Page 64 of Made for Cyn

After, he pauses, panting over me before patting my ass. “You’ll be a good girl yet.”

Cringing, I muffle my sobs against my arms, wrapping my jaw around my skin and biting down hard to keep from screaming out loud. I don’t want the punishment to worsen, and I’m quaking under the pain zinging up and down my back, but beneath the layers of pain and fear is rage, and it’s bubbling beneath the surface, ready to explode.

Finally, he leaves, and I climb the stairs warily after waiting a good ten minutes for him to reemerge, before locking myself in my room. Laying across the bed on my stomach, my poor back, which had only started to heal, blazes with fire and I stare into nothing for hours.

???

I roll out of bed wearily and throw my hair in a sloppy ponytail before pulling on a loose shirt and jeans. I look like hell, and I feel like it, too.

Iris ignores me on the way to the car. I waited until the last minute to leave, successfully avoiding the kitchen, although I don’t know if John is even up.

It’s Friday, and I’m dog tired, practically panting with pain and angry with Iris, even though she doesn’t know what she subjected me to by ignoring my texts the night before.

We part ways at the door, and I make a beeline for my class, hoping I can catnap with the fifteen minutes I have left before it starts, that or fall asleep at an inopportune time.

But I’m pulled from my sleepy reverie when Jig steps into my view, and I’m forced to stop or walk right into him. Before I can speak, protest, or yawn, he grabs my arm and pulls me down the hall, forcing me into a broom closet.

With a pulse of concern, I face the door he just closed in my face before swinging around when Cyn says behind me, “You’ve been a busy girl.”

Closing my eyes, I smile at the damn wall before looking at Cyn carefully and meeting his moody stare. His gaze drops down my disheveled form, no doubt taking in my baggy clothes, messy hair, and tired face before he says quietly, “Why did you go for the gun?”

“Huh?” His proximity has me frozen. He makes me tingle, ache, and need, and all he has to do is stand there. It’s truly unfair.

Stepping into me, he grabs my chin roughly. “Why did you go for that fucker’s gun? That was dangerous, beauty.”

Staring into his pretty green eyes, I shrug because I have no good answer. At the moment, I just didn’t want to see Cyn hurt, but I’m hardly going to admit that to his face. Not when he’s been a cold-ass dick to me since our last showdown.

“I was being stupid,” I admit, dropping my eyes to his mouth, which should be less mesmerizing but isn’t when his lips stretch in a sensual smile, and he grabs my hair.

“Something you need, beauty?”

Forgoing an answer, I press my chest against his and groan as he pulls me into his arms, but when he does, my back flames, and I cry out.

He immediately drops his arms, staring at me wide eyed and I will back the tears, wrapping my arms around my waist.

“What is it, beauty?” he asks, his eyes bright as he looks me over with furrowed brows.

My chest pulses at his softly spoken question, but I’m too fucking weary to lie, so instead, I smile wanly. “I need to get to class.”

With that, I move to turn away. He makes to grab my arm, but hesitates, and it’s this that thaws my heart because he senses my pain even if he doesn’t understand what he sees.

Clenching my hand against the urge to touch him, I step into him and whisper against his lips, “I didn’t want you to die.”

And then I leave him standing in the closet, staring after me with glittering eyes before I escape to class and slump in my seat with a tiny smile.

Maybe Cyn has a heart underneath all that ice, after all.

Chapter Eleven

The following few days, I exist in a haze, exhausted from lack of sleep and unable to relax with the painful welts on my back.

Although Cyn keeps his distance, I meet his eyes occasionally to see him looking at me with a calculating expression, but every time, I just smile softly and look away.

He’s still a whore, with a chick at his side every day, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t annoy me, but with my worry over John, I’ve set it aside.

Last night, after an excruciatingly awkward dinner where Iris acted like a petulant child and I sat beside her, quietly terrified, John lost his temper and slammed his fist on the table.

Iris merely snarled and stalked off, leaving me to face off against my irate uncle. He stared at me ferally before looking away, and carefully I rose from the table only for him to speak.

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