Page 77 of Ruthless Intent

I’m going to need to be focused, because tomorrow my plan for Ashley Trumont really begins.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

ASHLEY

I come around, face down on the floor by the door, and it takes a second or two for my brain to process where I am and what’s happening. When my memories click back into place, panic threatens to take over again. I shove it down as best as I can, and sit up.

He’s locked me inside the room where my brother was murdered. And he did so without any emotion whatsoever.

What kind of monster is he?

My laugh is short and bitter. I already know the answer to that.

He’s a monster who will stop at nothing, not even sending an innocent to prison, to get his revenge.

I shouldn’t be surprised that he brought me here. Or that he’s locked me in this room. But somewhere deep inside, I think I’ve been holding onto a tiny hope that he was bluffing. That he was just trying to see how far he could push. Because who in their right mind blackmails someone they hate into marrying them?

I can’t let him win.

He might own my life for the next fourteen months, but he won’t break me.

I force myself to look around the room. I don’t remember much of it from that night, other than Zain standing over the bed, hands a bloodied mess, eyes burning into mine, so I don’t know how much has changed.

There’s a bookcase on one wall, a table with a half-empty bottle of something. The dresser is closed, but there’s something sticking out. A T-shirt, maybe. Is it Jason’s? Louisa’s? Zain’s?

I try not to look at the bed, but the room isn’t that big, and I can’t avoid it.

Did I really see blood on the rug earlier? Or was it my imagination?

I need to know, so I slowly turn my head and force myself to look. The rug is large and round. It’s multicolored, but the side nearest to me, and not covered by the bed, is dirty brown.

The need to scream almost overwhelms me, but I squeeze my eyes closed and take in deep breath after deep breath.

Do not give him the satisfaction. He’s probably outside listening, waiting to hear you cry.

I breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth. I fill my lungs with air until they hurt, before releasing each breath, until I have the need to cry under control.

Would a rug covered in blood really have been left in the room for all these years? Be sensible, Ashley.

I open my eyes again, and focus on the rug, and slowly it becomes clear the stain isn’t a stain. It’s part of the pattern.

Did Zain have it made? Is it supposed to represent the blood spilled that night?

Something vibrates in my pocket, and I freeze in place. Then I hear it. My cell phone’s notification sound.

My phone! Oh my god, I have my phone!

I take it out of my pocket and stare down at it. The time is showing on the screen. Twelve-fifteen.

I can call someone. Tell them what’s going on.

As soon as the thought forms, I shut it down. If I do that, my mom is at risk.

Did he let me keep my phone on purpose? Is he waiting to see what I do? Is he testing me?

He’s been in control of everything so far. There’s no way he forgot to take it away. He wouldn’t take that risk. Which means somehow he’d know if I tried to call someone.

I unlock my cell and tap into the messages. It’s from my mom.

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