingers buzzed with the need to touch it. At the moment, he didn’t care about all these people around him, his stalker, or the police. He didn’t care about anything, as the sand spoke to him. Red smears, like veins, pulsed as the sand shimmered, full of life, of soul.

He wanted it, needed it. Acute understanding that nothing could substitute for it pierced his mind. He had to reclaim it whatever it took.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Seth?” The low, quiet voice brushed against his neck. Seth didn’t sense anyone approaching him, and now every cell of his body tensed with surprise. He whipped around and linked his gaze with the black, impenetrable eyes.

An odd thought that he couldn’t tell the irises from the pupils touched the corner of Seth’s mind. Hiding in the shadows of the prominent brows, the pupils of the stranger absorbed light as if feeding on it. Just like black holes.

He’d only seen the man once, in the dead of night, yet he instantly recognized him and his heavy, dissecting gaze—the gaze of a hunter, not prey.

The man smiled. When he spoke again, his voice sounded low, barely audible, tranquil. It had a hypnotizing timbre that seemed to relax everyone around. If a cobra could speak it would have such a voice.

“Easy. It would be a disaster if we get passionate and accidentally overturn the chest. The sand is so light; I went to a lot of trouble to collect it.”

Around forty, the stranger had bronze skin characteristic of southern people born close to a sea. He wore a casual smirk, anything but sinister, yet the skin at the back of Seth’s neck crawled.

“This, my friends,” the man announced, bringing his voice higher for everyone to hear, as if intentionally attracting their attention, “is high purity silica sand. A low amount of iron oxide gives it a lush, rusty hue. Unfortunately, it’s not sustainable and will clear out if processed.”

Bypassing Seth, the man bent forward and scooped a handful of sand.

Seth’s insides withered. A sour taste flooded his mouth as he stared at something pale peeking from under the sand. His eyes strained, making out a bluish fingernail.

Justin. A very calm thought touched Seth’s mind. He blinked, trying to understand the rules of the game, failing.

Right now, even if Seth reached to the chest and pulled out Justin’s body, no one would be able to accuse him of the murder. The body lost value as soon as it was kidnapped from the crime scene. Now, even his DNA and fingerprints wouldn’t be damning in the eyes of court if he had a good lawyer. The man would know this, yet there would be more than enough problems with the police for them both, and his career would be over.

What’s he doing? A corner of Seth’s mouth quirked in a smirk at the interesting presentation of power, of dominance. Staring into the chest, Seth found himself both intrigued and amused by the turn of events. It would be even funny if he didn’t crave this sand so desperately.

I don’t get it. Why is a man who isn’t scared of bringing a dead body to a room full of press trying so hard to impress me, to daunt me? If he wanted to use me, manipulate me, simple pictures would be more than enough.Why bother with such an elaborate display?

In the paralysis the confusion instilled,Seth couldn’t look away from the piece of flesh beneath the rusty sand.

As if reading his mind, the man grabbed Seth’s wrist, demanding his attention. The unwanted touch electrocuted him, cramping his muscles.

“The best sand there is.” Forcing Seth’s hand palm up, the man poured light powder onto his palm. “I heard a legend that our ancestors believed that red sand took its color from earth saturated with the blood of fallen warriors. Some believe it still carries their souls.”

Breaking the spell of immobility, Seth yanked his hand away from the stranger’s grip and tossed the sand into the chest, dusting the small piece of flesh. He took a step back and clenched his fists, suppressing the desire to wipe his hand against his pants.

Their eyes linked again.

“Of course, those are just legends. Without the hand of a master, it’s just sand, nothing else.”

“Gustavo, you came after all.” Arnold, breezing past Seth, caught hold of the stranger with both hands. One shook a sturdy hand, the other wrapped around the man’s elbow.

Gustavo, hm? I was right after all. He is from South Europe. Spanish, Italian, Portuguese?

“Seth, let me introduce you to my good friend, Gustavo DeSilva. He is a huge admirer of your talent.” Still holding Gustavo’s hand, the silver-haired man beamed. The smile on his face had been trained with countless social gathering, but his eyes cracked with laughter lines.

“A huge admirer.” Gustavo’s eyes shimmered with shameless curiosity. There was something vaguely familiar in his expression, but Seth shrugged off the feeling. Gently releasing his hand from the lock of Arnold’s fingers, Gustavo cut the distance between them. A faint smell of spice, wood, and heady sweetness washed over Seth as the man peered at him from above. “I believe we’ve met before but failed to communicate. I’m so happy to have an opportunity to introduce myself properly. Did I please you with my gift? I hope you will put it to good use.”

In the warm light of the ballroom, Seth could barely read the small, laughter lines around Gustavo’s eyes. Half a head taller and a few inches broader than Seth, the man emitted an aura of solidity, though not the one that instilled safety but of a weapon prepared for war. With one hand shoved in a pocket of his tailored pants, he looked at Seth with the overpowering confidence natural to predators.

Seth instantly understood that people like Gustavo DeSilva weren’t used to hearing “no” to their requests, as well as he would have no control over whatever would happen in this room today. With a critical eye, he reevaluated his surroundings. A few men dressed in simple dark suits stood out against the prime crowd. Postures tense, they watched Seth with strained eyes.

At that moment, Seth saw only two options; neither appealed. To stay put and listen to the stranger, maybe fulfill his request, except Seth didn’t like being manipulated. Or to flee and hope that the next encounter would be in his favor, but Seth loathed this option as well. A person who came to the presentation with such a dangerous cargo would think through their next encounter to the smallest detail. Next time Seth, most likely, wouldn’t have any options at all.

He scanned the room, gaze stumbling over the tense figures scattered around the perimeter. If they even let me leave...

“What’s wrong? You look like you saw a ghost or lost something,” Gustavo murmured, clearly enjoying himself.

Seth stilled, head tilting to the side. Did he mock me?

Gustavo inched closer. “What’s with your manners? Have you swallowed your tongue or what? You could at least say thank you. I went to a lot of trouble for you.”

Seth’s face hardened as disappointment took over. His chin lowered to his chest as he glared at the man from under his brows. You want to play ugly?Fine. I can play ugly too.Let’s see how confident you’ll be when I overturn the chest. I might have to leave my life behind, but I’ll make sure to destroy yours as well.

Such passion…Every fiber of Gustavo’s soul was taut as he held the glare full of threat. That’s it, Loco. Show me your true colors.

Seth turned to the chest eyeing it with suspicious determination. Gustavo’s blood warmed with adrenaline as tangible waves of aggression emitted from the beast. On instinct, he blocked Seth’s way, making eye contact with the murderer.

“Seth, please excuse us.” Arnold, squeezing between them, grabbed Gustavo’s biceps and dragged him away. With his large, muscular body, the man often looked uncomfortable in his designers’ suits, as if they constricted him, now more than ever. Dropping his voice a fraction, he blurted out, “I should have told you sooner; it’s my fault. Seth lost his voice to fire years ago. He is almost aphonic. Please don’t be insulted if he doesn’t respond.”

Aphonic…Gustavo frowned, scanning Seth’s bare neck and hands for burns, finding nothing. It wasn’t arrogance. Being the center of attention of media and admirers yet being unable to say anything must be uncomfortable, annoying even. And I just tipped him over…

Gustavo wanted to ask more about the fire, but Seth’s cheek flinched. He glared at the chest as if considering approaching it, then at the curious crowd surrounding them, before turning on his heel.

Not ready to part, Gustavo surged after him, grabbed his elbow. I must have hit a nerve if he leaves the sand and body behind. He clearly saw it.

This wasn’t how he planned their first meeting to end, so to mend fences he blurted, “Apologies. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just wanted to introduce myself and to express my utmost adoration of your work. SkyBlade project is breathtaking. I bet everyone can feel that you invested all your heart in it.” Dubious words fell out naturally. Seth’s expression hardened, and at that moment, Gustavo once again read his death sentence in the beast’s eyes.

“Indeed, my friend.” Arnold smiled as he caught up, relief draining pressure from his facial muscles.

“Anyway,” Gustavo continued, ignoring the older man, as his gaze sank deeper into Seth’s eyes. They weren’t brown as he originally assumed, but a very dark mix of gray and blue, like a stormy sky. “I sincerely hope that you appreciated my gift. I will have it delivered to your home. I can’t wait to see what you will do with it, and of course, I dare to hope that we can become … friends. I’m sure this is not our last meeting.”

Without a sign of recognition, Seth wrenched his elbow out of Gustavo’s grasp. His chin flew high as he granted the man a burning stare before storming out of the ballroom under the murmurs of journalists.

Approaching from behind, Diego looped his arm around Gustavo’s shoulder. “Well done, you pissed him off. I’m one step closer to getting your yacht. Wait, is that a nail?”

With a sigh, Gustavo shook his friend off, bent down, and slammed the lid of the chest closed before turning around. “I didn’t see any burns on him that night. This is annoying, Diego. Why did I learn about his voice and fire from someone else?”

Diego raised an offended brow. “His past is… scattered. It looks like his dad did a good job of concealing it.”

Gustavo hummed. “Did you just admit your incompetence?”

“Fuck you,” Diego mouthed, grinning. “You’ll get it soon.”

“Find everything you can about him. If you can’t, I’ll find someone who can. Any news from that BDSM club?”

“Not yet. They aren’t very active during a working week. We hope to learn something tonight.”

“Hurry up. I need to know everything about him before our next meeting. And,” Gustavo extended his hand palm up, “you owe me a thousand.”

* * *

Seth tore the shirtoff his shoulders and threw it on the floor. The cold curiosity in the black eyes wounded his pride, making Seth feel like a bizarre animal locked in a zoo. The feeling was painfully familiar. It brought back memories Seth wished to forget. The memories filled with smoke, screams, and the coppery taste of blood. Seth shook his head, chasing them away. Fuck it…

Rage, pumping through his veins, urged his body to move, robbing him of the ability to stay put. His brain replayed the evening’s events, bringing to his attention the smallest details about the people he’d encountered and things he’d seen.

He wasn’t alone. The memory sharpened at the men who had delivered the chest and their loose-fitting jackets that bulged under their left arms.

How did they pass the security check? Arnold Alby valued his safety, so in addition to metal detectors, a security team checked every person, every purse. No one could bring guns, let alone a chest with a corpse, to an event like that without alerting security.

Who the hell is Gustavo DeSilva?Remembering the name, Seth stalked to his studio, turned his PC on, and slumped into the ergonomic chair. Fingers flew over the keyboard as he typed the name.

With his elbowspropped against the desk, Seth sat with his eyes closed, fingers interlaced, and both thumbs pressing on the spot between his brows. He had been sitting like this for at least thirty minutes, wondering how on earth, from all people in Vienna, he’d crossed roads with a drug lord from the S-Syndicate, Gustavo DeSilva. His smartwatch buzzed again, demanding he work out, but he ignored it.

Annoyance dripped into the pool of accumulated distress, threatening to overflow. No wonder the man looked at him with such undisguised amusement. A person who had seen it all must have been truly entertained by his night encounter.

What was a person like him doing on the construction site? But he couldn’t process the thought as the shriek of a doorbell brought his hands down on the desk. He jumped to his feet, surged out of the room and down the stairs. He unlatched the dead-bolt lock and yanked the metal door open.

The wooden chest stood on his porch.

He gave him back. Seth’s mind raced. He had been so sure about Gustavo’s agenda that now he had hard times believing his eyes. Why?

His nerves tightened as he listened to the wind playing in the foliage and the retreating roar of a car. Whoever delivered Justin didn’t stick around.

No one would give up on such leverage. He glanced down at the chest and the beautiful verdigris covering the bronze elements. I don’t understand…This has to be a trap. But if he wanted to fuck me over, he would have done it already, wouldn’t he? No, he wants something else. What? Anyway, I can’t leave Justin here.

He hauled the chest inside surprised by its lightness. Throwing a glance outside, he kicked the door closed, then turned toward the delivery. A fine tremor went through him as he dropped to his knees. Bronze elements tickled his fingertips as he unlatched the chest and lifted the lid.

A sticky pool of disappointment spread through his heart. Seth laughed, realizing he let himself hope again. Air breaking out of his trachea filled his ears with hoarse whizzes.

His cheek twitched, hands tensed around the edges of the chest; metal corners sinking into his palms. The rusty sand was still there but in a lesser amount. If before the sand had filled the chest to the brim, now it barely covered half of it.

With an effort, he let go of the chest and raked his fingers through the sand searching for a note, a hint, or anything else to explain the rules of the game, finding nothing.

Like a sandstorm in a desert, his rage welled up. His muscles tensed, twitched, as he fought the urge to succumb to blind fury and overturn the chest.

His laughter stopped as he lowered the lid.

“You want to get my attention?” he mouthed. “Fine, you have it.”

* * *

What am I doing?Sagging against the driver’s seat, Gustavo fought a grin as he imagined Seth’s frantic ransack through the chest and anger twisting his face. His opinion on Loco kept changing to the point where he didn’t know what to think of him anymore.

The clear emotions flowing over Seth’s face as he’d offered him the sand awoke strange desires in the pit of his core. The pure, vibrant hatred in Seth’s eyes scalded him with a craving to see more to the point where he’d acted recklessly.

The insanity must be contagious.Gustavo was known for his self-control and cold head, yet he’d gotten carried away and nearly exposed himself. Even now, a part of him had intended to return the dead body to Seth just to see what he would do with it, but the mere thought of this game being over ruled out Gustavo’s intention.

He coveted the same adrenaline, the acute intoxication he’d felt on the construction site. The desire to turn the car around and meet Loco again, to look into his eyes and learn his every little secret so no corner of his dark soul would be left undiscovered became excruciating. Burning with acrid curiosity, he wondered how it would feel to meet the beast privately, face to face.

Yet, he didn’t move, remembering his death sentence in Seth’s pupils. Gustavo had no doubt, that if he showed his face now, he would have to fight for his life, and killing Loco was the last thing he wanted. At least for now.

When you want to tame a beast and make him lick your hands, you have to arm yourself with patience.

The heat, coming from the roof, baked his neck; the body in his trunk would start stinking soon. He needed to get it back to the morgue and quickly.