Page 15 of Hellbent
Jake just looks curious. “Yeah, sure. We’ll grab a table.”
Damian nods, completely unfazed.
And just like that, they turn and walk into the bar.
I breathe in deep, swallowing the unexpected tightness in my chest. Then, with a burst of adrenaline, I dart across the street.
As I push open the door to the boutique, two girls are walking out, laughing. I slip inside and head straight for the nearest rack of jeans.
Time to start my new life.
The bar is packed, the thump of bass vibrating through my ribs as I step inside.
Jake lifts a hand to wave me over when he spots me. He and Damian are tucked into a corner booth, both sprawled back in their seats.
Seeing them here, around normal people, makes them stand out even more.
Jake, clean-cut and confident, eyes full of mischief. Damian, brooding, razor-sharp gaze and that hint of something dangerous coiled under the surface. Years of military discipline show in the set of their shoulders. They’re bigger, broader, and tougher-looking than anyone else here.
The bar’s full of soft-faced college guys and aging townies in flannel. Jake and Damian look like they were dropped in from another world.
I walk toward them, my new jeans hugging my legs, my fitted black tank top peeking out from beneath the parka. I feel different. Lighter. Like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life.
Damian flicks his eyes over me with unabashed appreciation. Jake lets out a low whistle of approval.
“Damn, Max,” he says, flashing that lopsided grin. “Look at you.”
I grin, sliding into the booth, unzipping my coat, and letting it fall behind me. Both of them run appreciative eyes over my new top.
The waitress appears, and I order a beer and three shots of whiskey. She nods and doesn’t blink, and when she walks away Jake gives me a high-five.
“Big spender tonight, huh?”
I tap my envelope of cash against the table. “It’s the least I can do.”
Jake and I lift our glasses when the waitress brings them, but Damian passes, shaking his head. He nods toward the glass of water in front of him.
“Don’t drink,” he says. “Let’s just say Damian and booze is not a great combination.”
Jake picks up his shot and downs it, and then we clink the glasses we’re holding in our hands together before tossing them back. The burn hits fast, but so does the warmth that follows, spreading through my limbs, smoothing out any lingering nerves.
Jake leans in closer, resting his arm along the back of my seat, his voice dipping just enough to make my stomach tighten.
“You really look good, babe.”
Heat blooms up my neck.
“Thanks.” I reach for my beer, hoping it cools me down.
It’s been a while since I felt this kind of heat. I had become shut down to Billy, and his preoccupation with power, control, other women. But now…I feel awake again.
Maybe it’s the whiskey. Or the way Jake is watching me. Or the simple fact that, for the first time in years, I can do whatever I want.
And for once I want to be wanted.
The dance floor is a riot of heat and motion, the bassline thrumming through my body as I sway with Jake.
I’m buzzed, exhilarated, alive.
