Page 32 of Hellbent
I shake out my hair, and when I glance up, he’s watching mewith hesitation, like he’s got something to say.
“What?”
He tilts his head. “You know what.”
“No, I don’t.”
Wyatt takes off his helmet, sighing through his nose. “I just think you wanna be careful, is all.”
The way he says it throws me. My guard flickers up on instinct, but I hold it in check. “I can take care of myself.”
“Jake’s a good guy,” he says. “But he’s not the settling-down kind.”
A laugh escapes me, sharp and incredulous. “Oh, so that’s what this is about. Well, I’m not looking to settle down. We’re just…friends.”
He gives me a look—just a flick of his eyebrows, but it says plenty. He doesn’t believe me.
I shift my weight. “I wasn’t aware it was any of your business.”
Wyatt’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. He watches me for a second, like he’s weighing something, then says quietly, “You’ve had a rough enough road already. I just don’t want things to get complicated for you.”
I almost roll my eyes. But something about the way he says it sticks.
Jake is easy to like. Easy to want. He’s charming and reckless, flirtatious and magnetic. Guys like that are always players. Women probably throw themselves at him, and I doubt I’m the first girl to think maybe he and I could be something more.
Still, Wyatt’s got me feeling defensive.
I fold my arms tighter. “I’m not looking for a white picket fence, Wyatt.”
He snorts. “No shit. Listen, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I’m not your damn father.”
“Well, you’re doing a good job of acting like it.”
“I give a shit about you, okay?”
I don’t know what to say. There’s a long beat where neither of us moves. We stand there in the cold, wind kicking up snow flurries across the lot, and then finally, he gestures toward the door. “Go to bed, kid.”
I don’t argue. But as I step inside, and hear the heavy click of the door shutting behind me, I can still feel his words lingering in the air.
I’m still not used to the silence of this place. No men drunkenly stomping around outside my door. No muffled arguments. No roaring engines, no clinking bottles, no deep voices speaking in low, conspiratorial tones.
Just me.
I take my time getting ready for bed, savoring the small act of folding my clothes neatly on the shelf I cleared for them, and taking a minute to look proudly at the few items there. All mine. I earned them.
The mattress creaks as I lower myself onto it and burrow under the scratchy wool blanket with satisfaction. It’s not as comfortable as Jake’s bed, but it still means something that it’s a place of my own.
I close my eyes, and the quiet wraps around me, pulling me under into the kind of deep, dreamless sleep I never had at the clubhouse…
But then a sound startles me awake.
A faint click—the doorknob turning.
My heart lurches, adrenaline spiking through me as I bolt upright, my breath catching in my throat. The room is pitch dark, my ears straining for any sign of movement.
I scramble for the blanket, clutching it tight, my mind racing. Did Wyatt come back for something?
The door opens, the hallway light illuminating a shape in the doorway, and I release a sharp breath.
