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An acquaintance escorting me to my death.
Tearing my gaze off his slack jaw as he snoozed, I focused on my homeland again.
It’d been so long.
Too long.
Homesickness slammed into me. Memories of my family’s house in Izmir crowded me. Flavours of my mother’s cooking and the scents of the spice markets all swirled with the awful knowledge that I might be home, but this wasn’t where I belonged.
Not anymore.
I belonged with Neri.
Back there.
Far, far away.
Twenty hours, two plane rides, and a nightmarish week of unendurable separation between us.
They didn’t even let me call her to say goodbye.
That was the part I couldn’t stomach.
It was an open wound.
A festering disease.
I didn’t know how long I’d remain a free man once the plane landed, but I had no intention of dying without hearing her perfect voice one last time.
The moment I cleared customs and Roger completed his task at placing me firmly back into Turkey, I was running.
He might have escorted me out of Australia. I might have been given a temporary right to fly, guided through the transit lounge in Dubai like a criminal, and kept guarded as we waited for our connecting flight, but according to him, I was a free man the moment I stepped foot into Istanbul.
Therefore, I would run as a free man.
I would run on a healing hip and do my best to breathe around cracked ribs.
Perversely, I was grateful for the week I’d been held as it’d given my body time to heal. The pain was still there. Stitches still held my torn shoulder together. And my head still pounded from being split open, but...I wasn’t as weak as I had been when Jedda had tried to help me escape. I wasn’t as afraid as I’d been when I’d screamed at Jack to go away.
I had strength.
I had speed.
I’m ready.
“Damn, how long have I been out?” Roger smacked his lips and shifted in the uncomfortable aircraft seat. Cricking his neck, he yawned and leaned over me to look at the view. “Pretty place. Pity I didn’t have any annual leave. Would’ve been keen for a weekend to explore.”
I studied the growing buildings and tried to see my birthplace through a stranger’s eyes. Ancient blended with modern. Tradition braided with metropolitan. Out of all the countries in the world, this one was the richest in artefacts, history, and culture. “A weekend would be pointless. You could spend a year here and still miss out on everything Turkey has to offer.”
He huffed and stretched his arms above his head. “Guess I’ll have to come back some time and have you be my tour guide then.”
My shoulders stiffened. My eyes narrowed. “You know what I told you about Cem Kara. I’ll be lucky to survive until dawn.”
He dropped his arms. “You keep claiming he’ll kill you, but...he’s your father. Why would he use all his clout and power to find you? Why would he call every day checking on your welfare? Why would he pull strings to get you home as soon as possible, fight to waive all criminal charges against you, and then agree to personally be responsible for your arrival if he didn’t care about you?”
Roger yawned again and scratched his five o’clock shadow. “Forgive me, Aslan, but I think you’ve been fed stories by the people who stole you and now those stories have morphed into unfounded nightmares—”
“You see the businessman online. You talk to the fake persona on the phone. But you don’t know him. Not really. It’s a front. A mask. A disguise he’s spent decades perfecting.”
“No one can be that meticulous or fake the level of joy at hearing you’ve been found.” Roger whistled under his breath. “Just think if the driver hadn’t confessed your name, you would’ve spent another decade lost in a country that isn’t your own.”
My cracked ribs felt as if they’d shattered.
Another decade with Neri.
Ten years of loving her, being with her...being free.
I tried to speak around the howling loss. “I refused to give my name for this very reason.” I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose.
This argument was getting old.
Frankly, I had no more patience or energy to try and make them see the truth.
What was the point?
I’d lost.
Cem had won.
My father had built himself a fan club within Australian immigration, and each time I tried to make them see the truth, I was looked at as if I was a stupid little boy who’d been brainwashed by the smugglers who’d stolen me.
I hated that they spoke the Avci name as if it were a curse word.
I cursed them for believing Kara wasn’t a monster.
Gathering my weary strength, I said, “I’ll say this one last time and perhaps you’ll remember it when you try to find me to be your tour guide and learn that I died mere hours after you brought me here.”
