Page 17 of Forged in Rain

“Nothing, bro,” Bastion mutters, closing the door in my face.

Stunned, I stare at the wood until Cyn asks, “Enjoying the view?”

“What?”

“If you think you can fuck either one of them, you’d be wrong,” he sneers.

Swinging toward him, I say, “You’re a butt weasel, and I’m not one of your whores who thinks one dick is just as good as the next.”

His eyes flame before he leans into me and says softly, “Is that right? So, you like my dick, baby?”

“I like your dick just fine. It’s your personality I have a problem with,” I mutter, ducking under his arm and stalking toward the kitchen.

“Whatcha need, LB?” Jig asks, pounding a beer.

“Water,” I say, resisting the urge to scream my rage into the world.

The censure is getting old, and frankly, if Cyn doesn’t want me, why does he care who I’m with?

Pulling out a bottle from the fridge, Jig hands it to me and I down a couple of pills, hoping for relief soon because I can feel the cramps coming on, and I’m not in the mood to show weakness around these jerks.

“Shark week?” Jig asks sympathetically, and I roll my eyes, refusing to answer.

“Why are we here?” I ask, sitting down on the couch.

“Because we’re meeting Hate,” Cyn says, sitting down beside me on the couch.

“Great.” I sigh, curling into a ball and resting my head on the end.

Jig eyes me for a moment but sits down on the chair beside me, and they murmur above my head until I doze off.

“Beauty, wake up,” Cyn says softly, and blinking, I sit up with a yawn.

For a moment so brief, it’s like it never happened. I forget that he hates me and smile at him. My heart thumps in my chest because he’s so magnificent with his brilliant eyes and sensual lips, but then his eyes drop to Jig’s sweatshirt, which I haven’t taken off, and his mouth curves distastefully, popping the delusion like a balloon.

“He’s here,” he says icily.

Nodding sleepily, I duck into the bathroom to wash up, gasping when the first painful surge cramps my belly. Why god, why?

Fixing my hair, I pull off Jig’s sweatshirt and stare at my reflection. At least I don’t look like I’m headed to church this time, as per Hate’s sneering words, although I’m pale and nauseous, and it’s only a matter of time before I toss my cookies.

My dark eyes stare back at me grimly, and with a dreadful smile, I whisper, “Suck it up, bitch tits.”

When I emerge, Hate’s voice is the first I hear, and taking a deep breath because the dude is scary as fuck, I round the corner.

They’re standing in the kitchen, and Hate’s blue eyes fall on me immediately, where I stop beside Jig.

“Ah, here’s the troublemaker,” he grunts.

Ignoring the sassy retort bubbling on my tongue because I don’t think it would go over well, I stare at him with a bored expression until he loses interest and turns to Cyn.

“What’s going on?”

“Whatever Iris said to Jagger has him all up in our business,” Cyn says, casting me a sideways glare.

“And her?” Hate says, pointing at me.

“He ordered us to keep an eye on her.”

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