Page 100 of Hellbent
Bone. Flesh. Pavement.
The sound is nauseating—wet and thick.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Scar’s head bounces with every hit. His arms twitch, but there's no fight left.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Ryder’s face is blank now. No fury, no heat. Just cold focus.
An executioner, not a man.
Ten.
Eleven.
“Ryder—” My voice catches. Barely audible.
Twelve.
“Ryder!” I shout, staggering upright, palms raw, legs shaking.
Thirteen.
I lunge and grab his arm—his blood-slicked, iron-hard forearm.
“Ryder. That’s enough.”
He doesn’t move.
The fist is still cocked, trembling in the air.
“You’ll kill him.”
He turns his head, chest heaving, and looks at me as though he doesn’t recognize me.
There’s just blood and breath and the sudden silence between us.
Then the spell breaks.
He lets go.
His fist lowers. His shoulders slump forward like gravity just remembered him.
His breath saws in and out, chest still rising like he’s mid-fight, even though both men are down. One unconscious. The other barely breathing.
“Ryder,” I whisper.
No response.
