Page 49 of Hellbent
I wonder where the club is in relation to here. I glance down the highway, picturing the distant roar of motorcycle engines on the horizon. What it would be like if the whole pack came thundering by in their cuts, the screaming skull insignia on their backs. The thought makes fear twist in my stomach. The kind that comes with knowing a door is closed, but never locked.
Does Billy even think about me? Does he ever wonder where I went, if I’m safe? Does he miss me?
The last question surprises me, but it shouldn’t. I know what I was to him—his to own, his to shape, his to control. But there was a time when I meant more, I know I did. Does he ever still feel that? Or did he replace me the second I disappeared, trading me for one of the countless girls who were always waiting, eager to take my place at his side?
I push the thoughts aside and focus on where I am now. Here. Alive. Standing on the side of the road, watching the first rays of light break the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of deep blue and violet. That night feels like a lifetime ago. In a way, I guess it is.
And I’m not alone anymore.
The thought softens something in my chest. I picture them—the men who’ve given me this space, this chance to breathe. Jake, with his easy confidence, his unflagging support that never feels heavy. Damian, so easy to fall into step with. Wyatt, protecting me even when I don’t think I need it.
And Ryder.
I inhale slowly, thinking about what Wyatt said the other night. That I should ask myself why Ryder is so worried aboutme. What it means. The easy answer is that he doesn’t trust me. That he thinks I’ll bring trouble. But I know that’s not it.
No, Ryder watches me like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s bracing himself for impact.
It’s stupid to think about him like this. Imagining something in his eyes when he looks at me, or that there’s a roughness in his voice when he says my name. That the way he carries himself means he’s holding something back.
By the time I return, the sky is fully awake, the sun climbing higher. The crisp bite of morning has softened into an unexpected heat. I shed my jacket, tying it around my waist as I cross the lot.
A truck is parked near the garage. Before I even reach them, Jake hops out, stretching in the sun like a cat. Damian is already leaning against the passenger door, arms crossed, watching me through dark lashes.
“Where’ve you been?” Jake asks, tipping his head.
I shrug, slowing to a stop a few feet away. “Walking.”
Damian lifts a brow but doesn’t question it. Instead, he jerks his chin toward the truck. “We’re heading out. You in?”
I narrow my eyes. “Where?”
Jake grins. “C’mon, Max. It’s Sunday. Obviously, we’re going to church.”
Damian snorts.
I exhale, glancing at the garage. At the life I’m building, piece by piece. Then I look at them, the two people who make it easier. Who remind me that life is more than just surviving.
A spark of joy flickers through me, washing away the weight of my thoughts. “Let’s go.”
I climb into the truck.
We take a dirt track, winding past bare trees and open fields, jostling over uneven ground for a few miles, somewhere roughly behind the garage.
I glance at Jake, and he grins. “Don’t worry, baby. We’re not dumping your body in the woods.”
Damian chuckles darkly. “Not today, anyway.”
I roll my eyes.
Eventually, the truck rolls to a stop in front of a partially built structure.
“Told you we were going to church, didn't I?” Jake grins, opening the passenger door. “This is it. Our place.”
Damian laughs. “Welcome to the temple of bad decisions.”
“This is your house?” I ask, closing the truck door behind me and approaching it with awe. It’s raw and unfinished, but it’s an impressive structure, even bigger than Ryder’s house.
“Yep.” Damian nods, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets as he scans the empty shell of the building.
