Seth by Nero Seal

Gustavo’s bedroom reekedof sex, sweat, and musk. The scents Seth connected with BDSM clubs and a locker room of the summer camp gym. The association unsettled him for a moment, but he quickly redirected his thoughts to Gustavo, reminding himself that it wasn’t the right time and place to contemplate his past.

He explored the space. The round bed stood in the middle of the room beneath another dome. Above it, the starry sky winked with diamond eyes.

The minimalism of the room contrasted with the rest of the mansion. White and dark brown, with black glass and ceramic, it still carried the baroque theme but looked modern, airy, spacious. Simple, translucent curtains covered the tall, round windows. Sliding doors led to the ensuite and closet.

On the bed, two men slept on different sides. One snuggled under the thick duvet; the other barely covered his muscular body with a thin sheet of silk. They looked as if in their dreams, they had no desire to touch each other. Seth understood that. He didn’t like sharing his bed with people. It felt too personal, unnecessarily personal.

He glanced at his watch. It’d been forty minutes since he entered the mansion. He’d visited every room except for the butler’s bedroom, searched every nook and cranny, yet he didn’t find a single clue of where to find Justin. The hatred in his heart gushed to his throat.

Keeping to the wall, Seth circled the bed, paused to look at the face of Gustavo’s lover. Curly, straw hair framed his open, masculine face. He looked peaceful in his sleep. Young and strong, the man had ancient beauty so rare in the modern days. He inched closer, and a revolting stench of alcohol filled his lungs.

You took what’s mine. I’ll take what’s yours.

Seth inched closer; his fingers brushed over the tool belt, plucked out one of the glass spikes. He brought the sharp point to the ear of the younger man and aimed to stab, but his hand wavered. Never before had he killed without a reason. This young man didn’t do anything to him except being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He glanced at the bare, powerful back of the man who slept on the other side of the bed and revalued his options.

If I make an example out of this boy, the war will begin. How many would I be able to kill before he kills me or before he is finally scared into returning Justin? Seth didn’t know.

If I kill them both, will anyone want to avenge them? The foxy eyes of Gustavo’s friend soaring in his memory provided the answer. The spike returned into the loop of the belt; his hand produced a syringe with Ketamine. Well then… You are coming with me, pretty boy.

The young man didn’t stir when Seth pressed the needle into his neck and squirted the contents in his jugular vein. When the needle left the body, a drop of blood swelled and skidded down his neck.

Waiting for a brief moment, Seth rounded the bed. Sparks of electricity lurked beneath his skin, filling his core with excitement. He wanted to grab a lighter and set this house on fire, to watch Gustavo waking up caught in flames and see his flesh melt. He craved for another purifying fire to set things right. But that wouldn’t aid him with returning Justin, and without the body, he wouldn’t be able to finish SkyBlade. His dreams had told him at least this much, and they had never been wrong before.

Another syringe appeared in his hand before he injected the muscular neck of the other man. Dark eyes flew open, and a heavy, confused gaze settled on Seth before a wide hand seized his wrist and forced it away. Seth’s skin whitened around Gustavo’s grip, but as always, he didn’t feel a thing. The man opened his mouth. Seth hurled back. The rifle slipped off his shoulder, and before he knew it, he crashed the gun’s butt against Gustavo’s nose. The meaty sound rebounded in his ears, but the iron hold of Gustavo’s fingers weakened and released his wrist. The slack body sank back onto the pillow.

His adrenaline spiked, doubling his pulse. Seth released a constricted breath before rushing to the other side of the bed. Grabbing Gustavo’s lover, he wrapped his arm around his neck and tried to lift him. Seth’s knees gave up. He tumbled to the floor with the sleeping body heaping over him, pressing him to the ground.

Seth tried to lift the man again and again until his breath grew short and raged, forcing him to abandon the idea. After shaking the body off himself, he pulled the zipper of his diving suit down, revealed his chest. A large hematoma spread over his ribcage from where the boat threw him against the pier. The black, swollen skin resembled a carbuncle on the decaying body of the dying god from his dreams. He pressed a finger to the bulge. It bounced under his touch but didn’t cause him any discomfort, any sensation at all.

Broken rib?The thought didn’t affect him either. He zipped up. Looks like I can’t carry him out either. What do I do then?

* * *

A hard slap across his face thrust Gustavo out of the colorful delirium. The pressure crushed his head, coming from the invisible spots behind his temples. He tore his eyelids open and focused on Diego’s murderous glare. Jaw hinges bulging, Diego’s mouth twitched as if he wanted to say something, but then he changed his mind and stepped back, disappearing from the view.

Nausea kicked in; Gustavo groaned. The room swam before his eyes, and a swarm of black splotches clouded his vision. He blinked, then again, but his mind refused to identify his whereabouts. His mouth dried up, tongue swelled, and with every breath, he emitted a funny swishing sound.

He groaned, willed himself to prop on one elbow, when all thoughts abandoned him. Icy sweat beaded on his nape as he stared up at the naked body hanging from the dome. Black ropes wound around the arms and legs, straining the body in the horizontal position, crimson splotches covering the pale flesh. The ropes streamed to the heavy chandelier hovering below the dome, looped over, and then stretched to the sides of the room.

Gustavo scrambled to his feet, but the ground slipped away from under him. He slumped back on the bed, butt naked, eyes never leaving Hans’ slack face.

His legs shook when he got to his feet once again. With an unsteady gait, he approached the hanging body and touched the beautiful face of his lover.

“Warm,” he stated, dumbfounded. His fingers fumbled over Hans’ neck, found the slow but steady pulse. “He isn’t dead.”

“No, he isn’t,” Diego replied as he turned to the door. “You, come here. Help me take him down.”

A guard, dressed in a black uniform, shied into the room.

Anger rose in Gustavo’s chest. He turned to his friend, fisted the flaps of Diego’s jacket, and yanked. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? I thought–”

“Say what? That I warned you? I can do it now.” Diego shook off Gustavo’s grip. “I told you so. Four of our people are in intensive care.”

His memory revived an odd dream where he saw dark eyes watching him from above.

“He was here.” He turned to Hans, examined the knots, his position, then the red splotches covering his body. “Is it ketchup?”

“Marinara¹.”

“Wait, look at the knots. Every rope supports the limbs, even the neck. He distributed the weight so evenly, the skin around the ropes barely swelled.” Gustavo droned, then looked at the guard who fiddled with the ropes attached to the doors of the bathroom and closet. “Wait, don’t take him down. Diego, give me your phone. Now.”

“He will come around any moment. Do you want him to wake up like this? What’s wrong with you?”

“Fuck. You’re right.” Gustavo gathered Hans into his arms. “Release the knots.”

The body, falling into his arms, almost knocked him down. Holding himself upright with sheer willpower, Gustavo carefully rested Hans on the bed, then asked, “Bring a wet cloth, please. I don’t want him to know what happened.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later,having removed the last evidence of intrusion from the room, Gustavo dressed and stormed outside. With quick steps, he approached the guardhouse, watching the people in biohazard collect the evidence in the blazing light of searchlights. One of the guards sat on the ground, the doctor flashing penlight into his eyes.

Hand on a shoulder, Gustavo pushed the young doctor away and squatted before the guard. “What happened?”

“Someone attacked me from behind. He injected something in my neck.” The guard had to clear his throat twice to finish the thought.

“Did you see him?”

The clean-shaven chin moved from side to side. “No, but I heard him. He sounded like a snake hissing. Maybe an old smoker or he had a throat injury.”

Gustavo straightened up, approached the guardhouse, and examined the broken-down door and the clots of silverish glue stuck to the frame. “Can anyone update me?”

Diego pressed his shoulder to the wall, threw a glance inside the building. “There’s nothing to say. The chemical analysis didn’t turn back yet. We assume the intruder used some chemical weapon, supposedly through the ventilation on the roof. The servers went down from overheating, so we only have partial footage of the night. My guys are checking it now. Whatever equipment he used, he didn’t leave anything behind except for the dog.”

“A dog?” Gustavo frowned. “What dog?”

Diego thrust his phone forward, showing a photograph of a white and black collie. “A bitch in heat. The dogs went crazy.”

“Take her to the vet. Check if she’s chipped. Also, where is the damn footage? How on earth did he pass this all?” He turned on his heel, gaze grazing over the landscape. Head tilted, he fumbled over his pockets, plucked out his phone, and dialed a number. “Where the fuck are you?”

“In position, Patrón,” the male voice droned, and Gustavo suspected that Rafa fought back a yawn.

“Why didn’t you follow him?”

“Who, Patrón?”

“Mayr.” The phone cracked in Gustavo’s fingers, but his voice remained calm.

“But Patrón, he hasn’t left his home for four days.”

Gustavo disconnected. As the adrenaline and distress diminished, awe and admiration welled up. “How did he do this? Who is examining the footage? I’d like to see it.”

Three minutes later, Gustavo stood in a weakly lit server room in front of the gaunt man with black, shaggy hair. Gustavo’s presence didn’t seem to bother him. Sitting on his ass on the tile floor, he didn’t look up once. Holding the laptop closer to his chest, he stared at it over the thick glasses, eyes screwed-up.

Without thinking, Gustavo slumped next to him, shoulder to shoulder, watching four squares of the night’s footage fast-forwarding simultaneously.

“Anything?” Impatience made it hard to sit still.

“Nothing,” the man replied. Fitting his scrawny figure, his voice sounded uneven, as if only now breaking, even though the man looked in his late twenties. “I rewound the footage three times. I only see guards. I think someone from within directed the cameras away. Like here…” He opened another footage, typed in the time. “See? The cameras do one hundred and eighty degrees spin then only forty.”

Gustavo leaned closer, cocked his head, watching the cameras reduce the field of vision. “Diego, go and check the cameras for me.”

The shadow in the doorway disappeared. Gustavo huffed, “Let me see.”

He snatched the laptop from crooked fingers of the IT guy, scrolled back, then watched the footage on fast forward. The accusation was ridiculous and hit his pride. He surrounded himself with loyal people, and he refused to believe Seth managed to put a mole into his security team. But no matter how long he looked, he didn’t see anyone approaching the guardhouse.

“What the hell,” he breathed.

A shadow flickered in the doorway, eclipsing the searchlight leaking from the outside.

“Pick a hand.” Diego bustled in and extended both fists forward, a smug grin playing on his face.

Gustavo glared, refusing to play his games.

“Come on, pick.” He squatted before them, his fists hovering an inch away from Gustavo’s face.

With a weak slap, Gustavo averted Diego’s hands away. “I’m not in the mood. Spill it.”

“You are no fun,” Diego replied with a snort, seized Gustavo’s hand, and dropped four tiny screws on his palm. “They were jammed.”

“Not possible.” The IT guy shook his shaggy head, yanking the laptop away from Gustavo, and nesting it on his knees again. “I don’t see anyone sabotaging them.”

He tore off his glasses, rubbed the lenses with the hem of his shirt, then put the glasses back.

Gustavo examined the tiny golden screws shining on his palm. He chuckled, flipped them in his hand, then pocketed them. “Show me again, on slow now. Let’s go in a reverse way from the moment the cameras were jammed; maybe we will notice something. He can’t be invisible, can he? Someone put the screws there.”

The front cameras above the door stopped working almost simultaneously.

“He did it from the roof,” Gustavo said. “Let’s watch the other cameras. Where did he climb?” The view switched, and Gustavo leaned into the screen. “Wait… What’s this?”

His finger outlining the translucent rectangle made the IT guy cringe. The man wrapped his shirt over his fist and rubbed the screen where Gustavo’s finger had pressed to the image.

“A glitch?” he said, more annoyed than he should have been when talking to his boss. “Cameras sometimes do that.”

“It wasn’t there before. Look.” Not offended at all, Gustavo slapped the man’s hand away from the touchpad and winded the footage backward. “Any more glitches like this? Could it be he cut himself out of the footage?”

“I found no signs of a break-in into the server room. Our firewalls didn’t register an intrusion.” Diego butted in as he bent over the screen and looked at the footage from above.

“Could he have used the guard’s key?” Gustavo said.

“The guards don’t have keys for the server room. Also, the log doesn’t show anyone entering.” Diego replied.

“Watch the footage again, on slow now. Find me all the glitches like this, combine them, and send them over to my email. Now.” Gustavo got up, ran his palms down his pants to smooth the wrinkles, then strolled out of the server room. “Let’s see about that dog now.”

Only two hours later,after completing the whole round and visiting every facility to assess the damage, Gustavo entered his office. The wind washed over his face and flipped through the papers scattered over his desk. His feet rooted to the ground. He never left the windows open overnight. Every nerve strained, he scrutinized the displays and furniture, looking for signs of foreign presence.

A movement from behind hauled his attention to Diego, then to the direction he was staring. In the empty frame that had held “The Storm on the Sea of Galilee”, a note written in red hung on the wall.

“Return what’s mine, or I’ll take what’s yours.”

Gustavo’s feet brought him closer. With a firm hand, he tore the frame off the wall, undid the molding. The wooden stretcher had accurate holes left from removed staples. Bringing the sheet closer, he examined the strained writing as if Seth tried too hard for every letter to be readable. Gustavo’s nose twitched as he smelled tomatoes again.

Laughter broke out of his chest. Violent spasms thrashed his lungs, preventing him from catching his breath. Swishing noises filled the air wiped his leaking eyes with the back of his hand then pressed his palms against his knees.

Diego stared at him with a serious, questioning expression. “What’s so funny?”

Gustavo managed a croak, “Marinara.”

“He could have killed you. More importantly, he could have killed someone else.”

“But he didn’t.” Gustavo rubbed the corner of the note with his thumb, chuckled again.

“God knows why.”

The door to the office flew open and Hans, wearing only gray sweatpants, stormed in. His electric-blue eyes settled on Diego, then on the empty frame in Gustavo’s hands, until he finally looked at his lover.

“What the hell happened? What’s with your face?” His upper lip curled up. He frowned then swallowed. “Everyone is rushing around, but no one tells me a thing.”

“Oh, nothing happened. A mad horse kicked him in the face.” Diego didn’t bat an eye. “We went riding today. Tried to wake you up, but you had a hard-on and moaned so sweetly, so we left you to your slutty dreams.”

“I don’t like riding anyway. Horses stink.” Hans threw a glance at the front of his pants and pulled the waistband away to check his trunks for sticky spots. Diego burst out laughing. Gustavo bit on the inner side of his cheek to hold back his own laughter.

“Oh, you don’t?” Diego circled the young man, wound his arm around his bare shoulder, but his gaze remained locked with Gustavo’s. “Too bad, we are about to go and put down that mad horse, aren’t we, Gustavo? Would you fancy a grilled horse for supper?”

Hans gagged, stuck out his tongue, and shook Diego’s arm off. “I have to go to the campus. And…” He noticed the empty frame in Gustavo’s hands. “What happened to the painting?”

“It’s being restored.” Following Diego’s example, Gustavo smiled, his voice droned. He turned to the desk, put the frame and the note on it before Hans could read it, then faced his lover again.

Electric-blue eyes flickered from side-to-side surveying Gustavo’s face; Hans’ upper lip twitched and revealed his rounded teeth, bringing an unmistakable expression of disgust. “You need to do something about this…” His finger flew up and outlined his own mouth and nose. “You look terrible. You know what; I need to prepare for the tests. I’ll text you later. Sorry, I can’t stand the sight of blood.”

He shivered and fled the room.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t blame Hans,” Diego remarked.

Gustavo faced his reflection. In the middle of his battered face, his bloody nose swelled, a sharp horizontal line cutting across the bridge. At either side of it, red and blue bruises trimmed his bloodshot eyes. The dried blood around his mouth looked like an open wound. He sharply remembered the gun’s butt rushing to his nose and the blooming pain followed by the darkness. He blinked, then laughed, “The fucker broke my nose.”

“And you just got dumped. You know, you have terrible taste in men,” Diego crooned.

“Well, I have to agree. There was a moment when I thought you were cute.”

“You were thinking I’m cute?” Diego pressed a palm to his chest in a theatrical gesture. “Thank you!”

“Yes, for a split second, but then you opened your mouth.”

“Fuck you!” Diego snorted, approaching the desk. “Anyway, Mayr should have taken Hans instead of the painting, don’t you think? Would’ve solved both your problems at once.”

“Shut up and pass me a wet towel.” Gustavo shook his head but didn’t stop chuckling. “How did he do it? Fucking magic…”

Diego circled the room, opened a small fridge hidden behind one of the light displays and pulled out the ice bucket. After throwing a few cubes into a terry-cloth towel, he delivered it to Gustavo.

A headache kicked in with the first brush of ice. Gustavo moaned, slumped into the chair, and rested back staring at the ceiling.

“Shouldn’t you see a doctor?” Diego’s voice cracked with laughter. “Just for the record, if you die from this, I’ll still count it as a murder.”

“Fuck you.” Gustavo spun in the chair, and the room drifted. He closed his eyes to contain nausea, but it only aggravated. “Better say, how did he do this when he never left his villa? Did he hire someone?”

Diego’s phone chimed. Without replying, he stared at the blue screen. His brows did funny flips.

“What?”

“We have the first chemical report turned up. Presumably, it’s Halothane, a medical anesthetic previously used for induction and maintenance of general anesthesia. It’s mostly out of use due to the severe side effects.”

“Where did he get it?” Gustavo nasalized against the towel.

“Hmm, let’s check.” Diego shrugged. His finger poked the screen a few times before he snorted. “He robbed a medicine delivery truck. I see it in the news. He’s pretty photogenic, don’t you think?”

Extending his hand, Diego showed a blurry photograph of a slender man dressed in a delivery uniform. Black hair sticking from under the baseball cap and a sharp chin that could belong to anyone, but something in the way the man carried himself allowed Gustavo to identify Seth.

“How could he rob the delivery truck when he never left his home?” Gustavo frowned, and the remaining part of the thought they said at the same time. “He has another exit.”

Silence stretched, interrupted only by a glass clinking as Diego fixed himself a drink. He pulled a lollipop out of his pocket, tore the wrapper, and stirred the vermouth with the candy before draining his drink in one go. “So, what are you going to do?”

For a long moment, Gustavo kept silent. When he spoke again, his voice had a weird twang he didn’t notice before.

Diego’s lips twitched. He shoved the sucker into his mouth and his cheek bulged. “You should really see a doctor.”

“His house is on the hill, right? Put eyes on every road leading from it.”

“You aren’t serious. He almost killed you tonight. As your friend and lieutenant, I’m morally obligated to advise you to either kill him or exchange the body for the painting.”

Gustavo’s gaze gravitated to the empty place where his favorite painting hung only yesterday. “He didn’t kill anyone. Not even a dog. Don’t you find it weird?”

“I think I’m way past trying to analyze either of you.”

“And the knots he used to tie Hans. Did you notice? The whole Shibari thingy resembled a hammock. He even supported Hans’ neck. I wonder if it was not to cause harm. God, I wish I didn’t listen to you and took pictures.”

“These pictures?” Diego replied with an innocent smile as he showed Gustavo his phone. On it, Hans dangled in the air swathed in ropes. “I took them before waking you up.”

“You fucker, and you dared to guilt trip me?”

“Yeah, that was fun.” His innocent grin turned wicked.

“Give them to me.” Gustavo sat forward; the ice lost the connection with his nose as he brought both fists to the desk and reinforced his order with a glare. “Now.”

“Umm, I don’t think so.” There was something sly in the reluctant stretch of Diego’s arms, something that brought him the additional similarity to a fox.

“No?” Gustavo cocked a brow. “Why did you take them then?”

“Why? To blackmail you, of course. Now, do what I say, or I’ll send them to Hans. If you are nice enough, I might even feel generous and give them to you too.”

“You are walking on thin ice.”

Diego grinned. “Fine, I’m not heartless. Of course, I won’t give them to you for free, but I might sell them for the right price or exchange them for something.”

“What could you possibly want?” Gustavo narrowed his eyes, hating this bargain. “Don’t I pay you enough?”

“Oh, it’s not about money.” Diego grinned. “It’s about winning your money.”

“What do you want, you leech?”

“That horse you bought two months ago. The cremello Akhal-Teke² stallion.”

“Are you for real? I love this horse.” Gustavo growled.

“Oh, it seems to me that you don’t want Hans’ pictures. It’s okay; I’ll keep them.”

“Why do you even want the horse? You are scared of horses.”

“I’m not scared of them. I respect them; it’s different. I might not ride it, but I will watch it graze and run and stomp people with its murderous hooves.”

“Diego, trust me, you don’t need a horse. You don’t even have stables. I have a great pony. It’s a very gentle creature, and it doesn’t have teeth. Take the pony, and we have a deal.” Gustavo slammed his fist against the table, hoping that intimidation and the voice of reason would influence his friend.

“Mention the fucking pony again, and I’ll raise the price.” A mad glint settled in the tawny eyes. Diego raised his chin, and the lollipop stick moved from one side of his mouth to the other.

“Fucker.” Gustavo glared. “Fine, but you don’t only send me the pictures; you delete all the copies. Do that, and the horse is yours.”

Diego’s jaw dropped. A sucker nearly escaped his mouth. “Wow… You are really desperate. This guy got into your head. You know I would have eventually given them to you for free, right? But thank you for your generosity. I humbly accept your gift.”

Gustavo’s knuckles cracked as he got up, arms pressing into the desk. “You know what? I shall exchange you for the painting.”

“I’m afraid I’m not to Mayr’s liking.”

Gustavo rolled up his shirt sleeves then moved toward his friend. “Let’s see about that.”

Their phones chimed simultaneously, then again and again, choking his attack in its embryonic stage. They exchanged glances.

Diego unlocked his screen first. “Hmm… Someone just paid Mayr a visit. He was allowed in.”

Intrigued, Gustavo pulled his phone out of his pants pocket.

“Who is that?” On the screen, an older man caressed Seth’s pale cheek with his palm. “A lover?”

“Oh, don’t make such a face.” Interest in his phone lost, Diego’s peered at him. “So what if he is? It would only mean Mayr is into older men. Isn’t it great news? You have a chance, after all.”

What face?Gustavo glanced at the mirrored display to meet a deep frown cutting between his thick brows. His bloodshot eyes glared above the broken nose, reminding him that Hans ditched him and now he wouldn’t have sex for at least a week. Anger stirred. A lover, huh? Now that wouldn’t be fair, would it?

Forcing his forehead to relax, he said, “Don’t speak nonsense. I’m not jealous.”

“I didn’t say you are. You did.” Diego wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his black jacket, hiding a grin.

“You are having too much fun with this,” Gustavo lowered his voice, but even the warning glare didn’t rob Diego’s face of merriment.

Chuckling, he breathed, “You have no idea,” and shuffled to the other side of the office. Sounds of a crunched candy filled the air.

Gustavo shook his head, then looked at the picture of the elder man touching Seth’s cheek. In his early fifties, the man had a thick waist, powerful arms, and he wore a gentle but attentive expression.

A pang of envy pierced his heart. Just like that, someone was allowed into Seth’s house when he could only imagine what it looked like. Gustavo had always assumed that Seth hated physical contact, but on the picture, his face was relaxed; his neck didn’t cord. Does your lover know what you do for fun, Loco?

“They are leaving,” Diego interrupted his thoughts.

“Leaving?” Not sure how to react, Gustavo kept his face neutral.

Diego’s quick fingers tapped the screen, his forehead furrowed. “Yes, Mayr got into his car. On a rear seat. Are you relieved?”

“Would you stop? Instead of rending the air, make sure they are followed.”

Diego opened his mouth to retort, but another chime anchored his attention to his cellphone. “Oh, what do we have here… He is a doctor, a fifty-four-year-old physician, David Haas. He has a private hospital outside the city. Looks like they’re heading that way.”

“A doctor? Is Loco hurt?”

“How do I know?”

“Hmm…” Gustavo got to his feet; Diego looked up. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“You said I should see a doctor. I’m going to follow your advice.” Gustavo grinned.

“Huh? I’m not sure if I should be relieved or suspicious. Tell me which one.” Diego skirted the bar, one brow lifted.

Gustavo laughed, grabbed his jacket, and strolled out of the office.