Page 31 of Hellbent (Snakes & Daggers #1)

I WAKE UP to the sound of Jake’s voice downstairs.

It’s low. Urgent. Not his usual teasing drawl—this is clipped, all business.

Sunlight streams through the windows as I blink awake, still tangled in sheets and the heat of Damian beside me. My thighs ache. My skin smells like sex and salt and faint aftershave. The air in the room is heavy.

Damian’s still out cold, one arm flung over his eyes. I slide from the bed, careful not to wake him, and grab one of Jake’s t-shirts off the floor, tugging it over my head as I pad barefoot down the stairs.

Jake’s in the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear and pacing. “It’s the kind of board that only posts serious contracts,” he’s saying. He stops near the window, one hand gripping the back of a chair. “No. We didn’t see anyone. It was crowded and loud. We were watching, but not like that.”

I pause on the stairs, heart knocking.

“Yeah. I know.” His voice tightens. “I said I know.” A longer silence.

He exhales hard, rubbing the back of his neck.

“She’s in the middle of the shot. Damian and I are both in frame.

They were close.” A beat. “We didn’t even clock him—” He breaks off.

“I know. I know we should’ve seen him. I fucked up. There’s no excuse.”

He’s quiet again, jaw working.

“I already scrubbed it. Pulled the link, pinged the poster’s activity. But people saw it. There’s no telling who could be out there looking for Max at this point.”

The air goes out of my lungs.

No.

Then he winces, holding the phone a few inches away from his ear. “Okay, okay. You can tear me a new one later. Right now we need a plan.” He listens more. Nods once. “I’ll talk to Damian. Then we’ll head to the garage.” A pause. His shoulders tense. “Yep. Will do.”

He ends the call and just stands there, staring out the window, tension pouring off him in waves. It clings to the walls. It crawls under my skin.

I retreat back up the stairs and slide back beneath the sheets beside Damian like nothing's changed. But every nerve is humming, my intuition in overdrive.

Jake’s voice echoes in my head.

She’s in the middle of the shot.

They were close.

There’s no telling who could be out there looking for Max at this point.

My stomach knots.

The bed creaks beside me. Damian shifts, groaning softly like waking up is a fight he’s not ready for.

He blinks at me, bleary-eyed. “Mmmf. You’re awake,” he mumbles, voice scratchy with sleep.

“Barely,” I lie, keeping my tone light.

He huffs a lazy breath. Doesn’t move for a long second.

Then finally, with a reluctant sigh, he pushes up on one elbow, squinting toward the window. “Too early,” he grumbles. “Feels like we barely slept.”

He scrubs a hand over his face, then drags it through his hair, slow and aimless—like if he stays still long enough, he might just fall back asleep.

“I’ll make coffee,” he finally mutters, dragging himself out of bed like it physically hurts. He grabs his jeans off the floor, half-zipping them before heading out, bare feet silent on the stairs. “You coming down?”

“In a minute.”

He nods without turning around, already disappearing down the hall.

I stay where I am, lying on my back, eyes on the ceiling.

The sheets are still warm on Damian’s side. I curl into the indentation in the mattress like I can hide there, like I can anchor myself to the heat he left behind.

But my pulse won’t slow. My breath stays shallow.

I press my palms to my face, hoping to quiet everything. To stop the looping. But my thoughts won’t let go.

She’s in the middle of the shot.

We didn’t even clock him.

Didn’t clock who?

I’m sure there can only be one answer:

Billy.

I lie there, pulse pounding, willing myself to stay still, but I can already feel it—the moment before everything shifts. The quiet before the storm.

Downstairs, the murmur of voices drifts up, low and serious. Warning bells in stereo.

I pull myself up into sitting, limbs heavy, feeling like I’ve been holding my breath for hours.

Finally, I move. Slowly. I pull on my shorts, drag my hair into a ponytail with shaking hands, and head downstairs.

Jake’s leaning against the kitchen counter, one arm crossed over his chest, hand tucked into his armpit, staring down at his phone grimly. Damian’s at the table, tapping restless fingers against the wood.

They both look up the second I appear.

No smirks. No jokes. Just tension. Concern.

Jake sets his phone on the counter and lifts his green eyes to mine, serious in an unfamiliar way.

“We need to take you to Ryder’s.”

My stomach dips. “What? Why?”

He glances at Damian, something unspoken passing between them, and turns back to me.

“We’re dropping you off there. Then we’re heading to the garage to talk to Wyatt. We’ll all meet back up for dinner.”

“No.”

Damian stands, scraping the chair back and tilts his head at me. “Maxwell.” Just my name, impatient, edged with warning, and entirely unlike him.

Jake doesn’t even look at me. “Just get your shoes,” he says, pocketing his phone and grabbing his keys from the counter.

I hesitate, just for a second, waiting for someone to explain. But they don’t. Jake goes out to his car. Damian tosses my shoes at me. So I reluctantly do as I’m told, dread blooming beneath my skin.

Something’s about to blow up.

And I’m right in the center of it.

They leave me out front of Ryder’s and peel off towards the garage without waiting for Ryder to come to the door.

I knock once, and the door swings open before I can lift my hand again.

Ryder’s jaw is set tight. His eyes flick over me and he steps aside without a word, letting me in.

I slip past him into the house, suddenly unsure how to carry myself, and then hover awkwardly. Ryder nods toward the couch.

I perch on the edge, and he disappears into the kitchen and comes back with two glasses of water. He sets one in front of me without a word, then takes the armchair across the room.

And then we just sit there.

He doesn’t look at me, but my eyes flick over to him, unbidden.

There’s a tiredness around his eyes. His hair is pulled back, a few strands slipping loose, brushing the side of his face. He hasn’t bothered to fix it. He looks like hell.

Still, he’s beautiful. Brutal strength wrapped in quiet control.

I’ve never looked at Ryder and not felt something move inside me.

His forearms are braced on his knees, tattoos twisting up the skin.

His broad shoulders and chest look carved from stone under his shirt, like he could hold up the whole damn house if it started to collapse.

I look down at my water and take a sip just to have something to do with my hands.

The last time we were alone together, it wasn’t silence that filled the air. It was heat. Tension. Raised voices.

Two weeks ago, I stood in front of this man and told him off. He called me exhausting. I called him an asshole. He accused me of spreading my legs for anyone who’d have me—and then said he was jealous.

I think about the feel of his hands on my arms. His voice when he said, If you were mine...

And then I think about how he turned it right off and walked away.

I blow out a breath, trying to keep myself from talking. But the words rise anyway.

“So...is this the part where you pretend nothing happened?”

He lifts his glass, takes a slow sip, then lifts his eyes to mine.

“Nothing did,” he says coolly.

I press my lips together.

Of course.

I sink back into the couch, arms crossed tight. “Cool. Okay.”

He doesn’t say anything more.

The silence stretches.

I glance toward the window. Early afternoon light spills across the floor, reflecting dust motes against the warm, honey-colored wood. The water glass sweats on the coffee table. My knee bounces. I hate how loud my heartbeat feels.

I glance at him again, unable to stop myself.

The slant of his jaw in profile. The faint glint of a chain around his neck that disappears beneath his shirt.

How can he look so cold when everything between us is burning?

I drop my gaze, chew the inside of my cheek.

And then finally, the scrape of tires on gravel cuts through the silence. The slam of a car door.

Ryder finally moves, just a slight tilt of his head, and I follow his gaze as the front door swings open.

Jake, Damian, and Wyatt roll in like a storm cloud, quiet and heavy.

No one speaks. Not at first.

Eyes meet across the room as they settle in. Jake beside me on the couch, leaning forward, Wyatt on the other side, perching on the armrest instead of the seat, Damian leaning against the fireplace, arms crossed.

I can feel them all watching me—and then Ryder leans forward and looks at me, and this time his eyes are blazing with concern.

“We’ve got reason to believe you’re in serious danger,” he says.

The world tilts slightly, and I hold my breath, trying to keep still.

It has to be Billy.

There was a time when Billy and I loved each other. I really thought so. Two kids with no family—no one but each other. But the Billy I grew up with and the man Billy grew up to be ended up being two very different people. The Billy I left behind I no longer knew.

He made it abundantly clear that he didn’t love me anymore. I honestly didn’t think he would come looking for me.

“What’s going on?” I ask, voice wary. All I can think is, what did he do this time? Who did he threaten?

And what does this have to do with Jake’s phone conversation this morning?

Ryder nods at Jake, who just holds up his phone.

It’s a photo of me at the bar in town, my head tilted toward Jake, caught mid-laugh. Damian behind me, close. And above it, a single line of text, “LOCATE. HIGH PAYOUT.” with a link.

I swallow hard.

“Where does the link go?” I ask. Because I have to ask something. And I don’t know where to start.

Jake answers. “Encrypted drop. Blind upload. Whoever wants to collect the bounty drops proof there and gets paid.”

“The bounty?”

The bounty?