Ruthless Regret (Ruthless Games Duology #2)

Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

ZAIN

I’m outside her house at eight on the nose. Ashley doesn’t say a word when she opens the door at my knock. She simply steps aside and lets me in. I walk past her, and the door clicks softly behind me. I’m half-expecting her to be surrounded by her friends, and the asshole ex-boyfriend, but she’s alone.

I don’t speak. She doesn’t either. The air between us is charged, almost electric. We’re both waiting, watching , like we’re circling something dangerous and neither of us are willing to make the first move. But my patience was developed inside a prison cell. I can outwait her.

Eventually, she breaks the silence. “I’ll go back to Whitstone.” Her voice is calm, but there’s a tightness to it.

I don’t react. I’m pretty sure she’s not done.

“But I’m staying at my mom’s.”

“No.”

Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean, no ?”

“You’re staying with me.” I keep my tone level, my eyes holding hers.

“Like hell.”

“We’re married, Ashley. Not staying with me will raise questions.” I keep my voice calm.

She doesn’t. “I don’t care! It’s not a real marriage.”

“I do. And the marriage certificate you signed says otherwise.” I’m being an asshole. I’m aware of that. But having her stay anywhere other than with me isn’t an option.

“I’m not staying there. I’m not going back to the place where someone threatened me with a knife.”

“It’s the safest place.”

“ Safe? I was attacked, Zain. Attacked ! I’m not going to feel safe there.”

“It’s not about how you feel. It’s about the best way to get to the truth.”

Her fingers curl into her palms. “I’m not staying in that house.” She says the words through clenched teeth.

I take a step closer to her. “I’m not pretending nothing happened, Ashley. But you know it’s the most logical thing to do. We need to stick together. If someone is watching us, seeing us together will have more impact than us living in different parts of town.”

She glares at me, and the silence stretches out, thick, heavy. The pulse in her throat picks up speed, and her lashes lower, veiling her gaze.

“I’m not staying there. You don’t get to control my every decision. You can’t threaten me with your bullshit lies now.”

“I’m not trying to control you or threaten you.” My voice is soft. “You don’t have to like it, but you know it’s the only decision that makes sense.”

She shakes her head, her frustration clear. “Fine!” The word is clipped and sharp. “But I have conditions.”

“Tell me.” I’ve won this round. Now it’s time to see if I can agree to any of her demands. Make this decision easier for her to live with.

“No more lies. Full transparency about anything you find.”

“You’ll know everything I do.”

“I’m not your prisoner. You don’t get to dictate whether I can leave the house or not.”

“Fine, but I need to know where you’re going. For your own safety.”

“I have my own space. My own room. That you don’t have a key for. You stay out unless I allow you in.”

“Agreed.”

She stares at me, and I’m almost sure she’s waiting for me to argue.

“Is that it?”

“For now.”

“Then I agree to your terms.” I nod. “Get your things, we’re leaving now.”

“What? No! I’m not leaving tonight.”

“We are.”

“Why? Can’t we just leave in the morning?”

“Because we need to go now.”

She looks at me like I’m crazy. Maybe I am. But she doesn’t understand. How can she? She has no idea what it’s like when structure is the only thing that keeps you sane. When every second has to follow a plan. I’ve conceded to some of her requests, and now I need to get back on track.

“This is ridiculous. It’s late. We can go tomorrow.”

“No. We can’t.” I step closer to her. “We leave tonight. That’s the plan.”

“The plan? The plan ? What plan?”

When I don’t answer, she throws her hands up, and sighs. “Okay. Fine! But I want it on record that I’m not happy about it.”

“I didn’t expect you to be.” I could explain that I can’t face the idea of staying in a hotel room overnight, that I need to be in a familiar space to be able to settle … as much as I can settle, anyway. But she’ll probably think I’m trying to make her feel guilty for her part in putting me in prison. And things between us are unstable enough, without adding more lighter fluid to the flames.

She glares at me for a second longer, then turns on her heel and walks away.

I wait, the silence settling around me. The tension is still there, simmering, but it’s easier to ignore now. After what feels like an eternity but is probably only ten minutes or so, she comes back, pulling a suitcase along. She doesn’t meet my eyes as she walks past me and heads for the door.

“Let your friends know. We don’t want them coming after us, or calling the police on me for kidnapping you.”

She stops, and turns. Without looking at me, she walks past and goes into the kitchen. A minute later, she’s back. Her spine is rigid as she goes back to where she left her suitcase, curls her fingers around the handle, and drags it out of the house.

Fine. If that’s how she wants it to be. I’m perfectly okay with not having to make conversation.

I follow her out into the night, and she pauses so I can go ahead of her and lead her to the car. Peter’s sitting inside, waiting for us. I open the back passenger door for Ashley, and she climbs in, then shuffles across the seat. I slam the door, and go to the back so I can put her suitcase in the trunk. When I take the front passenger seat, Peter turns to look at me.

“Good?”

“Fine.” That seems to be the word of the evening.

He starts the car, the engine humming to life. I glance at Ashley through the mirror. She’s staring out of the window, arms crossed. Her posture screams anger and defiance, but she doesn’t say a word.

The car is quiet as we drive through the darkened streets. It’s not until the city is fading into the distance behind us, that Ashley speaks.

“I thought you were a lawyer, not a chauffeur.” Her words are tart, directed at Peter.

One corner of his mouth tips up. “I’m moonlighting.” He glances at me, one eyebrow raised. I give him a small shake of my head.

She lets out a slow, measured breath, her shoulders loosening slightly. There’s still tension in her jaw, the way her lips are pressed together, like she’s biting back whatever she really wants to say.

Peter taps his fingers against the steering wheel, his gaze shifting between the road and the mirror. He’s watching her, too. He’s not a fool. He knows Ashley isn’t happy with the situation I’ve forced her into, and there’s a high possibility that something is going to break.

But it won’t. Not tonight, at least.

We pass the sign marking the exit toward Whitstone, and I catch Ashley’s slight shift in position through the reflection in the windshield.

She recognizes the road. Is probably aware that we’re less than thirty minutes away from reaching the town.

There’s no turning back now. No changing her mind. No running away.