Total pages in book: 208
Estimated words: 207002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1035(@200wpm)___ 828(@250wpm)___ 690(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1035(@200wpm)___ 828(@250wpm)___ 690(@300wpm)
Jack stumbled forward; my mind split with so many scenarios.
Of him defending me.
Lying for me.
Implicating himself for me.
My father would learn of his name.
He’d learn of Neri’s name.
He’d come for them, just like he’d come for me.
He’ll kill them.
I choked on death as I held up my hand at Jack, urging him to stop, then straightened my spine and locked down all my pain. “I’ve never seen that man before in my life.”
The guy with thin lips nodded. “That’s because you were kidnapped when you were eight months old. There’s been an international missing person’s report on you for over two decades.”
My heart stopped beating. “I...you’re mistaken. I’m Australian. I—”
“We believe you are Aslan Avci, also known as Aslan Kara. Therefore, you are hereby detained for questioning.”
“What, why? I didn’t do anything wrong—”
“Care to tell us why you’re out here and not in the ward where you’re supposed to be?”
Anger unfurled. “Because you have the wrong person!”
“We believe otherwise. If you are not who we think you are, a simple chat will confirm everything. Don’t be afraid. We are not out to hurt anyone. We merely want to ascertain how you came to Australia, who helped you arrive without any documentation, and inform you that your true family has been looking tirelessly for you since your kidnapping.”
“I told you! You have the wrong person.”
“We do not believe we do. The resemblance is uncanny.”
Jack came closer.
I shook my head at him, desperately trying to figure out how to talk my way out of this. “I know who my true family is. And that man is not one of them.”
“Oh? What are their names?” One of the officers ripped out a small notebook. “Where are they currently?”
“They’re dead,” I snarled.
People glanced at us and scurried away as if our negativity could reach out and touch them. Jack balled his hands a few metres away, watching everything, his face a mask of horror.
“If that’s the case, then you can clear up this misunderstanding by coming with us.”
“I don’t have to go anywhere with you,” I hissed. “I’m not whoever you think I am.”
One of the men held up the image of Cem Kara beside my face. All four men looked between me and my father. I hid the shattering pain inside me because the photo turned into a mirror. A mirror image of me and the man who would kill me. The man who had so much blood and violence on his hands. A man who’d impregnated a nameless woman to create me.
Our black eyes were the same.
Our sharp cheekbones, straight noses, hard jawlines, and stern lips.
The only difference was our hair. His was darker and swept back with product. Mine was sun-bronzed and unruly.
“You look exactly like Cem Kara.” The officer lowered the photo. “If the reason for that is a fluke of nature, then we apologise. But for now, we request you come with us.”
“And if I refuse?”
“You’ll be arrested.”
“For what? For leaving the hospital early?” I bared my teeth. “Look, I just want to go home.”
“We only want the same thing.” The thin-lipped guy stepped closer. “Mr. Kara, we are under the impression that you are here illegally. Either you were kidnapped and smuggled into our country when you were a boy and none of this is your fault, or you knowingly broke our immigration laws by arriving without documentation. Either way, we need to talk.”
One of the men whispered into his colleague’s ear.
The thin-lipped guy nodded. “Look, if you have ID and can prove you are not Aslan Kara, we will apologise and bid you a good day.” His eyes glinted. “But if you cannot provide us with ID, we are legally required to bring you in for questioning.”
I struggled to breathe. I cursed my empty pockets. I hated that I’d never tried to purchase fake identification or at least stolen an Australian driver’s license that I could pass off as my own.
The world fell out from beneath me.
Horror.
Fear.
Despair.
A shorter guy with buzzed black hair stepped forward. “So...do you? Have any ID to prove you are not the kidnapped son of Cem Kara?”
My morphine-muddled mind raced.
I quaked.
Every stitch, every crack, every fracture, it was all too much.
My grip on my temper threatened to unravel.
Bloodthirsty rage settled with its familiar red haze over my eyes.
I could fight.
I could run—
“I, eh...I lost my wallet in the car accident.”
The thin-lipped guy’s face lit up. “The car accident where a Peter Smithe drove into you? The accident where you sustained stitches to your left shoulder, cracked ribs, and possible hip fracture?”
“I—”
“It was Peter Smithe who advised law enforcement of your name. The name your girlfriend yelled.” His eyes narrowed as he consulted something on his phone. “A Nerida Taylor, I believe?”
My world shrank to nothing.
Just this.
Just now.
Just this choice, this decision, this one fucking chance at protecting her.