Page 5 of Hellbent (Snakes & Daggers #1)

We’re crammed into the front of Damian’s pickup, me sandwiched between them, my bare legs pressed against the leather seat.

I’m wearing my little black dress again, swallowed up by the giant parka I’ve been borrowing from Ryder.

My legs are goose-pimpled from the cold, stretching bare from my Converse high-tops up to where the coat brushes my knees.

Not the most seasonally appropriate look, but it beats wearing coveralls for the sixth day in a row.

For the first time in a week, I feel a little more like myself. A little more…feminine.

I briefly hesitate to do that math. “Twenty-two.”

Jake narrows his eyes. “Really?”

I blink. “What?”

He gives me a once-over. “You got I.D.?”

I shake my head and laugh. “Why?”

“You look young.”

I almost say, Is that a bad thing? But then I stretch up to see my reflection in the rearview mirror, and notice the way my face looks bare, scrubbed clean.

Back at the club, all the women wore makeup—including me. I never thought much of it at the time, but now, without a stitch of makeup on, I do look young. No mascara, no eyeliner, no lipstick to sharpen my edges.

I shrug instead. “Well, I don’t have any way to fix that.”

“Just act confident,” Damian says. “No one will question you if you don’t hesitate.”

Easy for him to say. Damian doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who gets rattled by anything.

I glance out at the road as we drive, my nerves settling into something quieter, something more reflective.

I don’t know exactly where we are in relation to the O.D. clubhouse, but I’m pretty sure we’re headed in the opposite direction. And thank fuck for that.

Not that I ever saw the club hit local bars much—the whole point of the clubhouse was to party there—but still. The idea of running into someone from that world out on the streets? Not worth thinking about.

I find myself wondering again, for a fleeting moment, what Billy must be thinking these days.

Bet he doesn’t care.

He’s probably already found my replacement.

The thought should make me feel something. Jealousy, or sadness. But it doesn’t. Just relief.

He was never faithful. If pressed, he would say we had an open relationship. But it was only ever open for him.

The drive is short—ten minutes, maybe. I’m surprised at how close the town is, considering how isolated Ryder’s land feels.

We roll past cozy storefronts with hand-painted signs, flower pots hanging from lampposts, and a couple walking arm-in-arm down the sidewalk, bundled against the cold.

It’s cute. Normal.

Small town America.

“Is this it?” I ask, fingers resting against the cool glass. “The town?”

Jake glances at me, amused. “Were you expecting skyscrapers?”

I smile. “I didn’t expect flower pots.”

He nods out the window. “College keeps it alive. Restaurants, bars, couple of shops. Gets busy on the weekends, especially when there’s a game.”

The truck slows as Jake spots a free parking space, and Damian swings the wheel, backing in with practiced ease. The three of us climb out, and the moment my shoes hit pavement, I inhale the crisp night air.

Town smells different than the countryside around Ryder’s place. More acidic, like smoke, perfume, and fried food.

We head down the sidewalk, weaving through groups of people until the bar comes into view. It’s a low, wide building with a sloped roof and a wraparound porch. It looks like it used to be a house, but the music inside is thumping, and voices spill out in messy, drunken waves.

For a second, I just take it all in.

Beside it, a bookstore. And across the street—a women’s clothing shop.

A rush of longing surges through me. I could shop here. Walk these streets like I belong. Buy myself anything I want.

Is this what regular life is like? What I’ve been missing out on this whole time?

Could this actually be my life, too?

On impulse, I duck out from under Jake’s arm.

“I’ll meet you inside,” I tell them.

Then I hesitate. Waiting for them to say no. To tell me I can’t.

But I’m not with the O.D. anymore. I’m with Jake and Damian. I have cash in my pocket. I have a job.

Jake just looks curious. “Yeah, sure. We’ll grab a table.”

Damian nods, completely unfazed.

And just like that, they turn and walk into the bar.

I breathe in deep, swallowing the unexpected tightness in my chest. Then, with a burst of adrenaline, I dart across the street.

As I push open the door to the boutique, two girls are walking out, laughing. I slip inside and head straight for the nearest rack of jeans.

Time to start my new life.

The bar is packed, the thump of bass vibrating through my ribs as I step inside.

Jake lifts a hand to wave me over when he spots me. He and Damian are tucked into a corner booth, both sprawled back in their seats.

Seeing them here, around normal people, makes them stand out even more.

Jake, clean-cut and confident, eyes full of mischief. Damian, brooding, razor-sharp gaze and that hint of something dangerous coiled under the surface. Years of military discipline show in the set of their shoulders. They’re bigger, broader, and tougher-looking than anyone else here.

The bar’s full of soft-faced college guys and aging townies in flannel. Jake and Damian look like they were dropped in from another world.

I walk toward them, my new jeans hugging my legs, my fitted black tank top peeking out from beneath the parka. I feel different. Lighter. Like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life.

Damian flicks his eyes over me with unabashed appreciation. Jake lets out a low whistle of approval.

“Damn, Max,” he says, flashing that lopsided grin. “Look at you.”

I grin, sliding into the booth, unzipping my coat, and letting it fall behind me. Both of them run appreciative eyes over my new top.

The waitress appears, and I order a beer and three shots of whiskey. She nods and doesn’t blink, and when she walks away Jake gives me a high-five.

“Big spender tonight, huh?”

I tap my envelope of cash against the table. “It’s the least I can do.”

Jake and I lift our glasses when the waitress brings them, but Damian passes, shaking his head. He nods toward the glass of water in front of him.

“Don’t drink,” he says. “Let’s just say Damian and booze is not a great combination.”

Jake picks up his shot and downs it, and then we clink the glasses we’re holding in our hands together before tossing them back. The burn hits fast, but so does the warmth that follows, spreading through my limbs, smoothing out any lingering nerves.

Jake leans in closer, resting his arm along the back of my seat, his voice dipping just enough to make my stomach tighten.

“You really look good, babe.”

Heat blooms up my neck.

“Thanks.” I reach for my beer, hoping it cools me down.

It’s been a while since I felt this kind of heat. I had become shut down to Billy, and his preoccupation with power, control, other women. But now…I feel awake again.

Maybe it’s the whiskey. Or the way Jake is watching me. Or the simple fact that, for the first time in years, I can do whatever I want.

And for once I want to be wanted.

The dance floor is a riot of heat and motion, the bassline thrumming through my body as I sway with Jake.

I’m buzzed, exhilarated, alive.

The first shot of whiskey turned into a second. A third. I’ve lost count. But the fire in my veins doesn’t burn anymore—it glows.

We grin at each other like idiots, moving with the music, bodies brushing, feet barely keeping rhythm, and I don’t care. For the first time in years, I feel untethered, like I might actually be allowed to be happy.

A room of my own, cash in my pocket, a job.

Jake. Damian. Wyatt. Ryder.

I got out.

Fuck, I’m lucky.

Jake catches my eye and gestures to the bar. Drink?

I nod, breathless. Yes. More. Keep this feeling going.

He disappears into the crowd, and I keep moving, laughing to myself—until someone presses up behind me.

Unfamiliar hands. Thick, rough palms running down my arms, settling at my waist.

I freeze.

Billy’s girl.

The men at the clubhouse never touched me. Not unless they wanted to get their teeth knocked out. Not unless Billy said they could.

But Billy isn’t here.

And I’m not his girl anymore.

I turn, fast and sharp, to face the man touching me.

Bald head. Thick beard. Too-close smile.

I don’t know him. And I don’t fucking want to.

He leans in, breath reeking of beer. “How you doin’ tonight, sexy?”

His fingers trail up my sides, intimate and comfortable, like we’re already lovers. I go cold. For one second, my body forgets it belongs to me.

Then something sharp and furious cuts through me.

No.

I place palms on his chest and shove him. Hard.

He stumbles back, surprised. “The fuck?”

“Don’t touch me,” I bite out. My voice is steady, loud enough to be heard by the people around us. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you don’t touch me. Ever.”

His smile drops. His eyes narrow. That shift from fake-friendly to something uglier.

“The hell did you just say to me?”

I square my shoulders, heart hammering. “I said—”

And then Damian is there, suddenly and surprisingly violent, his fist flying through the air and colliding with the guy’s jaw.

The crack is sickening. The bald guy staggers back, gripping his face, his expression morphing into something feral.

A second of stillness.

Then he lunges.

And I stumble back, straight into someone’s chest.

Jake.

“C’mon!” he shouts, grabbing my wrist, yanking me away just as chaos explodes.

People start yelling, heads snapping toward the fight, and through the blur of movement I see Damian dodging a wild swing before ramming a knee into the guy’s stomach.

The bartender is shouting. A bouncer pushes through the crowd.

“My bag!” I cry, ripping my wrist from Jake’s grasp.

I sprint for our table, grabbing my shopping bag and our coats, then dart back toward the exit.

Jake snatches the coats from me as we stumble outside, breathless.

The air is cold and sharp, biting at my flushed skin.

Jake looks at me—then bursts into laughter.

Adrenaline surges through me, my pulse hammering with a wild, dizzying thrill, and I laugh too, breathless and invincible.

Back at the clubhouse, no man would have dared to touch me like that. But that had nothing to do with me. It was Billy’s authority that protected me, not my own. I was someone else’s property.

But now?

Now, I stood up for myself. Me.

And fuck, it felt good. It felt like something I could get used to.

Jake grins, stepping in close, wrapping my coat around my shoulders before tugging me forward, his breath warm against my ear.

“You’re fucking awesome, Maxwell.”

Something shifts. His hands linger at my collar, fingers just barely brushing my skin.

The space between us tightens—not just physically, but a pull, like gravity, like we both know exactly what’s coming and neither of us wants to stop it.

My breath catches, his green eyes flick down to my lips, and for a split second, there’s a choice.

A moment to step back, to pretend this tension isn’t real.

But neither of us moves.

Then his lips are on mine.

Hard. Hungry. Hot.

I gasp, hands fisting in his shirt as warmth floods my limbs, his mouth firm and sure, tilting against mine just enough to tease. My fingers find his hair, thick and soft, and I tug.

He groans and I feel it against my lips and deep in my stomach.

Jesus . I forgot what this felt like.

Someone grabs Jake’s collar from behind and yanks him back.

“Let’s go,” Damian grunts, shoving Jake toward the parking lot and pulling his coat out of the bundle in his arms. “I can’t believe you’re fucking out here making out while I’m in there doing all the work.”

Jake laughs, breathless. “You love doing all the work.”

Damian rolls his eyes. “Get in the truck, losers.”

I climb into the truck first, still dazed and burning from that kiss. Jake slides in beside me, flashing a grin full of intent.

Damian slams the driver’s door shut, locking me in between them, and peels out onto the street.

We fly down the road, past the town limits, onto the dark stretch of highway.

“You’re a wild woman, Max,” Jake says, voice full of admiration. “I can’t believe you tried to take on Connor.”

“I fucking hate that guy,” Damian mutters.

Jake nudges me. “What’d he do, exactly?”

“He tried to grope me.” I shrug and then laugh, feeling silly and loose. “Mess with the bull, you get the horns.”

Damian barks a laugh.

Jake wraps an arm around my shoulders, tugging me against him.

“You are so fucking sexy, you dork,” he murmurs.

Then he kisses me again.

I don’t think about where we are. About the fact that Damian is right there beside me, close enough to hear every breath, every shift. I don’t care. I kiss back.

Because Jake’s mouth is perfect, and I’m losing myself in the way he tastes and feels.

His hand slides under the hem of my shirt, fingers skating over my ribs, teasing just enough to make me arch. He hums against my lips, pleased, his other hand gripping my thigh, pressing into the denim of my new jeans.

A sharp inhale from Damian pulls me back for a second, reminding me that we aren’t alone. But suddenly that knowledge only makes my pulse pound harder.

Jake pulls back slightly, his lips brushing my jaw, his breath warm. “You good, babe?”

I nod. Better than good, but it’s not enough. I need more.

He smiles and leans in, voice low. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me, Maxwell.”

I shiver. His grip tightens on my thigh, his mouth finding mine again, deeper this time.

Damian sighs, muttering something under his breath.

I don’t know if it’s amusement, frustration, or something else entirely.

But I don’t stop. And neither does Jake.