Page 90 of Hellbent
Ryder’s jaw is set tight. His eyes flick over me and he steps aside without a word, letting me in.
I slip past him into the house, suddenly unsure how to carry myself, and then hover awkwardly. Ryder nods toward the couch.
I perch on the edge, and he disappears into the kitchen and comes back with two glasses of water. He sets one in front of me without a word, then takes the armchair across the room.
And then we just sit there.
He doesn’t look at me, but my eyes flick over to him, unbidden.
There’s a tiredness around his eyes. His hair is pulled back, a few strands slipping loose, brushing the side of his face. He hasn’t bothered to fix it. He looks like hell.
Still, he’s beautiful. Brutal strength wrapped in quiet control. I’ve never looked at Ryder and not felt something move inside me. His forearms are braced on his knees, tattoos twisting up the skin. His broad shoulders and chest look carved from stone under his shirt, like he could hold up the whole damn house if it started to collapse.
I look down at my water and take a sip just to have something to do with my hands.
The last time we were alone together, it wasn’t silence that filled the air. It was heat. Tension. Raised voices.
Two weeks ago, I stood in front of this man and told him off. He called me exhausting. I called him an asshole. He accused me of spreading my legs for anyone who’d have me—and then said he was jealous.
I think about the feel of his hands on my arms. His voice when he said,If you were mine...
And then I think about how he turned it right off and walked away.
I blow out a breath, trying to keep myself from talking. But the words rise anyway.
“So...is this the part where you pretend nothing happened?”
He lifts his glass, takes a slow sip, then lifts his eyes to mine.
“Nothing did,” he says coolly.
I press my lips together.
Of course.
I sink back into the couch, arms crossed tight. “Cool. Okay.”
He doesn’t say anything more.
The silence stretches.
I glance toward the window. Early afternoon light spills across the floor, reflecting dust motes against the warm, honey-colored wood. The water glass sweats on the coffee table. My knee bounces. I hate how loud my heartbeat feels.
I glance at him again, unable to stop myself.
The slant of his jaw in profile. The faint glint of a chain around his neck that disappears beneath his shirt.
How can he look so cold when everything between us is burning?
I drop my gaze, chew the inside of my cheek.
And then finally, the scrape of tires on gravel cuts through the silence. The slam of a car door.
Ryder finally moves, just a slight tilt of his head, and I follow his gaze as the front door swings open.
Jake, Damian, and Wyatt roll in like a storm cloud, quiet and heavy.
No one speaks. Not at first.
