Page 117 of Hellbent
“You watch your fucking mouth,” he snarls.
“Fuck you!” Damian barks, twisting, trying to break free.
Jake lunges between them. “Hey! Hey! That’s enough!”
Wyatt’s right behind him, hands on Ryder’s biceps, trying to wedge space between them—but Ryder doesn’t move.
Damian throws Ryder off and charges again, this time leading with his shoulder, slamming him into the table. Wood cracks. Silverware scatters. Another glass breaks.
“You think you’re so fucking untouchable,” Damian spits. “No rules for Ryder.”
Ryder throws him off hard and closes the distance again, chest to chest.
“You need to show some fucking respect,” he growls. “If not to me, then to Max.”
Damian sneers, blood in his teeth.
“Because you fucked her?” he snaps. “Congrats. You win.”
The air leaves my lungs like I’ve been punched in the chest.
Ryder slams him into the chairs—one topples and skitters across the floor. Damian twists, throws a punch into Ryder’sribs. Ryder grunts, grabs him by the collar, and drives him into the wall. A framed photo crashes down and smashes.
I scream again.
They go to the floor, Ryder’s knee braced on Damian’s chest. Damian bucks hard and they roll into the living room, fists flying, out of control.
A lamp tips. A bookshelf rattles. The table wobbles, one leg cracking.
Ryder snarls and punches again. Damian lands one in return.
They’re going to kill each other.
Jake shouts something, trying to dive between them. Wyatt’s already there.
“Stand down!” Wyatt roars. “Fucking stand down!”
Finally—finally—he manages to wedge himself between them.
Ryder is breathing hard, fists clenched, chest heaving. Damian looks destroyed—lip split and eye swelling—but still ready to swing.
“Take a goddamn breath,” Wyatt snaps. “Both of you.”
Ryder steps back, but his jaw is tight. Damian twitches, like he might lunge again.
“No,” Wyatt barks. “Don’t. You’re done.”
Jake grabs Damian’s arm. “Let’s go.”
Damian shrugs him off. He’s still staring at Ryder, seething. Then, finally, he lets himself be pushed toward the door.
He doesn’t look at me.
My pulse thuds in my throat. My eyes sting.
I see the blood on Damian’s mouth. The sweat on his skin. That lock of dark hair falling over his eyes, damp and wild.
Damian, whom I’ve loved.
