HIS REGRET (Ex-Husband wants Me Back) novel Chapter 983

Outside, there was nothing but darkness. The rain had grown heavier, soaking the narrow path that disappeared among the trees. There were no passing vehicles and no flashlight beams. That meant no one had followed him.

Silas sat back down, trying to convince himself that it had all been nothing more than the sounds of nature. But a few minutes later, his body tensed once again.

This time, the sound came from inside the house.

He immediately raised his pistol, aiming it toward the decaying ceiling before slowly shifting his gaze to the narrow hallway connecting the main room to the kitchen. Silence greeted him once again. There were no footsteps. No shadows. Only the sound of rain relentlessly striking the roof and the wooden walls.

Silas slowly lowered his pistol and let out a long breath. For the first time in his life, he felt something he had only ever seen on the faces of others.

Fear.

Once...

He had been the one who kept people from closing their eyes. He had been the one who made his victims constantly look over their shoulders, afraid that every sound was a sign death was drawing near.

Now the situation had reversed.

Every rustle of the wind made Silas turn in alarm. Every shadow moving beyond the window looked like someone watching him from afar. He kept forcing himself to think clearly.

No one knew about this place. No one had seen where he had fled after abandoning his car. Cale's people couldn't possibly have moved that fast.

He repeated those assurances to himself over and over, but the harder he tried to calm himself, the stronger the unease growing inside his chest became. He began to feel an unnatural chill. Not only because of the mountain air that cut straight to the bone, but because his body was slowly losing its strength.

The blood still seeping from the gunshot wound in his thigh was making his face grow paler. His breathing became heavier, while fever slowly began to cloud his awareness. Even holding the pistol now felt far more difficult than it had just a few hours earlier.

Silas glanced at the clock on his phone's screen—almost midnight.

He wiped his face with a hand that had begun to tremble. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, as though his body was forcing him to stop, even while his mind kept screaming at him to stay awake.

"I just need a little sleep," he murmured softly. "Tomorrow everything will be easier."

He rested his head against the cold wooden wall. The pistol remained firmly in his hand, his fingers wrapped tightly around its grip as though it were the only thing keeping him alive.

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