Page 85 of Hellbent
Before I can fire back, a deep voice makes my heart stop.
“Wyatt.”
Ryder steps forward—hair pulled back, beard trimmed, black tee stretched tight across his shoulders. Heavy boots. Heavy presence.
But his eyes are all warmth for Wyatt, laced with familiarity and respect.
“Good to see you, man.”
Wyatt nods once. “You too.”
They clasp forearms, solid and wordless, and then Ryder turns to me.
“Maxwell,” he says, even and unreadable.
“Hey, Ryder,” I say, trying my best to match his cool.
He nods, nothing more, then turns back to Wyatt. Hand on his shoulder, posture easy.
I smile tightly and step aside as someone brushes past us with a drink in hand, yelling something about beer pong.
Jake leans in, voice low and flirty. “You okay, babe?”
“Yeah,” I say, swallowing. “Just hot.”
Wyatt and Ryder peel off toward the back deck, pulled into the gravity of the group of older guys out there—scarredand sunburnt and already half-drunk, their laughter punching through the noise of the music.
We head in the opposite direction, deeper into the crush of bodies and noise. As we pass the hallway, I spot Luis near the edge of the living room, talking to a girl with blue hair. He catches my eye, lifts his chin. I wave.
Then Damian tugs me toward the center of the room, where bodies are swaying, grinding to the music.
“You know I love it when we dance together, Finch,” he says with a grin.
I let him pull me in.
His hands land on my waist and we move together, barely on beat, and I don’t care.
The next song starts and Jake cuts in, fingers sliding through mine as he tugs me against him, one hand low on my back.
“Missed you,” he murmurs into my ear. “Been buried in drywall and busted wiring for far too long.”
“I noticed.”
He brushes a kiss along my jaw, and we sway slowly. Damian’s still close, heat pressing in at my back.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement—Wyatt and Ryder stepping back through the sliding doors, their silhouettes framed in the warm light spilling from the kitchen. I turn my head just as Ryder’s gaze flicks up.
Our eyes meet briefly, his gaze impassive before he looks away, like he hadn’t been looking at me at all.
But he had.
And even a quick, bland look across a crowded room spikes my heart rate.
Then Jake’s hand slides lower on my back, palm dragging slowly over the curve of my hip—pulling my awareness back to the heat already pressed against me. Damian’s mouth finds the side of my neck, warm and lingering, his teeth scraping the skinlike a dare. The contact grounds and centers me, the familiar, magnetic tension between us impossible to ignore.
The music swells. Someone shouts for shots in the kitchen. Laughter flares beside me, sharp and sudden like a match being struck.
Jake and Damian tighten in around me—hands gripping my waist, mouths brushing my skin, their bodies a wall of heat. I turn my head without meaning to. Just a flicker of instinct. And I catch Ryder’s eyes again.
