Page 52 of Forged in Rain

“Stop. Stop it,” I shout, glaring at her when she turns toward me with a venomous stare. “These guys went there and helped you because I begged them, so don’t fucking take it out on them.”

“Bitch! I didn’t ask for your help,” she sneers.

“I don’t care! But I guess the next time Saul tells me you’re a dead woman if I don’t show, then I’ll leave your pathetic ass.”

Her eyes go wide, and she whispers, “What?”

Ignoring her shock, I march up to her and get right up in her face. “No more. I don’t fucking care what we have to do, but you will stay away from that dick, or I will leave you to your own fucking devices. He’s dangerous. He’s not our friend, Iris.”

“And these dicks are?” she says, raising her chin, but I see the quiver to her lips.

“Yes! They risked themselves for you!”

“No, they risked themselves for you,” she says, stalking from the room with a huff.

Rubbing my forehead, I drop into a chair and ask quietly, “Will it ever fucking end?”

“Not as long as you keep trying to save her. Trust me, the only person that can save her is her,” Bastion says grimly.

Glancing up, I meet his hard stare with wide eyes. I suspect this is a lesson Bastion learned the hard way unless he’s still learning.

“Yeah,” I say softly, glancing around in surprise when Cyn plunks a coffee before me with a small smile.

Bewildered, I sip on the strong-ass brew as the guys move around me, pulling out food for dinner while they chat quietly. They’re no master cooks, but they do manage sandwiches. One is set before me before the guys sit down and eat their own.

I’m finishing mine and gazing at my phone with a frown when Hate strolls in with a scowl.

Closing out the message from Saul I received some time between when Cyn apparently beat him up and now, I ignore the feeling of foreboding cascading down my spine.

You made a huge mistake

“What’s going on?” Hate grumbles, looking between the guys and me with a frown.

I sense he doesn’t like the complications I bring to his little crew because I’m not one of the chicks who will take my dicking like a good girl and walk.

Too bad I refuse to be used and discarded. Arsehole.

Is this the influence Cyn grew up around?

With his dad in prison and his mom gone, it’s these situations that genuinely show that Cyn didn’t have typical influences growing up, and the thought makes me sad for him and the other guys, too. They’ve clearly figured out how to go it alone, but family is important. I’m glad they’ve created their own in any case.

Glancing at Cyn, I shiver at his expression, both wary and respectful of his cousin. Does Cyn understand how fucked up it is? Or is this normal for him?

Sensing my gaze, he looks my way, his icy eyes studying me before he raises a wicked brow and his mouth curls in a devilish smirk. Ignoring the flush in my cheeks and the way my skin tingles at his desirous expression, I lift my own brows before glancing away into Hate’s cold, calculating peepers.

“Well?” Hate says.

Reluctantly, I say, “I found out some information that changes things.”

“And what would that be?”

“Apparently, Jagger is my uncle’s nephew.”

Cocking his head to the side, he considers my words before shrugging. “So? This isn’t my problem.”

Shrugging sarcastically, I mutter, “I didn’t send for you, so I don’t fucking know.”

His eyes narrow, the menace that lives just below his skin pulsing as he leans over me. “I don’t appreciate the attitude.”

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