Page 9 of Hellbent (Snakes & Daggers #1)

TRAILING JAKE UP the stairs, my hand in his, I feel drugged—giddy and high.

The last time I felt like this was years ago when Billy and I were new. My body humming, my pulse thrumming, my mind spinning with nothing but him.

I didn’t anticipate feeling this kind of hunger again. At least not any time soon. But the prospect of being close to Jake again has my skin tingling.

Upstairs, he pulls open a closet I hadn’t checked earlier, revealing a washer and dryer. He grabs two fresh towels from the dryer, then flashes me that irresistible, lopsided grin.

“Fuck, you don’t know how bad I wanted to get back to you today,” he says, shutting the bathroom door behind us.

Heat licks through me. “Yeah?”

His gaze darkens. “Missed you.”

His hand skims up my neck, fingers threading into my hair. He tilts my head just so—

And then he kisses me.

Deep. Consuming. Just as hungry as I feel.

I melt into it, dizzy from the smell of his skin, the taste of his tongue, the way he pulls me in like he can’t get close enough.

“I really did miss you,” he whispers against my lips. “Is that weird?”

“God, no.” I laugh softly, breathless.

“Good.”

Still smiling, he pulls back and slides the shower curtain open, turning on the water. He tests the temperature with his palm, then reaches for the button on his jeans.

“C’mon.” He tugs them down, revealing golden, muscular legs, and tilts his chin at me. “Let’s get you undressed.”

He trails his fingers up my sides, lifting my shirt, unhooking my bra with practiced ease.

“Should we be doing this?” I ask breathlessly as he unzips my jeans. “Here?”

“Yes.” He pushes them down over my hips, voice firm.

“But what about the others?”

Jake cups my jaw, kissing me slow and deep before pulling back just enough to say, “I don’t care about the others.”

It’s an order. And I obey.

I climb into the shower, shivering with pleasure as the warm water rushes over my skin. When Jake steps in behind me, he stops. Just…looks at me, like a man having a religious experience.

“Good God, woman,” he murmurs, hands spanning my hips before he turns me around and pulls me back against him.

The rough scrape of his stubble teases the sensitive skin of my neck. His cock, thick and hot, presses between my legs. “I need to fuck you,” he groans. Helpless. “I’ve been hard all day thinking about you.”

“Yes,” I whisper back, breathless. Yes, of course. Now .

I wonder if the others will know what we’re doing.

I picture Damian and Ryder setting the table downstairs, their minds full of images of me getting fucked right here, in the shower with Jake—getting turned on—and my body clenches, the pulse inside of me throbbing.

Jake slides his hands over my stomach, lower, and lines himself up.

I think of Damian, of his rough exhale in the dark last night, the way he came watching us, and I moan as Jake pushes into me, loud and helpless.

“Christ,” Jake chokes, then suddenly pulls back.

I whip my head around, startled.

“I don’t have a condom,” he says, voice rough with restraint.

“Then just pull out.” My voice is desperate, pleading. “I have an IUD.”

Jake curses and thrusts back inside.

I press my hands to the tile, pushing back to meet him. Chasing every deep, perfect stroke. His hands skim up, palming my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers.

“Fuck, baby,” he stammers. His voice is wrecked. “Jesus fucking Christ, you feel so good.”

“Please don’t stop,” I beg as his rhythm stutters.

“I—fuck. I’m gonna come inside you if I don’t pull out now.”

I tighten around him, pushing back harder. “It’s okay. Just don’t stop.”

Jake groans, a raw, broken sound.

“Fuck—Max—” He slams into me, deep and hard, tremors wracking his body, but I spiral over the edge first, my release tearing through me, hot and blinding.

“Oh fuck. Shit.” Jake shudders, his whole body locking up as he spills inside me.

For a long moment, we just breathe. Water runs over my shoulders, down the ends of my hair, making long rivulets that cascade like waterfalls.

I feel his chest rise and fall against my back, his lips press to the curve of my shoulder.

Then, soft and awed, he whispers, “Holy shit.”

By the time we’re soaping each other’s backs, rinsing off sweat and sex, we’re laughing at our own intensity.

“Your cum is still running down my leg,” I protest with a grin when we get out of the shower, grabbing a towel and blotting the inside of my thighs. “I rinsed twice, but there’s only so much a girl can do.”

Jake groans, looking way too pleased. “Mmm. That’s so fucking hot.” He scrubs a towel through his hair with both hands and then wraps it low around his hips and tucks in the end. “I love knowing you’re full of me.”

Heat flares in my stomach.

“It’s gonna drive me fucking insane sitting at dinner with Damian, Ryder, and Wyatt—knowing it’s my cum running into your panties.”

The words are surprising. Competitive and possessive.

But they make me shiver. I want to be possessed by Jake. I want to be owned in front of these men.

It feels strangely formal to sit down to dinner in the house, compared to eating out of takeout containers in the garage.

Today was my longest stretch of time with Ryder, and while I thought it ended on a good note, now he gives me a tense, displeased look as I take my place at the table. Perhaps our time spent together hasn’t softened him toward me as much as I thought.

I try for a smile, but it comes out small and uncomfortable—lips pressed together, eyebrows lifted apologetically. I wish I had the balls to match his energy, to look just as unimpressed with him as he is with me.

But I don’t have that luxury. I need him to want me here.

Jake, on the other hand, is the picture of ease—relaxed, grinning, passing around dishes and lifting his beer in a gregarious toast.

Wyatt watches him with mild amusement. “Well, you’re certainly in a good mood.”

The subtext is obvious.

Jake just grins and takes a sip of beer. “Yup.”

But Ryder doesn’t even pretend to be amused. He just watches me levelly, and then he speaks.

“Eventful day for you, Maxwell.” His voice is mild, but there’s something underneath it—something knowing.

The warmth of Jake’s hands on my body still lingers, like an imprint burned into my skin. I swallow and lift my beer, taking a slow sip.

“Guess so.”

Ryder’s gaze flicks briefly to Jake, then back to me, like he’s piecing together something obvious but unsaid.

My cheeks warm. He knows. They all do.

The food is good, better than I expected, and the drinks go down easy. The atmosphere at the table is boisterous, conversation flowing effortlessly with Jake and Damian trading stories, and Wyatt chiming in with dry humor. I even catch myself smiling.

But across the table, Ryder is watching me.

Not obviously. Not in a way anyone else would call out. But I feel the way his eyes track me when I take a sip of my beer, the way his fingers tighten slightly around his glass when I laugh at something Damian says.

I don’t acknowledge it, but my skin prickles under the heat of his gaze.

Then it’s gone. He lifts his drink and looks away like it never happened.

Just when I’m loosening up, laughing and not sparing a single thought for Billy or the clubhouse, Damian—because of course it’s Damian—turns my way and starts up a new conversation.

“So, Max,” he says, in that lazy, cocky drawl, “you ever think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t run that night?”

My stomach clenches.

I force a casual sip of beer. “Not really.”

Damian looks surprised. “I would. Like, would you still be with that guy, do you think?”

Something shifts at the table. A quiet ripple of tension.

Ryder is watching me closely now.

I shrug, forcing an easy tone. “No. But there’s no point in even thinking about it. I ran. I made it here. That’s all that matters.”

Ryder tilts his head slightly. Calculating.

“But why here?”

I hesitate. “What do you mean?”

Ryder’s fingers tap against his beer bottle, but Damian, seeing where he’s going, picks up the thread and leans forward.

“You were drugged. Out of it. Yet somehow you ended up on our porch,” says Damian. “Not at a gas station. Not at a hospital. You have to admit that’s weird.”

I grip my fork tighter. “I just ran in one direction. I guess I got lucky.”

“I’ll say you got lucky,” Damian agrees, leaning back, but Ryder’s gaze sharpens.

“Unless luck had nothing to do with it,” says Ryder, quiet but pressing.

Wyatt clears his throat. “Doubt she had much of a master plan, Ryder.”

“Maybe not. But whoever she ran from might have.”

Silence falls over the table.

I can feel Jake’s knee bump against mine under the table. A silent reassurance.

I exhale slowly, meeting Ryder’s stare with a confidence I don’t entirely feel. “I’m not bringing trouble with me. I’ve been here a week. No one’s come looking or anything.”

“Yet.” The word lands sharply.

Jake finally speaks, voice firm but gentle. “No reason to think anyone will. You’re here, and you stay as long as you need. End of story.”

Ryder doesn’t respond, but his expression remains unconvinced, like he’s not finished with the conversation, even if he’s done speaking.

I nod, pretending that ends it, but I don’t miss the inherent warning. You better not bring trouble.

And hopefully I won’t.

I don’t think I will.

I swallow the last of my beer, trying to act unaffected.

When Wyatt pushes back his chair and starts gathering plates, Jake’s pinky brushes against mine under the table. A barely-there touch. A silent question.

Then he stretches, throwing an arm around the back of my chair. “You could crash here tonight,” he suggests casually.

It’s a simple offer, but I don’t miss the way Ryder’s eyes narrow slightly. Or the way Wyatt straightens, shaking his head before I can even consider it.

“Nah,” Wyatt says, finality in his voice. “It’s already late. I’ll take her back now.”

I hesitate. Just for a second. Because I want to stay. But Wyatt’s already standing, pulling on his coat, and I sense his disapproval. It means something to me that he cares about me, and I don’t want to disappoint him.

Jake huffs a quiet laugh, not exactly surprised. “All right, old man, you act like I was suggesting something scandalous.”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” Wyatt counters. Then to me: “C’mon, kid. Get your coat.”

Jake leans back in his chair, hands lifted in surrender, but there’s a spark of something mischievous in his eyes when he glances at me. “Looks like Dad’s making the call.”

Wyatt ignores him, already heading for the door.

I hesitate again, glancing at Ryder, arms crossed over his chest. There’s something…satisfied in his gaze. Like he approves of Wyatt shutting this down.

I don’t fully understand the dynamics here yet.

I stand, slipping into Ryder’s coat and my helmet. Wyatt holds the door open and I step through it into the freezing cold February night, Ryder’s words echoing ominously in my mind.

Unless luck had nothing to do with it.

I don’t believe in fate. But I know a warning when I hear one. I guess Ryder and I didn’t make as much headway today as I thought.