Page 94 of Ruthless Regret

I almost laugh.Am I okay? I haven't been okay in fourteen years.

"I need some time," I say, my voice rougher than I intend.

She nods, and the understanding in her eyes throws me off balance. So much has changed between us in such a short time.

We head inside, and I make a beeline for the stairs.

“Help yourself to food and drink.” I don’t look back, and take the stairs two at a time.

Once the bedroom door shuts behind me, I let out a long, shuddering breath. The silence wraps around me, but it's not comforting. It's oppressive, filled with the weight of unanswered questions and lost opportunities.

I burst into movement, pacing the length of the room. I can’t stop the relentless thoughts filling my head.

Ramsey's dead. The key to unraveling this whole mess is gone. What the hell are we supposed to do now?

My feet carry me back and forth, a familiar pattern.

Seven steps, turn.

Seven steps, turn.

It's the same number of steps I used to take in my cell. And as soon as the thought forms, I’m not in my bedroom anymore.

I'm back in Cedar Pines Maximum Security, the walls closing in around me. The constant noise—shouting, metal doors slamming, the ever-present hum of tension—it all comes rushing back.

"Hey, pretty boy," a gruff voice calls out. "Fresh meat's looking a little lost. I’ll help you. All you’ll need to do in return is open that pretty mouth for me."

I keep my head down, trying to ignore the taunts. I've been here for three days, and already I've learned that engaging only makes things worse.

A hard shove from behind sends me stumbling. I catch myself against the wall, turning to face my attacker. It's oneof the older inmates, another lifer like me. Except this one has nothing to lose, while I’m still hoping someone will come and tell me everything was a mistake and I can go home.

"I'm talking to you, murderer," he snarls, getting in my face.

I try to back away, but I'm surrounded. Three more guys, all bigger than me, all with that same predatory look in their eyes.

The first punch catches me off guard. Pain explodes across my jaw. I try to defend myself, but I'm outnumbered, and I’ve never had to defend myself like this before. Fists rain down on me from all sides. I curl into a ball, trying to protect my head.

Guards are shouting, running toward us. But it's too late. The damage is done.

I spend the next week in the infirmary, my body a canvas of bruises and cuts. When I'm released, I’m sent straight to solitary.

"For your own protection," they tell me.

The silence of solitary is deafening after the constant noise of gen pop. I should be grateful for the safety, but instead, I feel like I'm losing my mind, so I start talking to myself, just to hear a human voice.

"When I get out of here, I'm going to find her. I'm going to make her pay for what she did to me."

The words echo off the concrete walls, coming back to me distorted and strange. But I cling to them. They're all I have. The promise of revenge, of justice—it's the only thing keeping me sane.

The memory fades, and I’m back in the middle of the bedroom, bent over, my hands on my knees, breathing hard.

That was my first month in prison. That was how I learned that to survive, I had to become someone else. Someone harder, colder. Someone who could weather years of hell and come out the other side.

But now? Now I'm free. And I have no fucking idea how to live in this world anymore.

Hours pass, and darkness falls outside my window. I barely move from my position in the center of the room, lost in my thoughts, trapped in an endless loop of what-ifs and maybes. And it’s only when a soft knock on the door breaks through my haze that I realize the sun has set.

"Zain?" Ashley's voice filters through. "Are you hungry? I made something to eat."

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