Page 40 of Hellbent (Snakes & Daggers #1)

I DON’T REALIZE I’ve fallen asleep until I wake up cold.

Ryder’s sheets are tangled around my legs. The window is slightly open and the wind battering the side of the house is whistling through the crack, whipping the curtains around. I stand and close it. The windowsill is damp. Rain is still pelting down.

The driveway below is empty, the gravel washed out where Ryder’s truck should be.

“He’ll be back before you know it,” he had said, brow creased with concern that he tried to hide with a smile. “And then I will.”

Now it’s just me.

I lay back down in the bed and press my face into the pillow and breathe him in. A smell like the woods at night, like the ocean. That rough, cold spice that clings to him even after a shower. I could drown in it. I already have—that’s the reason everything is so fucked right now.

I think about Damian.

About the way he looked at me as Jake pulled him out of the house. Angry, distant, betrayed. Like I wasn’t the same girl he worked with, slept with, knew. Like I was someone he didn’t recognize. Someone he didn’t like.

I hurt him, and I don’t know how to live with that.

I hurt him without thinking, without sense. Last night— was it only last night? —when Scar had thrown me to the ground, I had thought that all of this was over. Finding safety in Ryder’s arms had been mindless, something I was helpless against.

And in the same breath, I chastise myself. How mindless was it? I’ve been attuned to Ryder since the moment I saw him.

I turn my head toward the window. The rain claws at it like it’s trying to get in. The wind picks up. The whole house shivers.

For a second, I think about going back to the garage. Back to the storage room, the fluorescent hum of the overhead lights, the place I first landed when I crawled out of hell. I don’t belong in Ryder’s bed.

But Wyatt is gone. Billy has a bounty on my head. There’s nowhere I can go anymore.

I wake up again to the sound of the front door creaking open downstairs. I hear the slow tread of boots—his boots—crossing the threshold, and something inside me releases and breathes.

I listen for every sound. The door closing. The deadbolt sliding home.

Footsteps echo through the house. Water running in the kitchen. A cupboard opening and closing.

The stairs creak. One step. Then another.

I sit up, pulling the sheet around my waist, even though I’m wearing a t-shirt, my heart beating with anticipation.

The bedroom’s dark, but the hallway light spills through the open door, catching the edge of the bed, the corner of the dresser, painting everything in soft gold and shadow.

The doorway darkens and he stands there, framed in light. Low-slung jeans, black shirt, his hair rain-damp and pulled back.

His eyes meet mine, and everything inside me goes still.

He looks tired.

He doesn’t speak, and neither do I. The silence stretches between us and then, finally, he steps inside and sits down on the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says in a low voice. “For the way it went down.”

I swallow. “It wasn’t all you.” My voice comes out quiet. “Where did you go?”

He sighs and runs a hand over his beard.

“To Jake and Damian’s.”

That catches me off guard. I blink. “You went to talk to them?”

“Had to.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the one who broke it.”

He stares at the floor.

“I crossed a line I shouldn’t have. Let them down, let you down. I told myself it was just heat-of-the-moment shit, but I know better. I knew exactly what I was doing.” A pause. “And I did it anyway.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I’ve seen Ryder’s toughness, his violence. But this is a glimpse into Ryder the leader, the one who can shoulder a mistake and own up to it. It surprises me that he has the strength of character to face Damian so soon; to apologize. It impresses me.

“Did they say anything?” I ask.

He nods. “Jake listened. Said it was bound to happen sooner or later. Damian—” He blows out a breath. “Said I should’ve acted on my feelings sooner. That maybe things wouldn’t have gotten so fucked if I had.”

That stuns me.

“Your feelings?” I repeat, voice thin.

He looks at me, and his brow twitches like he’s surprised at my question.

“Yeah.”

A beat passes before he goes on.

“When you got here, you were wrecked. I don’t mean that as judgment—I mean you were barely standing.

I respected the hell out of that, though, how hard you fought to get your footing.

How strong you were. Over time, you started…

getting under my skin. You’re sharp. Funnier than I expected.

Braver than hell. And you don’t care what I think, which pisses me off—but I guess I like the challenge. ”

A faint, wry smile. Then he looks down at his hands.

“But by the time I knew it was more than just respect, you were already with Jake.”

A pause.

“Then Damian.”

He swallows, jaw clenching.

“And I made some calls in my head I shouldn’t have. Assumptions. Judgments. I told myself it was about protecting the group. But that was bullshit. I was angry. Jealous.”

His voice drops.

“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t gut me when Wyatt told me what he walked in on at the garage. You and Damian. That fucked me up.”

My pulse skitters. He studies me, and I can see it—all the things he’s holding back. The need. The restraint. The regret.

“This morning,” he continues, “I thought I could walk it back. Pretend it didn’t mean anything. But when the dust settled tonight, all I could think about was you. Not the fight. Not the fallout. Just you.”

My heart stops beating. His words knock the breath out of my lungs.

I want to reach for him. Say something. Anything. But the guilt is a knot in my throat. Because wanting him doesn’t erase what it cost.

Jake. Damian. I owe them amends as well.

Ryder watches me for a long moment before he speaks again.

“I’m not wired to share, Max. That’s not who I’ve ever been. But I love those men. They’re my brothers. And you—” He breaks off. Inhales. “You don’t owe me anything,” he says softly. “But you’re…you’re not something I know how to give up.”

I can’t speak for a second.

You’re not something I know how to give up.

I can’t believe this is Ryder saying this. All this time, I thought he hated me. I thought I was crazy for not being able to get him out of my head. And now here he is saying he felt all the same things. It’s like a different Ryder came home and replaced the one who left.

I reach for him—just my fingers brushing over his. I don’t even know if I mean to, but I do it anyway. Like I need proof that he’s real. That this is real.

His hand turns under mine so that our palms meet.

“I feel like I can’t breathe right when you’re in the room,” I whisper. “And when you’re not there, you’re all I can think about. All I know is I want you. And I hate that it feels like that makes me the villain.”

Ryder’s fingers tighten around mine—brief, but enough to feel like a shock of electricity. The barest tension lines his mouth and eyes.

“I don’t know how to want you without breaking everything,” I confess. “I care about them, and I hurt them.”

He draws a breath, gaze fixed on our joined hands as if anchoring himself there.

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “Me too. Listen, Jake’s always been more...open. You don’t have to worry about him. He doesn’t tie knots around what’s his. That’s not how he works. But Damian’s different. He’s the one who’s hurt.”

“Will he forgive me?”

“I think it’s going to take time. But yeah. Eventually, he’ll forgive us both.”

The wind moans outside, pressing hard against the windows, and the room lights up—brilliant white behind the curtains.

The boom comes a heartbeat later.

Loud…and close.

I flinch, and Ryder’s head snaps toward the sound—his hand already on me, pressing into my thigh like he’s ready to throw himself over me if he has to. His instincts are instant, the soldier in him ready to shield me from anything.

He looks toward the hallway, checking the light, and exhales.

“Shit. Lightning must’ve hit something out back. At least the power’s still on.”

He pulls his hand back, runs it over his face, then stands.

He crosses the room, and I think maybe that’s it. That we’ve said what we needed to say. That we’ll leave it here—tired and guilty, but still intact.

But then he turns, and the absolute rawness of his expression makes my breath catch.

Exhaustion. Pain.

“I’m trying,” he says. “To do the right thing. To be careful. To hold the line.”

My heartbeat thuds in my ears.

“But if you ask me to stay in this room with you tonight…” His voice drops. “I won’t pretend I don’t want you.”

My mouth is dry. My skin hot beneath the cotton of my shirt.

I should tell him to leave.

But I can’t.

“Please stay.”

It slips out before I even know I’ve spoken. Ryder looks at me like he’s seeing through my skin—and then he closes the distance between us.

He sits on the bed again. Closer this time.

His hand finds my jaw, fingertips brushing just under my ear.

“You sure?” he asks.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That’s all it takes.

He leans in, and his mouth meets mine with a kind of aching gentleness that splits me open more than any roughness could.

It’s slow at first, careful, and I want to memorize every second of it. The way he tastes. The way he breathes.

His lips drag down to my neck. I feel him holding back, the tenderness, the muscles locked tight with restraint.

“Touch me,” I whisper.

He pulls back just enough to look at me.

“I feel starved for you,” he growls. “I’m worried I’m not going to be gentle.”

“I don’t want gentle.”

His mouth crashes into mine and this time it’s not soft.

His hands move under my shirt, dragging it up, over, gone. He pushes me back onto the pillows and follows, weight braced on his elbows.

I arch into him, gasping when his teeth catch on the swell of my breast. He slides down my body, kissing my stomach, my hips, the inside of my thigh.