Ruthless Regret (Ruthless Games Duology #2)

Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ASHLEY

Another night. Another nightmare. But this one is different from the night before. It’s like I’m watching a scene of a play from a seat in the audience … and yet I’m living through it at the same time.

Instead of the man with a knife coming for me; instead of Jason’s bloody face, or Zain’s cold eyes; I’m the one being arrested for my brother’s murder. My hands are bound, wrists raw from the cuffs digging into my skin, and I’m screaming, trying to make myself heard.

I’m standing in the middle of the room—the same room where Jason and Louisa were murdered—and instead of Zain, it’s me they’re looking at.

Me!

They think I did it. The air is thick with the scent of blood and terror, and the only sound is my voice pleading with them to listen to me. But no one does. It’s as though they can’t hear me.

There’s a man standing just behind the police officers, grinning at me like this is all some kind of sick game to him. His laughter echoes through the room, chilling and twisted. I point at him, my hands now free, and scream it was him, that I saw him. But no one listens, no one looks, no one sees him. No one except me.

“Please,” I beg. “He’s right there. Can’t you see him?”

They ignore me, pulling me away, their grips hard, their faces cold. I fight to stay in the room, but it’s useless. Every time I meet the man’s gaze, he grins wider, eyes mocking me. His mouth moves, whispering something, but I can’t hear him.

Movement out of the corner of my eye shifts my attention, and I turn my head to see Zain kneeling by Jason’s body, head lowered, shoulders shaking. Blood smears the floor beneath him, pooling around Jason’s body. For a second Zain lifts his head and his eyes meet mine. He looks so lost, so broken . His fingers are clenched into fists, and his face is white, as he stares at me out of dark, grief-filled eyes.

“Why? Why would you say it was me?” His voice is rough, filled with a mixture of rage and despair.

I try to speak, to shout that I didn’t know. That I didn’t know it wasn’t him. That I didn’t know there was someone else there, but my voice is gone. I can’t find the words. I can’t explain. My throat is locked up so tight I can barely breathe.

“You let me rot in a prison cell for something I didn’t do.” Zain’s eyes, dark and accusing, burn into mine. His voice cuts through me like a blade.

“I didn’t know,” I try to say.

The man in the corner of the room laughs again, louder this time, mocking my helplessness.

I struggle harder against the hands pulling me toward the door.

“Please! You have to listen.”

The officers’ faces remain expressionless, blank.

I’m just another criminal being dragged to my fate.

Zain doesn’t move from where he’s crouched over Jason’s body. His grief is palpable, his face twisted into a mixture of pain and betrayal. His hands, now coated in Jason's blood, shake as he reaches out toward me.

“Why? Why Ashley? You could have stopped this from happening. You could have told the truth.”

His voice rings in my ears, accusing, damning . I try to speak again, but my throat constricts tighter. The laughter from the man echoes louder, growing more distorted, the shadows around him shifting, stretching toward me like they’re alive, ready to consume me.

I’m dragged through the door, the darkness wrapping itself around me.

The sound of metal slamming shut echoes through the darkness, which fades and leaves me standing in front of a cell door. I’m trapped inside, staring out, watching the man as he stands just outside the bars, still laughing. His smile stretches unnaturally wide as he holds up a set of keys, dangling them just out of reach … taunting me.

“No one’s coming to save you.” His voice is a deep, sinister whisper that crawls down my spine.

“You let this happen.” Zain’s voice floats in the air toward me. “You saw him and stayed silent.”

My eyes snap open, my heart pounding, the echo of his laughter still ringing in my ears.

It takes me a minute to remember where I am. In New York. In the house I share with my friends. In the safety of my bedroom. I’m in my bed, not at the murder scene.

The nightmare clings to me like a second skin. I’m shaking, my teeth are chattering, and I sit up, pressing my hands to my face. The panic is harder to fight against this time, harder to break free from.

I was living through a warped version of the nightmare Zain went through—locked away for something I didn’t do, no one willing to listen to the truth.

And it terrifies me.

What did I do? What did I do to him?

Pushing the covers off, I stand up. My room feels too small, too stifling, like the walls are inching closer the longer I stay still. Walking over to the window, I crack it open, so I can breathe in the fresh air. The familiar view of the street grounds me, reminding me that I’m not trapped.

I’m not the girl in the nightmare. It was just a dream.

I repeat the words over and over, hoping they’ll sink in. Hoping they’ll drown out the fear gnawing at my insides. But they don’t. I’m still shaking, still hearing that man’s twisted laughter, still seeing Zain’s eyes staring through me.

What if it wasn’t just a nightmare? What if it’s my mind trying to tell me something? Something I don’t remember?

I turn away from the window, run a hand through my hair, and take a deep breath. It’s too early to freak out like this. I need to get through the day, and I can’t do that if I keep spiraling. Letting fear control me isn’t an option.

I’ll make a cup of tea, then take a shower and get dressed. Doing normal things worked for me yesterday. If I do it again, maybe my brain will eventually accept that I’m back in New York, back to my normal routines.

Decision made, I grab my robe, and drag it on. I’m halfway to the kitchen when there’s a knock at the door. My entire body locks up. Jessa-Mae and Karla are still asleep, and I doubt they’re expecting visitors. Not at seven in the morning.

Maybe it’s a delivery.

I walk to the door, and peer through the peephole. The sight of Scott standing there catches me off guard.

What is he doing here?

I consider not answering, not opening the door. I could pretend I’m not home. But he’ll just keep coming until he catches me. And besides, I owe him an explanation.

Taking one last deep breath to calm my nerves, I unlock the door and pull it open.

“Ash, I was hoping you’d be here. Can we talk?”

I nod, stepping aside to let him in. As soon as the door closes, he turns to face me.

“What are you doing here?” My voice is surprisingly steady.

“I’m on my way to work, so I decided to set off earlier and see if you were up. I’ve been worried about you. When I heard you were back, I just … I needed to check in on you.”

I force a smile. “I’m fine.” I gesture for him to follow me into the living room.

Once we’re seated, there’s a long pause. He’s staring down at his hands, and I’m fidgeting with the sleeve of my robe.

“Ash, I … I don’t really know what to say. I’ve been trying to wrap my head around everything, the way you ended things. Over the phone, of all things?”

I look away, guilt washing over me. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do, and I thought it would be better than dragging it out.”

“Drag what out? We didn’t even get to talk about it. You just ended it, without any explanation.”

I force myself to meet his gaze. “Being back in Whitstone made me take a look at my life. What we had … it was comfortable. Safe.”

He frowns. “Safe? What does that mean? We were fine. You never said anything was wrong. Now you’re telling me we were just comfortable ? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s because I didn’t see it myself until I was away. But I wasn’t being fair to either of us. I thought I could keep things the way they were because it was easy … but it’s not enough, Scott. Not anymore.”

He blinks, shaking his head slightly, as though he’s trying to process my words. “So what? You just decided to break things off? After three years?”

“It wasn’t fair to you. I realized I don’t feel the same way about you, as you do about me. Pretending was only going to hurt you more.”

“You should have talked to me. You didn’t even give me a chance! We’ve been together for years, and you didn’t even give me the courtesy of a real conversation.” His voice cracks, the hurt breaking through his usually calm demeanor.

I close my eyes. “I know, and I’m sorry. I couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.”

He clenches his jaw. “I love you, Ash. I’ll fight for you. This can’t be the end.”

“That’s the thing.” My voice trembles, and I pause to try and get control of the emotions threatening to take over. “You shouldn’t have to fight for someone who doesn’t feel the same way.”

“I thought we had something good. We were building a life together.”

“I thought so, too. But it was a habit. It isn’t enough for me, and it wouldn’t be enough for you either. Eventually you’d realize that.”

“After all this time, you suddenly decide you’re not happy?”

“It wasn’t sudden. I just didn’t admit it to myself. I care about you, I do . But not in the way you deserve.”

His eyes meet mine, and the pain in them makes me feel like the worst person in the world. But I can’t let it sway me. I can’t let guilt send me back to him.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I whisper. “You deserve someone who’s all in. Someone who can love you the way you love them.”

“I love you , Ash.”

Before I can reply, the doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it.” I stand up and move toward the door before Scott can say anything, relieved for the interruption.

When I open it, I’m not prepared for who’s standing on the other side.

Peter Longeaton, Zain’s lawyer.

“Mrs. Ryder.” His voice is firm. “We need to talk.”