Page 3 of Ruthless Intent

What did his lawyer find? Wait, the reporter said something about the evidence being tampered with. What does that mean?

Oh god, did someone do something to the evidence in order to convict him? How is that even possible?

It doesn’t matter. The how isn’t important. Just focus on the fact that he’s out. I have to make plans to protect myself. Because, no matter what Karla claims, he will come for me.

My lips compress into a thin line.

The worst thing I can do is panic. I have to make a plan. But first I need to speak to my mom.

Spinning, I leave the bathroom and go in search of my housemates. They’re still in the kitchen, and both jump to their feet when I enter.

“I need to go home. Can you tell work something personal came up and I had to go home?” We all work in the same hospital. Karla and Jessa-Mae are nurses. I work in administration.

“Ashley, take a breath and think things through before you go rushing off.” Jessa-Mae’s voice is soft.

“I can’t wait, Jessa. I have to go home and see my mom. Before he goes there.”

“Do you really think he’ll go back?”

This time my laugh has a brittle edge to it. “I told you, his family own half the town. So, if there’s one thing I can guarantee, it’s that Zain Ryder will have no problem with going back to the scene of his crime.”

CHAPTER TWO

ZAIN

It takes my attorney repeating the verdict three times before it finally sinks in that I’ve been freed. The judge believes that the new evidence presented to them is enough to overturn the original ruling, and made the unusual decision to call us to her chambers early on a Saturday morning, because I’d waited long enough.

I’m not going back to the prison, or the small eight by ten cell I’ve called home for the past fourteen years. I’m walking out of the doors a free man. I can go home, to my family, and … then what?

Panic threatens to overtake me, and I use the skills I’ve learned inside to squash it down before it breaks free.

Breathe slowly and deeply. Remind yourself the attack will pass. Name three objects.

I look around.

The pen on the table in front of me. A folder with the case notes. My attorney’s cell phone.

Now three sounds.

I close my eyes.

The scrape of chairs. The judge’s voice as she talks to the stenographer. The sound of my heart.

Last one. Move three body parts.

I tap my foot, flex my fingers, and roll my shoulders.

That’s it. You got it. All you have to take is one step at a time, Zain. Let’s get out of the courthouse. Then we’ll think about what happens next.

I’m still in a daze when I’m taken to a small room and told to make myself comfortable while all the relevant paperwork is filled out. It’s a far cry from the room I sat in for hours while they grilled me over the murder of my best friend. I guess I should be thankful that this time I’m not handcuffed or covered in blood.

Dark wooden bookcases line one wall, a conference table the same color spans the center of the room, and six plush leather chairs are placed around it. The carpet beneath my shoes is thick. In fact, the entire room gives off an opulent feel that makes me uncomfortable. I’ve grown used to metal tables, tiled floors, and benches welded in place so prisoners couldn’t use them as weapons.

A woman, dressed in a black skirt and cream blouse comes in silently, places a coffee cup in front of me and leaves, without making eye contact. That suits me fine. I’m not sure I can make small talk, not with the way thoughts are spinning around in my head.

How can I want to get out of here but never want to leave at the same time? Not that I can go anywhere yet.

I eye the coffee in front of me, then lift it and take a sip. It’s luke-warm, and the bitter flavor twists my lips. I used to drink coffee all the time. Before prison. But now, it doesn’t taste right, so I set it back down.

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