Ruthless Regret (Ruthless Games Duology #2)

Chapter 62

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

ASHLEY

The walk through the hospital hallways feels different today. Yesterday, I was running on adrenaline and fear, barely registering anything except the blood on my hands and the terror that Zain might not make it. Today, my steps are steadier, but my heart is still racing when I approach his room.

Bishop walks beside me, his presence a constant reminder that we're not safe yet. That McFadden is still out there, still playing his role of concerned sheriff while plotting his next move. I glance at Bishop's profile, wondering how he stays so calm, so composed. We’ve spent almost twenty-four hours together, and I know no more about him now than I did yesterday.

Rook is standing outside Zain's room, leaning against the wall, phone in his hand. He looks like he’s just come out to answer a text, but the truth is that he’s standing guard. Making sure that no one gets to Zain. His head lifts the second I round the corner.

"He's fully conscious today," he says when we get closer. "Mind's clear."

The relief that floods through me is almost dizzying. Yesterday, Zain was barely conscious, his words slurred and disconnected when he spoke at all. I spent hours watching him drift in and out, terrified each time his eyes closed that they wouldn't open again.

“We’ll give you a couple of minutes to see him before we come in and talk.” Rook steps forward and pushes open the door.

Pulse quickening, I step inside. Zain’s room is small, sterile, with the faint beep of machines monitoring his vitals. His head turns toward me the moment I enter. His eyes—clear and alert in a way they weren’t yesterday—lock onto mine. The bruises on his face look worse today, the purples and blues deepening against his pale skin, but he's here. He's alive. And that’s enough to make my legs wobble, and make my throat tighten.

His lips twitch in something that might be a smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” My voice comes out shaky.

I cross the room, and sit in the chair beside his bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." His voice is rough, but steady. "Rook said you were here yesterday."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The image of him bleeding out on his kitchen floor is still too fresh, too raw. His hand moves across the sheets toward mine. I hesitate for a second before linking my fingers with his, relief washing through me at the warmth of his skin. Yesterday, his hands were so cold, like life was slipping away from him faster than I could hold on.

"The police haven’t been back," I say quietly, my eyes scanning the room as if McFadden himself might materialize out of thin air. "Is McFadden still being kept away from you?"

“For now,” Zain replies, a hardness in his tone that wasn't there before. His grip tightens around mine. “Are you okay?”

Before I can answer, the door creaks open again, and Rook steps inside with Bishop behind him.

“How’s he doing?” Bishop’s eyes scan Zain’s face.

“I’m fine,” Zain answers before I can. “What’s the plan?”

Bishop glances at me, then back to Zain. “We need to move fast. We have a small window to make this happen, but it means we’ve got to be smart.”

Zain pushes himself up slightly in the bed, wincing. I reach out to help him, but he shakes his head with a tight smile.

“We need to get McFadden to make a move,” Rook says. “He’s cautious, careful, but he’s also arrogant. That’s his weakness.”

I frown. “He’s always been a step ahead. How do we know he’ll slip up this time?”

“Because he’s never had to deal with being cornered before.” Rook smirks. “He’s been hiding in plain sight, using his position to keep suspicion off him. Now that we know the truth, we’ve got a chance to expose him.”

“And the pressure’s on him now,” Bishop adds. “He can’t just walk away from this. We have enough to make him sweat.”

“So what’s the trigger? How do we make him talk?” Zain asks.

Rook pauses, exchanging a glance with Bishop before answering. “We use the one thing he never thought would resurface—the buried reports.”

Zain’s eyes narrow. “The ones Ramsey buried? He knows we know about them. Holson mentioned them during his interview.”

That makes me think of something. “Why hasn’t he killed Holson? He killed Ramsey to keep everything quiet, so why not him as well?”

“Because it’d be too obvious. Holson talks about what he thinks in a room where only McFadden and the two of you are, and then turns up dead? It would immediately flag up as weird. He couldn’t risk that.” It’s Bishop who answers me.

“Just because he knows you’re aware of reports, he still won’t expect you to have copies of them,” Rook continues. “We spread them out, lay the groundwork. We show McFadden that we know everything—and we make him believe it’s already too late for him.”

Bishop cuts in, “But we don’t go in blind. We make sure we’ve got eyes on him at all times.”

“How do we get him to take the bait?” I ask.

“That’s where you come in,” Rook says, turning to me. “You let McFadden know that Zain is being released from the hospital, and wants to give his statement at home. Knight's already installing surveillance equipment while the repair work is being done on the doors and windows.”

My stomach clenches at the thought of stepping back into that house, into that kitchen. The memory of Zain’s blood staining the floor still haunts me, and the idea of returning there, of facing McFadden with that image burned into my mind—it’s almost unbearable.

I’ve been staying in a place just outside of town. Bishop explained it was a safehouse, somewhere people who hire him hide out while he does his job. I haven’t asked what his job is … I’m scared to know the answer.

But I nod, forcing myself to breathe, to focus on what needs to be done. “And what about his deputies? He’s not going to come alone.”

Bishop straightens. “We’ve already identified the ones who are loyal to him. They’ll be called away—an emergency across town, something to keep them distracted long enough for us to do what needs to be done.”

I glance at Zain, searching for any hesitation in his eyes, but all I find is determination.

“How do we know he will actually talk when he gets there?” The risk of what the men are planning feels enormous.

Rook’s gaze sharpens. “He’ll talk because we’ll give him no choice. The case files will be spread out on the table—including the witness statement that Ramsey buried about Louisa arguing with someone the day before she died, the fingerprint with the results showing it belongs to Ramsey.” A smile curls his lips up. “We also have the murder weapon. Marcus’s last gift. He kept it as an insurance policy against McFadden. It has his prints on it.”

Zain shifts beside me, his face grim. “And if he doesn’t react to those?”

Bishop meets his eyes with a cold smile. “Then we move to phase two.”

Rook pulls out his phone, and shows us a photograph. "Knight found Ramsey's burner phone. Text messages, call logs, everything that proves McFadden was in contact with him right before he died."

"He'll deny it," Zain says. "Claim Ramsey was unstable, trying to frame him."

"Which is why we need everything." Bishop meets my eyes. "The witness statement suggests motive. The phone records prove cover-up. The murder weapon proves he was there. One man's word against another is nothing. Evidence is everything."

My heart pounds as I process what they're saying. "You want to trigger him. Make him think his secret's already out."

"People get sloppy when they're desperate," Rook says. "They say things they shouldn't. Reveal things they've kept buried."

"And if he pulls his gun instead of talking?" Zain’s question sends a chill down my spine.

"That's what our surveillance is for." Bishop's smile is sharp. "The second he makes a move, Rook will take him down."

"Two days," Rook says. "That's how long we have to get everything in place."

I look at Zain, at the determination in his eyes despite his weakened state, and I pray we're ready when the time comes.

Because McFadden has had years to perfect his lies. And we might not get another chance at this.