Page 43 of Forged in Rain

With that, he goes, and I watch him get in his car and drive away. Unable to move, I sit on the porch for a while, brooding over our interaction. Despite what he thinks, I wasn’t afraid of him, only startled by his quick motion, but he didn’t give me the chance to tell him.

I guess it doesn’t matter, though, because either way, we’re at an impasse.

Eventually, the cold pushes me inside, where I sit in my room until finally, Iris comes home. I make a beeline for her room, but she snarls at me and shuts the door in my face.

Incredulous, I stare at the wood before knocking and demanding, “Iris, let me in.”

There’s no answer, and I glance at Pam’s closed door before backing away. If she weren’t here and sleeping just across the hall, I’d be slamming on Iris’ door, but as it stands, I have no choice but to walk away, left to my own devices once again.

Chapter Seven

It’s Friday, and I got zero sleep as I pondered the significance of John’s relationship to Jagger and Iris’ part in it all. She must be lying about why Jagger is involved. Why else would she keep his association with John a secret?

Per Iris, she approached Saul to off John, that she never even asked Jagger, the reason that now makes perfect sense, and someone is essentially sending her or us a warning in the form of letters supposedly from John.

But why the impression that the price for John’s death was Cyn seeing the pictures of me? And if so, from who? She admitted it wasn’t Saul who took care of John. Could it be Jagger, despite being related? And if so, why?

None of it makes sense, and now there’s a link between Cyn and John. It’s like I’m smack dab in the middle of a mystery, but I’m not a fucking detective, and I can’t figure out the endgame.

I thought I knew what Iris wanted: John’s death, but what if it’s something else?

And what does Jagger want? Is it really about Iris? Or is it about Saul? Or, worse, John?

Then there’s Cyn. How is he affiliated with John? And who’s the only person allowed to call the phone he had?

I sigh in frustration. I don’t know what the fuck I can do about any of it. I’m alone and scared, and I don’t know the players enough even to play the damn game.

I’m screwed unless I can find more answers. But how? Ask Saul, call Jagger? Ha.

Iris isn’t going to pony them up, and Cyn refuses to answer to begin with, and I’m supposed to follow him blindly. Fuck me.

Sliding into the SUV silently, I ignore the chilly reception and contemplate my options. I can tell them about Jagger or keep it to myself, but if I do, I really am on my own, and even if I don’t trust the jerks, maybe I can use them to find the information I need.

It’s a puzzle, to be sure, but in this, I choose to go with my instincts because, in my heart, I don’t think Cyn would really hurt me, physically anyway, which is why I have to believe he’s not involved in the prostitution mess. Why John has his number is still a mystery, though.

Cyn is looking out the window with a forbidding scowl, and I hesitate at the severe expression before powering through. I’ve got to trust someone, and it might as well be the guy who still makes my heart sing.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did, and I don’t think you’re into the shit with the girls.”

Cyn’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look my way, and other than Jig glancing at me with pity, it remains achingly silent.

When I can take it no more, I suck in a deep breath and say, “Jagger was at our house.”

“What?” Cyn growls, his brows dropping over his eyes.

Shivering at the icy cold glare he’s aiming at me, I say quietly, “Apparently, he’s my uncle John’s nephew.”

Cyn stares at me incredulously while Jig says softly from the front, “Motherfucker.”

“Fuck,” Cyn says, bowing his head.

“What does he know about John?” Bastion demands from the front.

“I don’t know, but I did mention John because I thought . . . Iris said . . . Shit, but I don’t know,” I say on a sob, covering my mouth with my hand.

Cyn glances at me with a frown before pulling me into his arms, and I’m stiff as a board for half a second before relaxing into his warmth as he soothes away the trembles.

“I’m in deep shit now, aren’t I?” I whisper.

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