Page 111 of Ruthless Regret

I fight to stay upright, but my head is spinning. I can’t focus through the pain, and my legs give out. I hit the floor hard, blood dripping into my eyes.

I try to stand.

Willmyself to get back to my feet.

Pain stings my palms and knees as they press down on broken glass, and my body won't respond to my brain’s commands.

Everything spins and tilts.

I wipe my eyes with the back of my arm, and my vision steadies a little just in time to see him advancing on Ashley. She backs away, but there's nowhere to go. He has her trapped between him and the counter. The look in her eyes when they meet mine—the pure fucking terror—will haunt me forever if I survive this.

"No—" Blood fills my mouth, choking off the word. I try to push up, but my arms collapse under me.

Get up. Fight. Protect her.

But my body won’t move, won’t follow my instructions.

He reaches for her with one gloved hand, while my vision tunnels, darkness creeping in at the edges. I make one last desperate attempt to stand. Pain detonates in my skull, white-hot and final.

Ashley screams my name, and then just before I pass out, a voice—soft, commanding, and cold—speaks.

"Don't move."

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

ASHLEY

Time seems to stop,freezing me in place while fear claws up my throat. I barely have time to take in the chaos around me—the broken shards of a chair scattered across the floor, the heavy thud of Zain's body as he hit the tiles, the masked attacker straightening and coming toward me.

And then, a new figure steps into the kitchen. A man in an immaculate dark suit. His expression is as cold as the gun he’s holding. For a split second, I think he’s going to shoot me—and my heart lurches into my throat—but his weapon swings toward the man.

“Step away from her.” His voice is soft, almost gentle, but there’s something so cold, solethalin his tone that it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

The man hesitates, his eyes narrowing behind the mask. The newcomer’s gaze hardens, and he steps closer, his gun never wavering.

“Take off the mask.” His voice is like steel.

The man doesn’t move, a defiant silence stretching between them.

“I won’t ask again.” His finger tightens on the trigger. “Take. It. Off.”

Still, the masked man doesn’t comply, his gaze locked on the other man. The air in the room seems to grow colder, the tension thick enough to choke on. I want to move, but I’m terrified to draw any attention to myself.

The suited man tilts his head slightly, his expression almost bored. “You think I’m bluffing?”

Another man appears in the doorway, identical suit, identical cold expression. He positions himself near the back door, cutting off any escape route. “If you want to keep breathing, I suggest you do as he says.”

With a sigh, the masked man lifts his hands, slowly reaching for the edge of the mask. He pulls it off, revealing features twisted with anger, a scar running across his cheek.

The second the mask comes off, something shifts in the room. The man in front of me smirks, his lips curling slightly as his gaze meets the suited man's eyes.

"Rook," he says, his voice dripping with derision.

Thisis Rook? The man Zain has been talking to?

The second suited man looks between Rook and the now unmasked man. "You know this guy?"

"Yeah. Marcus Barlowe. We've crossed paths before."