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Five men all dressed in black.
“Freeze!” one of them yelled. “Stay right there.”
Cem let loose a stream of Turkish curses before snatching my arm and dragging me into the closest room. Slamming the door closed, he looked for something to wedge beneath the handle, but the only thing in the vast space was a massive stone table holding the biggest vase of flowers I’d ever seen.
I’d been in here once before, and it was pointless. I didn’t know what it was used for. Just another example of too much wealth. Too much space to be given an actual purpose.
“Fuck,” Cem hissed. Dragging me to the back of the room, the bay window revealed more shadowy men slinking over the manicured box hedges outside.
Without a word, he shoved me against the wall.
Spinning to face the unlocked door, he yanked two guns from the holster hastily strapped over his black nightshirt.
He’d been asleep.
He’d been in bed.
Where were his guards?
“Where is everyone?” I whispered.
“At war,” he panted. His eyes met mine, and in a split-second decision that changed both our lives, he passed me one of his guns.
I froze.
My fingers curled around the weight of it.
The mother-of-pearl handle sat like a glacier in my palm. The healing scar from the blood bind I’d sworn as his heir itched and every single despicable moment of the past five years rose and crashed over me.
I gasped as every pain, every cut, every agony crested, broke, and then washed away.
Leaving me empty like the day he’d broken me.
Pure of mind, escaped from expectation...
Free.
I sucked in the quietest, coldest breath.
I shivered.
Cem didn’t notice, his attention locked on the door. “Shoot anyone who appears. We can kill them if we work together.”
Kill?
Yes, he was good at that.
He’d almost killed me.
He had killed me as far as Neri was concerned.
And now, he’s going after her.
After my daughter.
He’ll brainwash them like he did me.
He’ll torture them.
Hurt them.
Make them doubt their own thoughts and hearts.
He’s your father.
Flesh and blood.
Don’t...
If only he’d had empathy.
If only he’d proven he was a good person beneath the psychotic desire for control. But the small glimpses of kindness he’d shown me didn’t equalise the sheer monstrosity in his soul.
He’d shot that girl as if she was nothing, all while pretending to care about my impotence. He knew all along I had a daughter. He tracked Neri, not because she was the mother to his grandchild, but because she was a pawn that could be used against me.
He didn’t love me.
He manipulated me.
He’s a master.
A master at this game.
A true psychopath, narcissist, and bastard.
He doesn’t care.
About anyone.
My thumb flicked off the safety. My finger feathered over the trigger. Boots came to a stop outside the door.
I have to keep her safe. Keep my wife, daughter, and family safe.
He was not my family.
He was my enemy, masquerading as kin.
Everything paused.
Everything stilled.
Almost in slow motion, men dressed in black with their faces covered and weapons raised, poured into the useless room.
Cem fired and went to push me sideways, but I hopped out of his reach. I dropped my cane. I brought the gun up with both hands. And I locked eyes with my biological father.
I looked into the nightmare that would always exist in my blood thanks to him.
I accepted the darkness that I would never be free from.
And for the longest second, Cem froze.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “But I can’t let you hurt them.”
His eyes met mine with confusion and annoyance only to bleed into blinding shock. “Aslan, don’t—”
I pulled the trigger.
He never got to finish what he would have said.
I was spared from yet another twisted sermon where he made me doubt everything.
The bullet barrelled right between his eyes.
A perfect hit.
A painless kill.
His gaze shot blank.
His legs gave out.
He collapsed at my feet.
Another wave crashed over me.
This one full of fears, questions, and crumbling conditioning.
I killed him.
Fuck, I killed him...
Men pounced on me from the shadows.
Four men grabbed four of my limbs, body slamming me into the ground.
A pistol wedged against my temple as my hands were wrenched behind my back and cold metal was snapped around my wrists.
“You’re under arrest. Do not fucking move, Aslan Kara. Do not move or you’ll die tonight, just like you killed your father.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
*
Aslan
*
(Heart in Hungarian: Szív)
*
Three months later...
I WAS DEAD AND DREAMING...THAT HAD to be the only explanation.
With shaking fingers, I pinched my left arm.
The arm that used to be inked but now just bore a scar.
I hissed beneath my breath as my fingernails dug into my grey long-sleeve shirt and pinched the flesh beneath.
Nope.
Not dreaming.
Not dead, either.
I was here.
In a place I feared I would never be permitted to step foot in again.
My heart skipped a few beats before settling on normal as I fought the sting of caustic tears. The weathered house with its newly replaced roof, sun-bleached fence, single palm tree, and familiar beaten-up Jeep Wrangler in the driveway seemed like something out of my many, many delusions while strapped to that awful chair.
