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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.
