Ruthless Regret (Ruthless Games Duology #2)

Chapter 65

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

ZAIN

The second McFadden’s hand twitches toward his gun, I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I just react. My body moves before my mind catches up, and I throw myself at him just as his fingers curl around the grip.

Pain explodes along my side at the impact, but I ignore it in favor of closing my hand around his wrist, and twisting it hard enough to make him cry out. The gun slips from his grip, falling to the floor with a dull thud. I shove him back, stoop and grab the gun before he has a chance to recover.

McFadden stumbles, his face twisted in rage. When he sees the gun in my hand, he goes for the knife on the table.

“I wouldn’t.” My voice is soft, and his head turns toward me.

The rage in his eyes is replaced by fear. For the first time since walking into the house, he knows he’s not in control.

But it’s not enough.

Everything that’s happened—fourteen years of my life ripped away because of him, because of what he did—boils up in my chest.

The hatred, the fury.

He’s standing there, having lived free for fourteen years, while Jason, Louisa and their unborn baby are dead.

While I spent over a decade in a cage for a crime I didn’t commit.

I raise the gun, aiming it right between his eyes. McFadden freezes, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

He says something, but I don’t hear it. My heart is pounding, the sound loud in my ears.

All I can see is him. All I can feel is the weight of that gun in my hand. All I can taste is the rage burning me up.

One pull of the trigger. That’s all it would take.

“Zain.”

The voice cuts through the fog of anger, and the tunnel vision keeping my focus on the sheriff expands to show me Ashley.

She’s standing just behind McFadden, eyes wide, body tense. Her gaze is locked on me, her face white.

There’s fear in her eyes, but it’s not fear of McFadden. It’s fear of me, of what I might do. I know it. I recognize it. I put it there in our very first meeting.

I focus my attention back on McFadden, the gun still raised, my finger hovering over the trigger.

On the periphery of my vision, a door opens, and Rook steps through. His presence immediately changes the atmosphere in the room.

He radiates calm. Control.

His eyes meet mine, and one eyebrow lifts, as he assesses the situation, then he comes toward me. He doesn’t rush, hands relaxed at his sides. He moves with the ease of someone who has seen this situation play out a hundred times before.

“Zain.” His voice is casual, like I’m not standing there with a gun pointed at someone’s head.

McFadden’s head jerks around at the sound, then back to me. His face turns red, then white. The knowledge that he’s close to dying is right there in his eyes.

“You’re not a killer, Zain.” Rook is beside McFadden now.

I grip the gun tighter, my finger twitching against the trigger. The desire to end the man in front of me is overwhelming.

“Why don’t we keep it that way? You haven’t killed anyone. Let’s not start now.” His words, while casual, hit like a perfectly placed arrow.

I’ve spent fourteen years behind bars for a murder I didn’t commit. Killing McFadden now … it would turn me into everything they said I was.

Everything I denied.

But it doesn’t stop me from taking a step closer to McFadden, from pressing the barrel of the gun against his forehead. He flinches, but I don’t care. He deserves worse than this. He deserves everything coming to him.

But Rook is right. I won’t give the man in front of me the satisfaction of making me into the monster he made everyone think I was.

I pull the gun away and toss it to the floor. McFadden sags in relief.

“You’re done,” I say, my voice cold. “This is over.”

McFadden looks up, hatred burning in his eyes. “They won’t believe you.”

Rook steps forward, his presence filling the room. This isn’t the man who shared my cell—polite, quiet, calm, civilized . This is the man who was arrested for coldblooded murder.

This is the hired killer.

The hitman.

He’s calm, in complete control, the way he always is. But there’s a different kind of finality in his eyes now, one that even McFadden can’t miss.

“It’s time for you and Ashley to find somewhere else to be.” His eyes shift over my shoulder, and then Bishop is there. His hand lands on my shoulder, and squeezes.

“You’ve split your stitches. Why don’t we go and sort that out. Ashley, you too.” His voice is firm.

At her name, I seek her out. She hasn’t moved, her gaze moving between me, Rook, Bishop and McFadden. Her fingers are curled into fists on either side of her body, and her breathing is shallow. Bishop follows the direction of my gaze.

“It’s okay, Ashley. Come on. I’m going to need your help to keep this idiot still while we fix the damage he’s caused himself.” His dry voice snaps her out of her daze, and she blinks, then frowns.

“You’re bleeding.”

I look down at the wetness spreading over my T-shirt. Bishop presses his hand against my shoulder, and turns me toward the door. “Come on, neither of you need to see what happens next.”

I don’t fight him, and I let him guide me out. Just as we reach the archway, cold fingers curl around mine. I squeeze gently. We’re halfway down the hall when a noise reaches us.

The unmistakable sound of a gun firing a single shot.

Ashley’s hand flies to her mouth. I glance at her, and for a moment, our eyes lock.

She doesn’t need me to tell her what it was. She knows. The awareness is there in her eyes.

One shot is all it needed, because Rook doesn’t miss.

McFadden is dead. The man who took everything from me is gone ... And I didn’t kill him.

But he’s gone just the same.

Bishop places a hand on my back, nudging me forward. “You’re free, Zain. It’s over.”