This Regret

By: Victoria Ashley

The blast of a .38-caliber revolver sends me crashing to the ground on my knees with gravel digging deep into my flesh.

My hands grip the gritty ground as if my life depends on it, causing my fingers to bleed. Who knows, at this point, maybe it does.

Even with my eyes closed, I can feel the world spinning around me, my body threatening to give up and lose what control I have left. Tears stream down my horror-stricken face and a silent scream is threatening to form in my throat. It hurts. It hurts like hell.

That’s when I hear it. A bloodcurdling scream that makes my blood run cold. Except, it’s not my screaming that is roaring through my ears as I expected.

It’s the screaming of a woman. A very angry, hysterical woman.

The only thing I can decipher is, “Call 911. Somebody fucking call 911. There’s blood everywhere.”

I can hear bodies shuffling nearby, some of them even tripping over me to get away, but I can only process one thought. He’s gone. Please don’t let him be gone.

With force I am yanked to my feet, before a large hand smacks me across the face, causing blood to taste on my tongue.

I try to focus, but my vision is too blurred to make any sense of who has control of my body and at this point, I’m not so sure it even matters.

“This is your fault,” the deep voice growls as I spit blood onto his filthy boots. Narrowing his eyes, he wraps my hair securely around his hand and yanks my head back, hard, while his other hand tightens around my throat, squeezing. “You’re going to pay for this if it’s the last thing I do, you stupid bitch.”

He lets go of my neck and shoves me down to the ground so my face is pressed into the gravel, his boot crushing into the back of my skull. Dirt and rocks dig into my left eye, making it even harder to see through the tears. I desperately look for the man that hasn’t only crushed then stolen my heart just to crush it again, but has also replaced a part of me that I thought was long ago lost.

Realizing that my search is pointless, I just lay there defeated, feeling half-alive, but mostly dead. “Go ahead,” I whisper. “See if you can hurt me anymore than you already have. I dare you.” My body’s trembling, but I look him dead in the eye anyways. I’m not scared of dying; not after losing the biggest part of me: my heart. “Losing him will be my last regret.” I shift so I’m looking at the deep scars that cover his face. They make me sick. He makes me sick. “That and not killing you when I had the chance.”





7 weeks earlier . . .

Stretching, I roll over to rub my hand over the empty sheet next to me. My hand stops and my body freezes, as I feel, not the silkiness of my new sheet, but the flesh of a rock hard chest. I run my hand along it, trailing it down the smooth, warm flesh of defined abs, until my hand rests on a penis. Not only is it a penis, but it’s a hard, naked one.

Cursing to myself, I sit up leaning my head against the back of the headboard. I tug on my wild hair while shifting my gaze over to the naked man next to me. My eyes go wide with confusion and my stomach fills up with butterflies.

Kades sprawled out on my brand new satin sheets, sweat dripping over the ridges of his defined muscles, staining the silver of my clean bed.

I blink my eyes a few times, before my eyes fully come into focus enough to see my mind isn’t playing tricks on me. He really is here, nude and in my bed.

I exhale, my heart racing with adrenaline, before elbowing him in the side in an attempt to wake him up.

“Wake up,” I grumble.

He lets out a grunt, but doesn’t even bother with opening his eyes. Instead, he just pushes his morning boner down and mumbles something inaudible to my ears.

“Dammit, Kade.” I elbow him again, but harder this time being sure he gets the message. “Get up!”

His eyes shoot open and he sits up with a confused look on his face. When his eyes focus on me, he waves his arm in front of him and mumbles something under his breath before lying back down and closing his eyes again.

Confused and aggravated with his presence, I kick him off the bed. He lands on the ground with a big thump, causing him to wake up and cover his morning boner.

“Fuck!” he screams.

Looks like the message is loud and clear.

I lean over the bed and toss a pillow at his head as he grips a handful of his blond curls with his free hand. His expression is cute, making me laugh as he reaches for the pillow and yawns. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He presses the pillow to his crotch and stands up. His thin lips curl into a small smile before he runs a hand over his bare chest. “Oh shit.” He shakes his head in an attempt to wake up. “I almost forgot I came here last night.” He pauses to stretch and I watch him in curiosity, waiting for an explanation. My eyes can’t help but to wander down to my pillow that is still pressed firmly against his penis and for some reason I find myself wishing I can take the pillow back. Now that, is definitely something worth seeing.

“I lost my keys last night. It was late and I was tired. All I could find were your keys. Plus, your place is closer.”

I nervously chew on the inside of my lip as I give his body one last look of admiration. I always figured he was in good shape, but I never imagined . . . this.

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