AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I do a quick mental calculation. She would have been pregnant with Emilie if that’s true. I stare at the pictures. She doesn’t look at all like my mother—does she? Tamara’s hair was wavy and brown; my mother’s hair is sleek platinum blond. Both my parents have brown eyes, but then again, both of my parents wear contact lenses. They could be colored contact lenses. My mother’s jawline is a different shape, nose is shorter and snubber, mouth is fuller, her cheekbones higher… but as I stare, I realize it could be possible with a lot of plastic surgery.
And there’s no denying I’m staring into my own face when I look at Robert or, rather, the face I was born with.
He’s not lying.
My mother was crazy and a murderer. My father was once suspected of not only kidnapping her but also other women. He was a suspect in the murder of some man named Baxter Warburton, according to the articles Robert showed me.
I meet his eyes.
He turns the tablet off and slides it back into his briefcase. “We’ve been looking for your family for a while, actually. Your father’s late brother tipped us off about them shortly before dying in prison a couple of years ago.”
“My uncle? The man who kidnapped my mother?” I say, struggling to untangle the many threads of the lies my parents wove.
“That’s the one.”
The gears in my mind spin helplessly. My parents are complete strangers, and I’m cut off from my life because my past was a fairy tale. I feel unmoored, a vessel drifting at sea with no familiar landmarks to steer by. I want to rage at Robert, accuse him of printing up fake articles, but I can’t, not when my own face stares right back at me.
“We did a DNA test on you to be sure after we spotted you in London. Grabbed a coffee cup you threw away at a café,” he tells me. “There’s no doubt about it. You’re one of us.”
“You’re just as fucking insane!” I yell, earning a scowl from the man.
“Quiet,” he hisses. “The last thing you need to do is draw attention.”
I think back through his words, finding myself more unsettled with every tick of the clock.
“You said I’m one of ‘us.’ Who is ‘us’ exactly?”
“We’ll get to that soon enough. But I want you to know something.” His eyes pierce through me. His gaze so intent I have a hard time not squirming under the weight of it. “There’s no reason to be ashamed of what you are.”
What the hell does he know about me?
As if reading my mind, he says, “You have strong urges. You’ve tried without success to suppress those urges. You’ve gone to therapists and taken medication. None of it helped—nor should it have.”
What the fuck.This man knows too much.
“What you are is a natural born ruler, a dominator, a man of superior strength and passions. We’re different from most men, and it’s a privilege, not a burden.”
Every word is vocalized with such conviction, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn it’s his family creed, spoken every morning over coffee.
“Different how?” I say warily
He smiles slyly. “You share certain inclinations with us, shall I say.”
I’m sick of his smug attitude, this man who just blew up my life with his words. “You don’t know me.”
“We know more than you think. We’ve been through the records of your therapist. We know about Dark Desires. We know what you do there.”
At my hostile look, he says, “We’re not judging. It’s a family trait passed down through the men. That, and more.Muchmore.”
I’m furious right now, choking on a lifetime of betrayal, but there’s also a deep, hungry yearning inside me, a need to feel as if I’m not all alone in the world. Could he truly know what goes on in my head? Can he possibly share the same depraved cravings? “Tell me.”
He stands. “Soon. If you’re as much like the rest of us as I think you are, you have an excellent memory.” He recites a phone number. “That phone number is good for one week. Come to the US and call me as soon as you arrive. Don’t travel under your own name. There’s a reason for that. I’ll tell you more when we meet again.”
My eyes never waver from the man as he saunters out of my room as though he didn’t just detonate a bomb. I slump back into the bed, replaying the number over again in my mind, unwilling to forget it. Curiosity wins out.
That afternoon, I check myself out of the hospital against medical advice. That evening, I pack up two suitcases, pay a small fortune to have a fake passport made with a picture of my new face, and buy a first-class ticket to New York City.
CHAPTER6
