Ruthless Regret (Ruthless Games Duology #2)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

ZAIN

The moment the deputy drives off, and I’m finally alone, the air around me changes.

I’ve been alone a few times since being released. But not like this. Even at the hotel, while I was alone in my room, there were other people around. The security detail Peter hired, hotel staff, people staying in other rooms.

This is different.

There isn’t a single other person in the house or on the grounds. I’m alone. Completely alone. And the silence sets me on edge.

It means I have no way to avoid the thoughts in my head.

For the first time since I set my plan into motion, I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing. From the second my verdict was announced, my mind has been in overdrive. I had a mental checklist of all the things I needed to do, and I’ve been completely focused on that … and now, that list has collapsed.

I rub a hand down my face, and walk back into the house.

I thought forcing Ashley to marry me and making her experience the things I had to live through would be enough.

I thought that making her pay for every single one of those fourteen years I spent rotting in prison would bring me closure.

I thought that marrying her would be the perfect revenge. A way to reclaim the life she stole from me.

But watching her walk out didn’t feel like a win. It felt like losing control. Again.

She thinks I’m even more of a monster now. And maybe she’s right. Maybe somewhere during my incarceration I lost touch with the person I was before.

I laugh. There’s no maybe about that. I did lose touch with who I was. I had to, just to survive.

But it doesn’t change the fact that I blackmailed her into marrying me. I manipulated her into signing a contract that I know won’t stand up in court. I wanted her to suffer, to feel the weight of everything I lost because of her.

But somehow over the last twenty-four-hours, I stopped seeing her as someone I needed to destroy, and started seeing her as another victim in this whole fucked up mess.

And no matter how much I try, I can’t fucking stop seeing the expression on her face before she left. She looked at me like I’m the villain in her story. And I am. I fucking know I am.

But she’s not innocent either. She put me away. She took everything from me. I can’t forget that.

I sigh. Why am I still hanging onto that line?

Because it’s all I have.

No, that’s not true. It’s all I had .

Everything has changed, and not just because we had sex. It changed last night. It all changed in that moment where I thought she was going to fall down the stairs.

I walk through to the kitchen, and stop in front of the back door and its shattered window, so I can stare out into the yard beyond.

That masked bastard who attacked her is still out there somewhere. Someone went after her , and not me.

The memory of the knife in the attacker’s hand flashes through my mind again. The way it glinted in the light. The way it felt when I thought I wouldn’t get to her in time.

It was like something inside me snapped.

I spin away from the door and pace the floor.

This wasn’t part of my plan.

I was going to take everything from her. Make her feel the way I felt all those years ago, when I sat in the courtroom and realized my life was over.

I’m not supposed to have feelings for her. I wasn’t supposed to sleep with her. I wasn’t supposed to fucking like her.

Everything is spiraling out of fucking control.

The way she looked at me fills my vision again. The hurt in her eyes when she realized what I’d done. How I put her on camera, out there for the world to see.

I should have told her. Should have warned her that I was going to do it. But I didn’t. I was too focused on winning, too obsessed with making her feel vulnerable, and exposed. Too confident that announcing our marriage would force people to acknowledge that I’m not a murderer.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the image of her on the ground, her assailant standing over her, the way she screamed.

It shouldn’t matter to me.

But it fucking does. And I need to stop pretending it doesn’t.

I turn around, and cross the room so I can drop onto a chair.

I should be thinking about the bigger picture, about who was hiding behind the mask. But all I can think about is her . Her voice. Her touch. Her body.

The sex.

Fuck .

I’ve spent the last five days telling myself that this is about revenge. Show her that she can’t continue living her life, free from blame. But every time I get near her, it’s like I lose my fucking mind.

Every plan I make, every step I take, unravels.

I didn’t think I could ever feel anything but hatred for her … and it was easy when she was just a name, and not a warm-blooded woman who touched me like I wasn’t a monster.

And now, all I can fucking think about is how her skin felt beneath my hands. How her lips tasted.

How … just for one fucking moment … I felt normal.

And that, right there, is what I’m trying to avoid thinking about.

The sound of my cell phone filling the silence claims my attention. I glance around, spot it on the table, and snatch it up, relieved at the reprieve from the thoughts demanding attention.

“What?”

“Did you check your email yet?” Rook doesn’t waste any time with pleasantries.

“What?” I frown, and then the memory of the call that brought us back to the house settles in my mind. “Oh. Not yet. Things got a little complicated.”

“Complicated how ?”

I explain what happened, missing out the part where I had sex with Ashley. When I fall silent, Rook doesn’t reply. I clench my jaw.

“This doesn’t feel like it was a spur of the moment thing, Rook.”

“It could be a random home invasion. Coincidences do happen sometimes.” Rook’s voice makes it clear what he thinks about coincidences.

I blow out a breath. “I don’t think it’s random. Whoever grabbed Ashely could have killed her. They didn’t need to drag her out of the house. They wanted me to see them. This feels more personal than a home invasion.”

“Then I guess you did what you wanted with the interview. You’ve caught someone’s attention.”

“Which makes me all the more determined to find out who it is, and bring them to justice.”

“You thought you knew who it was. All evidence pointed toward them.”

“Maybe they have an accomplice. A way to redirect attention.”

“Do you think so? It’s an angle we could look at.”

I sigh. “No, I don’t. It wouldn’t make sense.”

“Look,” Rook’s voice is careful. “Are you sure this is about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. If this is someone going after Ashley, maybe it’s not because of you. Maybe there are things about her that you don’t know about.”

I’m upright and pacing again, my mind tossing possible scenarios around.

What if there is something more? What if she knows something that she hasn’t shared? What if it’s another one of those repressed memories like not remembering her initial interview? What if she knows who the murderer is, and just doesn’t remember?

“Zain? Are you still there?”

My grip tightens on the phone. “I’m here. I’m just thinking. What did Knight send me?”

“The unsanitized case files. Interviews with neighbors, police reports, crime scene reports. It took some digging to find them, but it appears that the files used in the trial had been heavily edited. He said he’s happy to run an investigation of his own, if you want him too, but he thought you might like to see everything he has.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Yeah.”

“There are photographs.” There’s a warning in Rook’s voice.

“I doubt there’s anything I haven’t seen before.”

“Maybe not, but I’m still going to suggest caution when you look. It’s been a long time.”