Page 70 of Ruthless Regret

We stop in front of a door, and Zain pushes it open, revealing a bedroom. The space is large, neat,and impersonal. It looks like it was taken straight out of a magazine. The furniture is expensive, but the room feels like it’s meant for display, not comfort. Not that it matters. It’s just a place to sleep, a space I can escape to. I doubt I’ll be here that long. A week? Two? Surelyby then we’ll have found the answers we’re looking for and can go our separate ways again.

“There’s a bathroom through there.” He motions toward a door. His tone is casual, but there’s an undercurrent to it. A hint of something I can’t quite put my finger on. It makes me look at him, and search his face looking for a hint of what I’m hearing. But his features are composed, blank.

I move to the center of the room, looking around. Everything is too perfect, too well-kept. Has anyone ever used this room? It feels sterile. Cold.

“You can lock the door from the inside.” He’s standing in the doorway, watching me with that unreadable expression he’s perfected. It’s a little unsettling, the way he’s standing there, so controlled, so contained. I wonder what’s going on inside his head. Is he as on edge as I am?

“I’ll leave you to settle in. There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Drinks too. If you need anything, I’ll be downstairs.”

And just like that, he’s gone. The door closes softly behind him, and I’m alone again.

Alone in this room, in this house.

I don’t move from where I’m standing in the middle of the room, staring at the door, willing my heart to slow down. But it doesn’t, and for a second I struggle to breathe.

Focus. You’re fine. This was your decision.

I force myself to move, dragging my suitcase to the foot of the bed, and then sit down. I should unpack, find something to eat, but I don’t want to move. Don’t want to leave the room. Don’t want to see Zain again.

Throwing myself back onto the mattress, I stare up at the ceiling. The room feels too big, too empty. It’s a struggle to calm my heartbeat, slow my thoughts, but eventually exhaustion from the past few hours catches up with me, and I close my eyes.

Sleep comes quickly, but so do dreams.

Shadows crawl across the walls, bringing a coldness to the air that hurts my lungs. Fear wraps its icy fingers around me. Something is coming for me, creeping closer with every breath I take. I try to move, but my legs are heavy, my body frozen into place as the shadows reach me.

Then I see him.

Zain.

He’s standing at the end of the hall, his face half-hidden in the shadows, watching me. I try to call out to him, but the words stick in my throat. My heart is pounding, panic building, and the shadows laugh.

I blink, and I’m not in the hall anymore. I’m back in the room where I found my brother. His body is lying there, covered in blood, his eyes open and staring …accusing. I try to reach for him, but my arms are pinned to my side by the shadows.

I’m trapped. Helpless. Forced to watch as a shadowy figure stabs him over and over again.

But then I’m holding the knife. I’m the one raising it above my head. I’m the one burying it into his chest. His blood spraying across my face with each strike.

I try to stop. Try to drop it. But my fingers won’t obey my commands. Blood coats my hands, my arms, warm and slick, dripping down my fingers to pool at my feet.

Then everything snaps. The shadows surge around me, suffocating me, pulling me under, and finally,finallyI can scream.

I surge upright, my body drenched in sweat, fingers digging into the sheets beneath me. It takes a second to realize I’m awake, that I’m not trapped in the nightmare anymore. But the terror doesn’t want to release its grip. My heart is still racing, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

I unclench my fingers and reach out to snap on the bedside light … andthat’swhen I see him.

Zain is standing beside the bed, eyes on me.

“Bad dream?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ZAIN

After showingAshley to her room, I go back downstairs and into the kitchen. I’m more than aware that if she could have found a way to do what we need to do without setting eyes on me again, she would have. In reality, there probably was a way. She could have stayed with her mom, and arranged to see someone to tap into her blocked memories. She doesn’t really need me there. She just needs to share the information she discovers, but I don’t dwell too long onwhyI insisted we needed to be together for it all.

Opening the refrigerator, I take out a bottle of water, and twist off the cap, but I don’t drink it. Instead, I set the bottle onto the counter, and look around the dark kitchen. The glass in the back door has been replaced with one that’s stronger, more reinforced. I should make sure it’s still locked, though. I don’t want anyone trying to get in.

Checking the lock on the back door triggers something inside me, and I spend the next hour making rounds like I’m back in prison, patrolling a space that’s mine but doesn’t feel like it. I keep an ear on the house as I walk around, listening to the way the floorboards creak, the subtle shifts in the walls. Learning and memorizing the noises it makes. It’s instinct, asurvival mechanism from prison. Listen, learn, and understand the different noises. That way you’re always prepared.

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