Page 39 of Hellbent
Damian sees the war in my head and waits, eyes glittering, like he already knows how this will end. And I guess I do, too.
I snatch the keys from his fingers. “I’m driving,” I say, running to the driver’s side door.
Damian laughs. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”
We take the back roads, the low purr of the engine filling the silence. Snow drifts, coating the old piles at the side of the road with a fresh white covering. The roads are mostly clear, but the curves are still slick in places.
I push the car faster.
Faster.
It’s reckless. Stupid, even. The roads are still dangerous this time of year. Unpredictable. But that’s exactly why I do it.
Pushing my control is exhilarating.
Damian, lounging in the passenger seat, watches me like he knows this is what I need. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t try to stop me, he just lets me drive.
I press the gas harder, the engine roaring as the speedometer climbs, and the car responds instantly, powerful and strong.
The curve comes fast. A flash of white. A shimmer across the pavement.
Ice.
The tires lose grip. The car skids, spinning out on the empty stretch of asphalt. My stomach lurches as we slide sideways, the world tilting—
I slam the brakes, the Mustang juddering as the locked tires slide without gaining purchase, and then, just as suddenly, it’s over. The car jerks to a stop. My heart pounds. My breath comes in sharp bursts.
For a second, there’s silence. Then Damian lets out a wild whoop. I turn to him, still gripping the wheel tight, and beforeI know it, I’m laughing. It’s not funny, not really, but the adrenaline, the sheer insanity of it, is shot through with relief.
Damian shifts closer, eyes wild. “You good?”
I nod, still breathless, pulse thundering. My knuckles ache from how hard I’m gripping the wheel, and I force myself to let go, lifting my eyes to Damian’s. I catch him looking right back at me, the heat in his hazel eyes making my stomach flip.
Suddenly, the way my pulse is racing has nothing to do with the near miss anymore.
He reaches out and covers one of my hands with his, thumb brushing over my fingers. He’s close. So damn close.
I lean toward him without thinking, drawn by instinct, and his laughter fades as our eyes lock, electricity pulsing between us. His gaze drops to my lips.
And then I kiss him.
It’s fast, impulsive, fueled by adrenaline. But the second our lips touch, it’s like striking a match—hot and consuming. My fingers tighten in his shirt, his hand cups the back of my neck, pulling me in deeper…
Then I realize what I’m doing and wrench back, blowing out a breath. “Shit.”
Damian leans back in his seat, completely unbothered. Cool as ice. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Finch.”
I glare at him, heart still hammering, the taste of him still on my lips. I shake my head, exhaling sharply. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Sure,” he drawls, clearly not convinced. There’s a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he leans his head against the headrest. “You ready to head back, or you wanna risk death again?”
I snort, grateful for the change of topic. “Shut up.”
He chuckles but says nothing else as I pull onto the road.
The drive back is quieter, but the tension doesn’t fade. It just settles, thick and charged, between us.
After a while, Damian turns to me. “You liked that, didn’t you?”
