Ruthless Regret (Ruthless Games Duology #2)

Chapter 53

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

ZAIN

After leaving Ashley in the bedroom, I go to my own room and take a shower.

Not going to lie to myself … I ran away. Turned tail and fucking ran the second she mentioned last night. It was that or have her witness me have a stupid fucking panic attack.

Who the fuck has a panic attack because the girl you fucked wants to talk about it?

Me … that’s who. Apparently.

But even after washing, and changing into fresh clothes, the ghost of her touch lingers on my skin. The taste of her is still on my lips.

What the fuck was I thinking?

I make my way downstairs, almost hesitantly. I’m not sure how I feel about facing her again, but when I reach the kitchen it’s empty, and I’m confused by the mixture of relief and disappointment that goes through me.

What the fuck was I fucking thinking?

I grip the edge of the counter, and take in a deep breath, trying to ground myself.

Last night wasn't part of the plan … part of any plan. But I can't deny the way my body responds just thinking about her. The softness of her skin, the little sounds she made when I touched her. The way that I forgot about everything else. The anger, the bitterness, the lost years—it all faded away when I was inside her.

And that scares the shit out of me.

I've spent so long defining myself by my anger, by my need for revenge. Without it, who the hell am I?

The coffee maker beeps, jolting me out of my thoughts, and I pour myself a cup, then set about preparing a cup of tea for Ashley. I don’t even need to think about it. The familiarity of the action unsettles me. I know how she takes her tea, how she likes her eggs, what brand of shampoo she uses. All details I gathered while planning my revenge. Now, that knowledge feels invasive, a reminder of how fucked up this whole situation is.

I take a sip of my coffee, savoring the bitter taste. It's familiar, grounding. Unlike the mess of emotions I'm trying to sort through.

I want to go back upstairs, to lose myself in Ashley again. To forget about everything else and just feel. But I can't. I can't let myself get distracted.

No matter how tempting the distraction might be.

My phone rings, cutting through my thoughts. When I take it out of my pocket, Rook's name is on the screen. I connect the call, grateful for something to take my mind off the woman upstairs.

"What have you got?"

"The coroner's preliminary report on Ramsey just came in," Rook says, his voice grim. "It's not good, Zain."

I brace myself. "Tell me."

"The bruising patterns don't match up with suicide. There are ligature marks on his neck, but they're inconsistent with the height of the beam he was supposedly hanging from. Plus, there are defensive wounds on his arms and hands."

"Fuck. So he fought back."

"Looks that way. And here's the kicker—they found traces of a sedative in his system. Midazolam. It's fast-acting, causes drowsiness and confusion. Would have made him easier to subdue."

My mind picks at the pieces, connecting dots. "They drugged him first, and made it look like he hanged himself after he was already dead or incapacitated."

"That's the working theory, yeah. Whoever did this went to a lot of trouble to stage it as a suicide."

"Any leads on who might have had access to that kind of drug?"

Rook sighs. "It's used in hospitals, sometimes prescribed for severe insomnia. But it wouldn't be hard for someone with connections to get their hands on it. I’ve got Knight looking into Ramsey's recent contacts, but so far, nothing's jumping out."

I take a deep breath. "We talked to Holson yesterday."

"Holson? What did he have to say?"

"He admitted that Ramsey was pushing to close the case quickly. Said there was a witness report about Louisa arguing with someone outside the house the day before the murders. Ramsey made that report disappear."

"Shit," Rook mutters. "Any idea who she was arguing with?"

"No, Holson claims he doesn't know. But he got the impression Ramsey was protecting someone. Someone obsessed with Louisa."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "Obsessed how?"

I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. "I don’t know.” I blow out a breath. “It's possible this person was involved with her and Jason at some point. Louisa liked to fool around.” I hate admitting that, but it was the reason I ended things with her. It was fun to fool around when no one was serious … but I discovered that sharing wasn’t something I was comfortable with.

"Christ," Rook says. "That complicates things. If this person was obsessed with Louisa, they might have been watching the house, waiting for an opportunity."

"Yeah," I agree. "And when I showed up and found the bodies, it gave them the perfect scapegoat. Ashley turning up and finding me there, covered in blood, was the icing on the cake."

"And Ramsey made sure the investigation focused solely on you," Rook adds. "Convenient for our killer."

"Exactly. And now they're cleaning house. We need to figure out who this person is before they come after us next."

"Agreed. I'll see if I can find any leads on who this obsessed individual might be. You should be careful. Both of you."

"We will. Thanks, Rook. Keep me posted if anything else comes up."

I end the call and stare down at my phone. Someone out there is desperate to keep the truth buried. And it’s clear that they're not above murder to do it.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs snaps me back to the present. I look up to see Ashley hovering in the doorway, uncertainty written all over her face. Her hair is damp from the shower, and she's wearing jeans and a simple t-shirt. She looks soft, vulnerable.

For a moment, we just stare at each other.

I clear my throat, and look away. "I made tea." I gesture to the mug on the counter.

She steps into the kitchen.

"Thanks." She reaches for the mug, and takes a sip. "You know how I like it."

"Yeah, well," I shrug, uncomfortable with the implication. "I did my research."

Her smile drops away, no doubt remembering why I would have done that research in the first place. I'm relieved when my phone buzzes with a text from Rook, sending me a link to Ramsey’s autopsy report.

"That was Rook," I say, latching onto the change of subject. "He called with an update on Ramsey."

"What did he say?"

I take a deep breath. "It wasn't suicide. The coroner found clear evidence of foul play. Defensive wounds, traces of sedatives in his system. They made it look like he hanged himself, but the evidence doesn't add up."

"Oh my god." Her face pales. "So someone really did kill him to keep him quiet?"

"Looks that way."

She sets her mug down, her hands shaking slightly. "What does this mean for us?"

"It means we need to be careful. Whoever did this isn't going to stop at Ramsey. We're a threat to them."

She nods, her expression determined despite the fear I can see lurking in her eyes. "So what's our next move?"

And just like that, we're back on familiar ground.