Page 57 of Forged in Rain

“I what? I was fucking John because he paid me. I didn’t want him dead. He was my cash cow, but you, dear Rain, couldn’t stand the heat.”

“You’re insane,” I whisper.

Shrugging, she looks at her cuticles. “I’d avoid Jagger if I were you. He’s gunning for you.”

“And you’ve known him for years,” I say softly. “Is this the end game? Stick me with the blame?”

With a nasty smile, she says, “Who wheedled their way into this group? Who seduced Saul into killing John?”

“You did,” I whisper before hobbling away.

Locking myself in the bathroom, I slide to the floor and stare into nothing as Iris’ game plays out before me.

She’sthe one who convincedmeJohn had to go. She convinced me to sleep with Saul; she ruined everything between me and Cyn, and now she even has Jagger sniffing after me . . .

She’s been leading me down this road from the beginning.

But why? Does she hate me that much?

∞∞∞

When I emerge, she’s gone. Everyone is gone, except Cyn, and I find him sitting on the couch in the dark. Rounding the table, I sit down at the opposite end and sigh because I don’t know what my reception will be even in this.

Am I public enemy number one? Surely, he can see how treacherous she is. The thing is, I don’t know if he can, and the silence is killing me.

“I didn’t do it. I mean, it wasn’t my idea,” I whisper, clenching my hands in my lap.

“I know,” he says gruffly.

Sagging a little in my seat, I twist my hands uncomfortably until he turns to me. “The question is, why is Iris pinning this all on you?”

Shrugging, I wipe a stray tear away. I have no damn answers, only a lot of really important fucking questions. “There has to be a reason, Rain,” he insists, and choking out a sob, I cover my face. His use of my given name creates a wildfire of pain in my chest.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.” I sob, hunching over and slamming my hands on my knees.

“Hey,” he says, pulling me into his arms, “sh, okay.”

For a while, I lay there, processing the last few months of pain and disappointment. I did so much for Iris in the name of her hurt, and to have it thrown in my face is un-fucking-believable.

Was any of it true? Only Iris can answer that, and either way, I now have a criminal after me for money I don’t have—all over a guy I don’t even know for sure is dead. And for what?

Pulling away, I say softly, “What am I going to do?”

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, running his hand over his face wearily.

“But you work for him, what if—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, and I stare at him incredulously. “Beauty, I’m not going to turn you over to that piece of shit.”

“No?”

Turning to me, he runs his finger down the side of my face, and I lean into the caress, craving more of his touch.

His eyes burn, and he leans in until we’re a breath apart and says, “We will figure this out. And Jagger can go fuck himself.”

“Promise?” I whisper.

His face softens; his eyes are pools of liquid emerald as he says, “Promise.”

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