Page 15 of Ruthless Regret

It was like something inside me snapped.

I spin away from the door and pace the floor.

This wasn’t part of my plan.

I was going to take everything from her. Make her feel the way I felt all those years ago, when I sat in the courtroom and realized my life was over.

I’m not supposed to have feelings for her. I wasn’t supposed to sleep with her. I wasn’t supposed to fuckinglikeher.

Everything is spiraling out of fucking control.

The way she looked at me fills my vision again. The hurt in her eyes when she realized what I’d done. How I put her on camera, out there for the world to see.

I should have told her. Should have warned her that I was going to do it. But I didn’t. I was too focused on winning, too obsessed with making her feel vulnerable, and exposed. Too confident that announcing our marriage would force people to acknowledge that I’m not a murderer.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the image of her on the ground, her assailant standing over her, the way she screamed.

It shouldn’t matter to me.

But it fucking does. And I need to stop pretending it doesn’t.

I turn around, and cross the room so I can drop onto a chair.

I should be thinking about the bigger picture, about who was hiding behind the mask. But all I can think about isher. Her voice. Her touch. Her body.

The sex.

Fuck.

I’ve spent the last five days telling myself that this is about revenge. Show her that she can’t continue living her life, freefrom blame. But every time I get near her, it’s like I lose my fucking mind.

Every plan I make, every step I take, unravels.

I didn’t think I could ever feel anything but hatred for her … and it was easy when she was just a name, and not a warm-blooded woman who touched me like I wasn’t a monster.

And now, all I can fucking think about is how her skin felt beneath my hands. How her lips tasted.

How … just for one fucking moment … I felt normal.

And that, right there, is what I’m trying to avoid thinking about.

The sound of my cell phone filling the silence claims my attention. I glance around, spot it on the table, and snatch it up, relieved at the reprieve from the thoughts demanding attention.

“What?”

“Did you check your email yet?” Rook doesn’t waste any time with pleasantries.

“What?” I frown, and then the memory of the call that brought us back to the house settles in my mind. “Oh. Not yet. Things got a little complicated.”

“Complicatedhow?”

I explain what happened, missing out the part where I had sex with Ashley. When I fall silent, Rook doesn’t reply. I clench my jaw.

“This doesn’t feel like it was a spur of the moment thing, Rook.”

“It could be a random home invasion. Coincidencesdohappen sometimes.” Rook’s voice makes it clear what he thinks about coincidences.

I blow out a breath. “I don’t think it’s random. Whoever grabbed Ashely could have killed her. They didn’t need to drag her out of the house. They wanted me to see them. This feels more personal than a home invasion.”

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