Page 101 of Hellbent
His jaw is clenched so tight it looks carved from stone. His fist is still curled, twitching, like he’s fighting against himself to keep from swinging.
“Ryder, look at me.”
I reach up and press my palm to his cheek.
His skin is hot, slick with sweat and blood. His eyes are wrecked, burning with violence.
He exhales, just once, and he grabs me.
No words. Just his arms around me, sudden and fierce, one hand cradling the back of my head.
I press my face into his chest and hold on just as tight.
For a moment, the world stops. The blood. The fight. The van. All of it fades.
Just us.
I thought no one would come.
But he did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
RYDER SLAMS THE truck door behind him and peels off with a shriek of tires. Then—silence.
Except for the low rumble of the engine. The jolt of the road. The bike thudding in the truck bed behind us. Except for the pounding sound of my pulse in my ears.
I sit stiffly in the passenger seat, hands limp in my lap, my whole body humming with aftershocks I haven’t started to process.
Ryder stares dead ahead, both hands gripping the wheel with white knuckles, his jaw locked tight.
I fix my eyes on the windshield and focus on my breathing like it needs conscious attention—like if I stop, I won’t start again.
Pain registers in pieces. My shoulder aches. My palms sting, the skin torn open. My head throbs where it hit the pavement.
There’s blood on my legs and hands, and it’s not just mine.
But shock clouds everything. My mind is full of static, whitenoise pressing in around the edges. I feel soft, slippery, not entirely in my body.
Ryder is the opposite—taut and coiled, crackling with seething tension, like he’s holding his rage together with threadbare stitches.
His violence echoes in my head. The way that man screamed. The sound his arm made when it snapped. The blood on Ryder’s hands.
It’s all jumbled, fractured, pieces of something I can’t hold together.
The way Ryder moved. The speed and devastation. Like a lethal weapon unleashed.
I don’t even know if those men will live. If they’re still breathing. If they’re bleeding out in that alley.
And I don’t even know if I care.
They were going to take me, and he tore them apart to stop it.
I’m not sure what scares me more—that I saw what he’s capable of…or that it means so much to me.
The truck jerks to a stop in front of the house, and for a long moment, neither of us moves.
Then Ryder throws his door open. A second later, mine clicks open too—and his hand is there. I take it without thinking, my fingers curling around his like it's the only thing holding me upright. He helps me down, silent and strong, unlocks the front door and holds it open for me.
