Page 81 of Hellbent
I snap, “The garage was empty. No customers, no one came in. It’s not like—” I flounder, and he steps in, derisive.
“Not like anyone was supposed to walk in and see you bent over the goddamn workbench?”
My breath hitches. My cheeks go hot. He hasso many details.
“Oh, so all the heat’s on me, huh?” I spit. “Damian was there too. Did you catch that part? Or are you only keeping tabs on whatIdo?”
His arms cross tight over his chest. “Damian’s not the one turning it into a pattern, Maxwell.”
I freeze.
There it is.
This isn’t just about the garage. It’s about Damian. It’s about Jake. And it’s about me choosing both of them.
Not the act. Not any sense of professionalism. It’s the fact that I made a choice—two of them—and he doesn’t like it.
My hands curl into fists. “You don’t get to judge me.”
His head tilts slightly. Eyes razor-sharp. Mouth pressed into a humorless line.
“No? You’re fucking Damian. You’re fucking Jake. Hell, for all I know, you’re fucking Wyatt too. From where I’m standing, it looks like you don’t give a damn who you spread your legs for.”
A bitter, metallic taste floods my mouth, and I see red.
“You think I’m just going to stand here andtakethat?” I snarl. “Take you standing there, acting like my life is some kind of fucking spectacle? Like you get to weigh in on what I do and who I do it with?”
His eyes flash. “You’re exhausting, you know that?”
“Yeah? Well,you’rean asshole.”
And then—I push him.
It’s instinct. Old muscle memory from foster care—go big before someone else does. Come out hard so they don’t get the chance to hurt you. I shove both hands into his chest, and he doesn’t even budge. Doesn’t flinch. Just stands there, solid as a fucking building.
My chest heaves, my pulse hammers in my ears, and he just watches me. Unshaken. Unmoving. Jaw tight.
Fuck this.
I spin on my heel to leave, but I don’t even make it one step. His hand wraps around my arm, yanking me back—hard—and making my breath catch. His grip is solid. I whip around to face him and his dark eyes are pure fire.
“Can youpleasestop?” he bites out, rough with frustration.
His hand shifts—still gripping, but gentler now.
“Stop running off,” he says, voice low and coiled tight. “Every time it gets uncomfortable, you bolt.”
I falter, startled by the shift. “Maybe because it’s always a goddamn ambush.”
“It’s not supposed to be.” He exhales, hard. “There’s a balance here, Maxwell. We live together. We work together. Ifyou and I can’t get on the same page…” He trails off, still holding my gaze. “It’s not gonna work.”
“So you’re kicking me out,” I say flatly. “Got it.”
He looks surprised. “What?”
I shake my head, trying to pull free. His grip tightens. “You don’t have to spell it out. I’ve seen this play before. Just let me get my shit first.”
“You arefuckingexasperating,” he growls. “This is exactly what I just said. Stop trying to bolt.”
