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)
I couldn’t catch a proper breath.
Fuck...no.
He can’t be serious.
He wouldn’t cut me again.
Would he?
Looking at me, he added, “Your past ends right now, Aslan. That dreadful tattoo will be removed, and with it, any ideas you can ever return to that life. Your future is bright, and it is here, not there. You are so close to embracing it. I’m not going to waste any more sessions on you. Not when you are ready, and I need you by my side.”
Slicing fear cut through me. “What the hell are you going to do?”
“Çetin. Please tell my heir what is about to happen.”
“Of course, efendim.” The doctor bowed his head and ran a soaked pad all over my arm, wiping my tattoo thoroughly. The sharp whiff of disinfectant shot up my nose, hinting that if my neurons were seared from the thousands of shocks over the past few years, my sense of smell had returned at the worst possible time.
“I will numb the area and then surgically remove the epidermis and dermis layers of your skin. Depending on the size of the removal, I will either apply a skin graft or sew up the ends of the wound. You will have a decent scar after the surgery, but your forearm will no longer bear any ink. You will suffer no ill effects. I give you my word on that as a physician.”
I went deathly cold, glowering at my torturer. “Cem...don’t.”
“I am your father.” Cem crossed his arms. “Address me as such.”
“Baba, please.” I shivered and struggled in the chair, speaking a string of Turkish. “Don’t. Don’t cut me again. I don’t want you to take another part of me. Please.”
I hated that I went straight to begging.
No cursing.
No commanding.
Just straight-up whimpering because if he took my tattoo...if he took Neri from me. Took myself from me.
I had nothing left.
I’d be lost.
Lost and broken and...
Fuck.
He’ll win.
I wouldn’t be able to withstand him.
I-I’ll become his.
“Baba, don’t do this. Take me upstairs. We’ll talk. I’ll listen for once. I promise I’ll—fuck.” I hissed in pain as the sharp stab of a needle pierced my arm.
I thrashed in the chair, but it made no difference. The leather straps had never yielded before, and they didn’t yield now.
I was trapped.
Tied down.
Completely at their fucking mercy.
My pulse skyrocketed as the doctor stabbed me repeatedly, following the edge of my tattoo, administering the numbing drug until my entire arm felt spongy and sluggish and soft.
“No. Fuck. Don’t. I don’t want you to do this. Don’t cut me again. Please.”
“I don’t want to do it either,” Cem whispered. “I considered laser or other ways of removal, but they all take time. And we don’t have time anymore. This is the quickest way to free you. Believe me, causing you pain is the last thing I want to do. I love you, Aslan. With all my heart. I’m only doing this for your protection and future happiness.”
“Fuck you.” My temper snapped, hot and brutal, as the doctor ripped open a scalpel and placed it inside a metal tray beside a stack of gauze and something that looked suspiciously like skin floating in a vial. “I’ll never forgive you for this. No matter how much you break me. No matter how much you think you’ve won, one day...I will remember. I will fight back. I will hunt you, hurt you, and then I will motherfucking kill you.”
Terror tore through me, and I let loose another torrent of filth. “I will rip you apart, Cem Kara. I will dismantle your empire. I will slaughter your men. I will piss on your bones and dance on your grave. I will fucking end you.”
“I appreciate your fury, Aslan. You are living up to your name quite well, but...you will never hurt me.” He sighed heavily. “Want to know why?” His eyes flashed. “Because I have never failed at this. Not once. And I will not fail my only son. This is the beginning of us, Aslan. This is the beginning of everything.”
Nodding at the doctor, he ordered, “Do it.”
Memories of passing out just before they hacked off my leg ploughed into me.
The helplessness.
The tragic awful powerlessness.
That was the worst part.
Knowing my body wasn’t mine.
My mind wasn’t mine.
My life was theirs, and they could do whatever they damn well wanted.
“Fuck you!” I screamed as the knife traced the outline of my lion’s mane, tugging and pulling but painless. “Fuck all of you!”
No one replied.
My blood plopped onto the floor.
I kept on screaming as my siren was slowly peeled off me.
*
Three years...
*
“I spoke to Nerida tonight. It seems she’s formed a habit of calling me each year on the anniversary of your death.” Cem chuckled as he finished buckling the leather around my left arm.
My eyes locked on the ugly scar where my tattoo used to be.