Page 88 of Hellbent
It’s peaceful. But beneath the sated warmth and tangled sheets, the memory of Ryder resurfaces—watching me across the room, stone-faced, eyes burning.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I WAKE UP to the sound of Jake’s voice downstairs.
It’s low. Urgent. Not his usual teasing drawl—this is clipped, all business.
Sunlight streams through the windows as I blink awake, still tangled in sheets and the heat of Damian beside me. My thighs ache. My skin smells like sex and salt and faint aftershave. The air in the room is heavy.
The clock says 11:07. Sunday.
Damian’s still out cold, one arm flung over his eyes. I slide from the bed, careful not to wake him, and grab one of Jake’s t-shirts off the floor, tugging it over my head as I pad barefoot down the stairs.
Jake’s in the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear and pacing. “It’s the kind of board that only posts serious contracts,” he’s saying. He stops near the window, one hand gripping the back of a chair. “No. We didn’t see anyone. It was crowded and loud. We were watching, but not like that.”
I pause on the stairs, heart knocking.
“Yeah. I know.” His voice tightens. “I said I know.” A longer silence. He exhales hard, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s in the middle of the shot. Damian and I are both in frame. They were close.” A beat. “We didn’t even clock him—” He breaks off. “I know. I know we should’ve seen him. I fucked up. There’s no excuse.”
He’s quiet again, jaw working.
“I already scrubbed it. Pulled the link, pinged the poster’s activity. But people saw it. There’s no telling who could be out there looking for Max at this point.”
The air goes out of my lungs.
No.
Then he winces, holding the phone a few inches away from his ear. “Okay, okay. You can tear me a new one later. Right now we need a plan.” He listens more. Nods once. “I’ll talk to Damian. Then we’ll head to the garage.” A pause. His shoulders tense. “Yep. Will do.”
He ends the call and just stands there, staring out the window, tension pouring off him in waves. It clings to the walls. It crawls under my skin.
I retreat back up the stairs and slide back beneath the sheets beside Damian like nothing's changed. But every nerve is humming, my intuition in overdrive.
Jake’s voice echoes in my head.
She’s in the middle of the shot.
They were close.
There’s no telling who could be out there looking for Max at this point.
My stomach knots.
The bed creaks beside me. Damian shifts, groaning softly like waking up is a fight he’s not ready for.
He blinks at me, bleary-eyed. “Mmmf. You’re awake,” he mumbles, voice scratchy with sleep.
“Barely,” I lie, keeping my tone light.
He huffs a lazy breath. Doesn’t move for a long second.
Then finally, with a reluctant sigh, he pushes up on one elbow, squinting toward the window. “Too early,” he grumbles. “Feels like we barely slept.”
He scrubs a hand over his face, then drags it through his hair, slow and aimless—like if he stays still long enough, he might just fall back asleep.
“I’ll make coffee,” he finally mutters, dragging himself out of bed like it physically hurts. He grabs his jeans off the floor, half-zipping them before heading out, bare feet silent on the stairs. “You coming down?”
“In a minute.”
