Page 1 of Forged in Rain

Chapter One

Be ready at nine

Staring at the text stonily, I consider my options. I can tell the sexy but cold Cynster Callahan to go fuck himself, agree like a little lamb, or ignore him altogether.

To be clear, none of these seem like viable options, and if I know anything about Cyn, it’s that he doesn’t like the word no. However, he doesn’t control me, and it’s about time he understood that. I’m done playing to his tune. I’m done in general until I can get Jagger, his supposed boss, off my back.

Although frankly, I’m not sure Cyn answers to anyone, and the further I get into this mess, the less I want to be here, but my cousin Iris made sure I’m smack dab in the middle of it. Now I’m caught between a rock and a supposed dead guy.

But is he dead? I don’t know because no one is owning up to the dirty deed, which is worrisome, to say the least.

How do I know who my enemies and allies are when I can’t get a straight answer from anybody?

For me, that means they’re all enemies until they prove themselves.

Not for the first time, I wish I had stayed far away from Cyn when Iris brought me to the beach the weekend before my first official day of high school.

I thought it would be fun to go to a traditional school for my senior year, make friends, go to parties, maybe lose my v-card.

Instead, I’ve entered my own personal hell, where I gave my virginity to a jerk who was using me for information, and even though it was amazing, he left me hanging out to dry in the end.

All the parties I’ve been to have left me cold because drugs, sex, and shootouts by a rival gang are not what I call fun. I haven’t made many friends and actually earned the enmity of the entire high school when I betrayed Cyn, and he excommunicated me.

I mean, who does that?

At the end of the day, I’m fucking weary from all the machinations taking place around me and wondering why I didn’t stay within the walls of the compound I was raised in.

Prophet Jim’s got nothing on these people.

Cyn may have dropped me when he got what he was looking for, but now the band’s back together because his boss Jagger decreed it so, all for more information on Iris, who isn’t exactly going to lie down and spill the beans.

The last time I was set up to spy on someone, I got nothing but more trouble, and now I’m supposed to jump back in with open arms. Yeah, no.

I’m stuck though, and the only thing I do know is if I don’t extricate myself from this mess, it could be fatal for me because these aren’t high school boys having a little fun. They’re thugs working for a crime boss.

My only other option is to leave, and believe me, I’ve considered it, but my parents don’t have a phone, so I have to wait for them to contact me, and despite Iris’ perfidy, I’m hesitant to risk her safety.

I know she’s been horribly cruel and pulled me into shit that’s now hanging over my head like an anvil, but once upon a time, she was a bright, vibrant, happy girl with a heart of gold. Skeevy Uncle John of the unknown fate killed her spirit.

I can only imagine what she feels because I got a small taste of his warped pleasure, but I know she’s dying inside. I can see it behind her eyes. It’s why I’m torn. If I leave, who’s going to bring her back? No one, that’s who.

Sighing, I type out a response with a grim smile.

Not a good time. I’m busy

Make it a good time

No can do.I type.Meet me at the bridge at ten

There is no response, which is just as well because we have nothing to say to each other. I’ll play this game, but it’s only to figure out how to get out of this mess and save Iris, too.

It’s New Year’s Eve, and Iris hasn’t spoken to me since I was plucked from the party we went to at the warehouse and brought home by Cyn. She was appropriately suspicious, and my half-truth didn’t go far in convincing her of anything, but my choices were limited.

I guess describing Cyn’s need to ply me for info on Saul didn’t pass muster, but I could hardly tell her Jagger is gunning for her. I don’t trust her, and I can’t risk it.

Although everyone insists Cyn is a bad dude, I can say without a doubt that Jagger is worse. And I’m walking a fine line as I search out the truth.

It’s with this in mind that I dress in a tight pair of jeans, borrow a pair of low-heeled knee-high boots from Iris’ closet, who left earlier for a party, no doubt, and another of Cyn’s T-shirts. I cut the bottom of the shirt off this one, so the jagged edges hang just below my boobs.

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