Page 117 of Ruthless Regret

Heavy footsteps sound downstairs, voices calling out. Rook disappears, then returns moments later with news that help has arrived.

EMTs flood into the room, one guiding me gently away from the bed. I watch helplessly as they check Zain's vitals, attach monitors, and prepare him for transport. Each time they touchhim, he flinches slightly, and each flinch is like a knife in my heart.

And that's when it happens—when the memory finally breaks free.

Running out of that house fourteen years ago, tears blinding me as I fled from the horror inside. A figure standing at the end of the driveway, half-hidden in shadow. The glint of a streetlight on a badge.

I cover my mouth to stop myself from reacting out loud.

Because the man who just walked into the room, radiating concern and authority, is the same man who stood in the shadows all those years ago. The one who haunts my dreams.

Watching.

Waiting.

Just like he's doing now.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

ZAIN

The beeping soundis the first thing that cuts through the haze, its steady rhythm syncing with the dull throb in my chest. My senses slowly start to fire back to life, dragging me back to the surface of consciousness.

Everything feels heavy. My eyelids, my limbs, even my thoughts—they’re all weighed down, like I'm trying to move through molasses.

The sterile smell of antiseptic fills my nose. My mouth is dry, and I try to swallow, but it's like my throat has forgotten how. When I manage to blink my eyes open, the ceiling above me is a blinding shade of white, lit by harsh fluorescent lights.

A hospital.

It takes me a second to remember why I'm here.

The knife. The intruder. The fight.

It all rushes back in a chaotic blur of pain and adrenaline. I shift on the bed, and try to push myself upright, but pain lances through my side, sharp enough to make me gasp.

"Easy there," a familiar voice says.

I turn my head, wincing at the effort. A familiar figure is leaning against the wall, his arms folded, watching me.

"What …" My voice is a rasp, barely a whisper, and I clear my throat, wincing again. "What happened?"

"You're in the hospital. Got yourself stabbed, remember?" There's a hint of sarcasm in his tone. “Thought we agreed you wouldn’t do that anymore?”

“Rook?”

“Surprise.” His voice is deadpan.

“Why ... why are you here?”

“With the fire, Ashley’s attack, and finding Ramsey dead, it wasn’t much of a leap to think they might try again. I was almost at the house when you called with the update from your mom.”

I let my head fall back against the pillow, memories slowly coming back.

The blood soaking through my shirt. The ground rushing up to meet me as my legs gave out. And then—nothing. Darkness.

"Ashley?" I manage to croak out, my heart rate spiking enough that the monitor beside me betrays my surge of anxiety.

"She's safe."

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