Ruthless Regret (Ruthless Games Duology #2)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ASHLEY

Karla suggests I try to get some sleep, and heads off to her own bed. I’m not sure I’ll be able to, but I agree. After creeping out to the kitchen to get a glass of water, I climb back into bed, and pull the sheets up to my chin.

I still feel unsettled. The room is too quiet, too still. There’s an odd sense of anticipation in the air, and a weird feeling of dread making my stomach churn … like I’m waiting for something to happen.

And then I hear it.

Tap. Tap. Tap .

The sound is faint at first, and it takes me a second to figure out where it’s coming from.

The window …

I try to recall whether there’s a tree outside, with branches close enough to touch the glass. Because that’s all it is, right?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I sit up, my heart picking up speed.

It’s nothing. Just branches moving in the breeze, and catching on the window.

Tap. Tap. Tap .

I don’t want to move, but I need to check it out. I won’t be able to sleep if I have to listen to that all night long. Throwing back the sheets, I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress, and stand up. The tapping continues, sharper now, demanding my attention.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I cross the floor and stop in front of the window.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Are you going to look? I shouldn’t look.

I’ve seen horror movies. I know what happens. I’ve yelled at the heroine when she does something stupid. But my hand is reaching for the curtain, and I can’t stop it.

My mind is screaming at me not to do it. To go back to bed. To ignore it. I don’t want to see what’s outside, but I can’t stop myself. I have to know.

I yank the curtain open.

There’s nothing there. I can’t see anything. But then, as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see him.

The man from Whitstone. The one who grabbed me.

His face is hidden behind a ski-mask, and in his hand is a knife. My breath catches, and I take a step back, but I can’t move fast enough. He taps the knife against the window, the sound sharp and deliberate.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The glass between us feels too thin, too fragile. I try to take another step back, but my body is frozen. I can’t move. Can’t look away. He raises the knife, and with a single, violent motion, hits the window with the hilt.

The sound of the window smashing is deafening. Shards fly toward me, and I throw my hands up to shield my face. Fingers brush against my arm, and I stumble back, tripping over my feet, as he reaches for me. But I’m too slow. His arm stretches toward me, his eyes locked on mine and then the mask melts away.

My heart stops as his face comes into view. It’s not the man from Whitstone. It’s Jason .

Blood streaks his face, dripping down his neck, and over his shirt. His eyes, once full of life, are now hollow and empty. The blood looks fresh, like it’s been smeared across his cheeks.

“Jason?” My voice trembles.

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are fixed on me. The knife in his hand catches the moonlight as he climbs through the window and stands just inside my bedroom. The blood on his body drips onto the floor, pooling at his feet. He reaches for me again, and I shake my head.

“No. No. This isn’t real.”

He takes another step toward me, and his expression hardens as he lifts the knife. I throw out one hand, and his face changes again.

The blood on his skin fades, and his features blur, shifting into someone else. Someone else I know.

Zain .

Eyes cold, his lips twisting into a cruel smile, he comes toward me. He raises the knife high above his head.

“You thought you could get away from me? You thought you could run?” His voice is low, filled with malice. “You’ll never be free of me.”

I try to scream, but the sound won’t come. I’m paralyzed, trapped, as he comes closer. The knife flashes in the moonlight as he swings it toward me …

… I wake up screaming.

My eyes snap open, my body jerking upright in bed. My heart is racing, throwing itself hard against my ribs, and I sit there, gasping for breath, shaking, cold, but drenched in sweat.

Was it real?

No, it was just a dream.

But it felt so real.

I untangle myself from the sheets, and stand, my body still shaking as I walk toward the window. I hesitate as I reach for the curtain, Jason’s face floating in front of my eyes.

It was just a nightmare!

I pull the curtain open.

Nothing. There’s nothing there.

The street outside is quiet, empty. The window is intact. No shattered glass. No blood. No knife. There’s no one standing outside watching me.

It was just a bad dream .

But the fear is still there. I press my forehead against the glass, trying to slow the rapid beat of my heart.

Jason isn’t here. Zain isn’t here.

But the dream felt too vivid. Too real. The image of Jason, his body covered in blood, his eyes so empty, won’t leave me.

It’s like he’s still here. Like the pain of losing him will never go away.

But it wasn’t Jason who attacked me today. It wasn’t Zain. I know he wasn’t the one who broke into the house.

But seeing him in the dream … It's a reminder that I’ll never be free from the past. I’ll never be free from the mistake I made that caused him to lose his freedom. No matter how far I run, no matter how much I try to escape, that is never going to change.

I turn away from the window and crawl back into bed, but sleep doesn’t come. Every time I close my eyes, I see Jason. And then I see Zain, stepping closer, the knife raised, his voice echoing around my head.

“You’ll never be free of me.”

I know it isn’t real. But I can’t deny there’s an element of truth to his words.

I’m not free. Not from Jason’s death. Not from Zain. No matter what I do, it all still haunts me.