Ruthless Regret (Ruthless Games Duology #2)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

ASHLEY

“What are you two doing here?” I untangle myself from Jessa-Mae and Karla’s arms, take a step back, and frown at them. “I told you I’d call you in a few days.”

It’s Jessa who answers me.

“Did you really think we were going to let you disappear without finding out what’s going on? You quit your job, move out, break up with Scott, and then drop the bombshell that you’re hooking up with someone … and you’ve been gone less than a week!”

“We needed to make sure you haven’t been abducted by aliens and replaced by a clone,” Karla adds once Jessa runs out of breath.

“Aliens?”

“Then when we get here your mom is watching an interview with the guy you told us you helped put away for murder, and the next thing we know he’s saying you’re married to him. What the fuck, Ashley?” Jessa takes over again.

“I can explain—” I can’t. Not really.

“Damn right, you can. You can start with being married. I thought you hated him?”

“It’s compli?—”

“And then you can tell us how you got married so fast.”

“Oh my god, you’re not pregnant, are you?”

They both talk at the same time.

“Pregnant, no. If you’ll let me ex?—”

“What’s happened to you since you came back here? You’ve always been the predictable one. I’d expect Karla to announce she’s got married, not you !”

“Shut up and let me speak!”

Both women gape at me.

“There’s no need to shout.” Mom’s voice comes from somewhere behind us. “Your friends are just concerned. We all are.”

I have to fight against the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m going up to my room, taking a shower, and then I’ll come down and answer all your questions.”

I need five minutes to myself. I need time to collect my thoughts, and process what happened over the past couple of hours.

I don’t give any of them time to answer, and walk up the stairs. Once I’m in my room, I lock the door and go over to the window. The deputy’s car is still parked outside, and I can just about make out the shape of him in the driver’s seat. I can’t tell what he’s doing beyond that, but if he hasn’t left yet, then I guess he’s planning to stay there until the sheriff shows up to talk to me.

I pull the curtains closed, plunging the room into darkness, and cross the room to sit on the edge of the bed.

My head is pounding, and my entire body hurts. Neither should surprise me. If anything, it should be more of a shock that I’m still walking and talking like a normal human being. But I’ve had a lot of practice locking things away, separating it in my head, until I’m ready to deal with it.

I need to stand up. I need to take a shower, and change my clothes. But maybe I’ll just sit here for a second, and give myself a minute to breathe.

Lifting one hand, I push my hair back from my face. The movement pulls at my shoulder. The shoulder I’d hurt running from Zain … Was that only yesterday? The pain brings all the thoughts I’m holding back to the fore.

A tremor rocks through me.

A stranger grabbed me. They had a knife. What was their intention? Kidnap or kill? Why? Who were they?

I stare down at my hands, where they’re resting on my knees. And my eyes catch and lock on the wedding ring.

I’m married .

To Zain Ryder.

To my brother’s best friend.

To the man I was convinced murdered him.

How the hell did I get into this mess?

I should never have come back to town. I should have stayed in New York, with my friends. Zain would have found it harder to railroad me into doing what he wanted if I’d had my friends around me.

Would he have even bothered to try and find me? I set myself up as a target.

Twisting the ring off my finger, I throw it across the room. It hits the wall, bounces over the carpet, and rolls beneath the bed.

Why did I sleep with him?

That’s easy to answer.

He’s kept me so off-balance since our very first meeting, that my emotional responses are all over the place.

If you hadn’t been at the house today, would the intruder have surprised Zain? Would they have killed him?

The image of him bleeding out on the kitchen floor sends a chill up my spine.

Why do you care? He’s done everything he can to torture you for the past three days.

That’s another easy one.

Because since seeing the recording of my interview, I can’t deny the fact that I’m responsible for all those years he’s lost. For the reputation he’s gained. For the way his life has been ruined.

Because watching his interrogation and seeing the confusion and despair on the face of that twenty-year old boy—and he was a boy—broke my heart.

Is that why I slept with him? Out of guilt?

No. I wasn’t thinking about our shared past at all.

He didn’t guilt you into having sex. You’re attracted to him. Which is fucked up. Which means you’re fucked up.

No matter what he’s done to me, or what I’ve caused him … there is an attraction there that’s hard to ignore. And that’s why I slept with him.

But I won’t be doing it again.

I push to my feet. I need to have that shower. Wash the smell of him off my skin.

Stripping out of my clothes, I go into the bathroom, and step into the shower. Head tipped back, I let the heated water fall over me. It’s soothing, easing the tension in my muscles. But the more my body relaxes, the more the thoughts swirl through my mind, making it harder to stop reliving the moment where I walked into Zain’s kitchen to find a stranger standing there.

Before I can stop myself, I’m on my knees, face buried into my palms, and crying. Harsh, gulping sobs that make my entire body shake with the force of them.

Someone tried to kill me.

Kill me. Why? What did I do? Was I just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Were they there for Zain? Was I just in the way?

The questions spin on a loop in my head. I don’t have an answer, not one that makes sense anyway.

When I finally get my emotions under control, and my sobs become quieter, I drag myself to my feet, wash, and turn off the water.

It’s time to face my friends. I’ll tell them everything that’s been going on, and then we can get out of here. Go back to New York.

Hide .

No! I’m not hiding. The only way I can make sense of things is to go somewhere where I don’t have to face Zain. Somewhere I can process the last few days.

In fact, before I go back downstairs I’m going to pack my things. I’m going to go back to New York with my friends. I’ll put the last few days behind me, and move on with my life.

I’ve done it before. I can do it again.