Page 32 of Hellbent (Snakes & Daggers #1)

“It’s called a spotlight,” says Wyatt. “You’ve been marked, Max. And whoever took this photo already knows your general location—obviously—so they’re looking to close in.“

I think back to the night at the bar.

The heat. The music. The feeling of being wanted, touched, seen.

I thought I was safe. Wrapped up in Jake and Damian.

Anonymous.

But now my na?veté embarrasses me. The two men in the alley saw everything—me on my knees, Jake and Damian in my mouth. And then there was the man inside, the one who slithered up with that disconcerting smile on his lips.

It’s Maxwell, right?

I told myself he was no one, just a creep, but that moment should have set every nerve on fire.

He was looking for me. Or maybe all of them were. And he didn’t need a zoom lens or a long shot.

He was right there.

“I found it this morning on a private contract board,” Jake continues, and I swallow, trying to clear my thoughts.

“W-who posted it?”

Ryder’s gaze narrows. “We were hoping you’d tell us. Who would be looking for you, Maxwell?”

“I don’t know.” It comes out too fast. Ryder lifts an eyebrow.

My pulse jumps. Shit.

I wasn’t ready for a direct hit. I panicked, and now I’ve lied. I just need a second to think. To decide what they need to know—and what they don’t.

“I mean—I told you about Billy. My ex. That he was…involved in some things. But I don’t think he’d…” My voice trails off.

It’s not true. There’s no telling what Billy might do—that’s the thing about Billy.

Damian speaks up, quiet but firm. “This isn’t some jealous ex shit, Max. This is professional. High dollar. Whoever posted it has resources—and reach.”

Wyatt’s watching me carefully. Like if I so much as flinch, he’ll know I’m hiding something.

And I am.

My throat tightens.

I never told them about the club. I let them believe I came from something small. Normal. A world they could stomach.

Not the kind of world Wyatt spits on and Ryder lost someone to.

Telling them now changes everything. Because I didn’t just date someone in the O.D.—I lived and breathed it. I didn’t fight and I didn’t run away until I had to.

Not to mention that I’ve let this omission go on too long. Coming clean now will feel like betrayal. Like I was only pretending to be this girl they’ve come to trust.

How could you let us think you were someone else?

For the first time in my life, I have something good. A job, a room of my own, and people who make me feel safe and cared for. I love this version of me. And I’m terrified to lose her.

If they knew the whole truth...they might walk away. And I couldn’t survive that. I just need to stay small and quiet long enough for Billy’s anger to blow over. His attention always drifts to the next shiny thing eventually.

So I lie again.

“I don’t know who posted it. I swear.”

A beat of silence. Just my pulse pounding in my ears.

“All right,” Ryder says finally, voice even. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Maxwell, you will stay here for the foreseeable future—no more working at the garage.”

“But—”

No more working at the garage? My job is everything to me. What will I do all day if I’m not there?

What would I do all day here , alone, with Ryder?

“Not safe,” he says. Final, absolute, and not up for debate.

I glance at Wyatt. He shakes his head. Grim.

“Security protocols get reworked,” Ryder continues. “Surveillance goes up tonight. Rotating schedule. Damian, you cover the shop, I have perimeter. Jake, you’re on digital—scan everything.”

Damian speaks up. “She can stay at our place. That way there’ll be two of us there to protect her.”

Ryder’s head turns slowly, eyes flashing like gunmetal, and speaks low and lethal.

“You took her to the bar,” he says, and then detonates. “Now she’s on a fucking bounty board!”

The words are fast and loud, hitting like a bullets, and no one moves. No one breathes.

“She stays here,” he bites out. “Period.”

No one argues.

The others leave a few hours later, one by one.

“It’s gonna be okay, kid,” says Wyatt, pulling me into a reassuring embrace.

Jake presses a kiss to my temple. “This is just temporary,” he murmurs.

Damian grabs my face and kisses me. “Be good,” is all he says.

And then it’s just me and Ryder, alone in his house, with everything sparking between us.

He brings bedding downstairs and starts making up the couch. But when I move to take it, he stops me.

“You’re sleeping upstairs.”

“The couch is fine,” I protest.

His voice drops, firm and final.

“I said upstairs.”

No room for argument. Not tonight.

I climb the stairs slowly, every step landing too loud, and open the door at the far end of the landing.

I’ve never been in Ryder’s bedroom before.

It’s sparsely furnished and clean. The bed is big—king-sized, black sheets, tight corners like a soldier’s cot scaled up. Two pillows, perfectly centered. Not a wrinkle in sight.

There’s a dresser against the wall. A single duffel tucked at its base. His boots lined up with military precision. A handgun holstered near the door.

I drift closer. The top drawer is cracked just enough to tempt me.

Inside: folded undershirts, balled up pairs of socks. A watch. A large knife.

And near the back—a box of condoms, half-full.

My stomach tightens, just a little. A flash of blonde hair cuts across my mind, uninvited. I shove it aside and close the drawer.

On top of the dresser is a small cedar box, square, and worn at the corners.

I lift the lid lightly with one finger. Inside, a few trinkets look they hold some meaning.

A battered Zippo lighter with an etched emblem I don’t recognize.

A heavy coin stamped with Latin I can’t translate.

A single dog tag—older than the ones they wear now.

A rosary missing half its beads. A single casing from a fired bullet, dark and dented.

I close the lid gently, careful to set it back exactly how I found it. A little flush of guilt rises in my chest at my snooping, but mostly what I feel is curiosity. This is the only thing in the whole room that feels personal.

No books. No keepsakes. No clutter. Not a single trace of a personal life. Just discipline and utility.

And condoms.

How very Ryder.

I move to the bed, pull back the covers, and slide beneath them.

The sheets smell like him—faint spice and clean skin. It floods me. Of all the things that could’ve happened today…I never thought I’d end up here. Not like this.

I lie on my side, eyes on the door, and wait for him to check in. To say something. To break the silence. But he never comes upstairs.

I think about the picture. The bounty. The eyes watching me.

I think about Billy. The senator.

I think about Ryder’s voice in my head, sharp and low: If you were mine, I wouldn’t let anyone else touch you.

My pulse won’t slow. My thoughts won’t stop.

I’m in his bed and I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

Sleep doesn’t come.