Ruthless Regret (Ruthless Games Duology #2)

Chapter 66

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

ASHLEY

It’s been twenty-four hours since a single gunshot ended Sheriff McFadden's life.

I'm standing in Zain's kitchen, staring out the window at the early morning sun, sipping on a cup of tea. Everything looks different now—cleaner, brighter somehow. Bishop and Rook worked through the night, erasing all signs of what happened here. I watched them methodically clean every surface, remove every trace, pack away evidence that could suggest anything other than McFadden simply walking away.

His car is gone—Bishop drove it to the airport three towns over, left it in long-term parking with a perfectly forged note explaining his sudden departure. His house has been carefully staged to look like he packed in a hurry, his bank accounts showing a pattern of withdrawals that paint the picture of a man planning to disappear. Even his phone records have been altered, showing calls to places overseas in the weeks leading up to yesterday. I don’t have any idea how they achieved that, other than hearing them say the name Knight more than once.

Rook. Bishop. Knight … Chess pieces. The names seem apt for some reason.

The story that will be whispered around town is that McFadden ran when evidence of his involvement in Jason and Louisa's murders started surfacing. That he couldn't face the truth coming out about his obsession with Louisa, about hiring Marcus to kill Jason. About orchestrating the cover-up that sent an innocent man to prison.

I wrap my hands around my mug, letting the warmth seep into my skin. The kitchen is quiet except for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. There's a new rug covering the spot where he fell, and the air smells of fresh paint and lemon cleaner, instead of gunpowder and blood. It's almost surreal how normal everything feels, considering what happened here.

Bishop stayed until dawn, making calls, pulling strings, ensuring the investigation would focus on finding McFadden rather than questioning his disappearance too deeply. His network of contacts seems endless—people who owe him favors, people who understand the need for discretion.

Rook worked alongside him, his movements precise and practiced, like he's done this a hundred times before. Maybe he has. I didn't ask, and they didn't offer explanations.

My mind goes back to the moment after the shot, when Bishop led us upstairs to tend to Zain's torn stitches. The sounds from below were muffled but distinct—furniture moving, water running, doors opening and closing. Rook worked with quiet efficiency while I helped Bishop repair the damage to Zain's side, my hands steadier than they had any right to be.

Footsteps on the stairs pull me from my thoughts. Zain appears in the doorway, moving carefully to protect his freshly repaired stitches. The bruises on his face have deepened overnight, but his eyes are clearer than I've seen them since this all began.

"You're up early," he says, his voice rough with sleep.

I shrug. "Couldn't sleep."

He crosses the room and leans against the counter beside me. The silence between us is different now—less charged, more comfortable.

"Rook called," he says after a moment. "The deposits have been made into McFadden's offshore accounts. They've created a trail suggesting he's been planning this for months. Even his closest deputies believe he ran to avoid prosecution."

I nod, processing. The level of detail they've gone to is staggering. "And Marcus?"

"His body will never be found. Rook made sure of that."

Another stretch of silence fills the space between us.

"What happens now?" I turn to face him.

His eyes find mine, and something shifts in the air between us. "That depends on what you want."

I set my mug down. The man before me isn't the same one who confronted me at Jason's grave.

Was that only a week ago?

The anger that drove him for fourteen years has burned away, leaving something else in its place. Something real.

"I want to stay," I say softly. "If that's what you want."

"Yeah?"

I step closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. "Yeah."

His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheek. When he kisses me, it's different from before. There's no anger driving it, no desperation. Just us, finally free of the past that's haunted us both for so long.

When he pulls back, there's a hint of a smile on his lips.

Outside, the sun rises higher, casting golden light across the kitchen floor. In a few hours, the town will be buzzing with news of McFadden's disappearance. There will be questions, investigations, theories. But they'll never find him. Never know what really happened in this kitchen.

The shadows that have haunted us both for fourteen years are finally fading, making way for something new.

Something better.

Something ours.