Page 8 of Forged in Rain

“Is that right?” Cyn says, casting me a caustic stare.

Clutching my chest, I pull up on the log and glare at Peter fiercely. “I invited you into the woods. I didn’t say attack me, you monkey fucker.”

Cyn’s brows slam over his eyes before he hauls back and sends a punch into Peter’s face that leaves him out cold. Stunned, I shift on the log, strangely wet at the show of force. That was hot.

Cyn drops him to the ground and turns to me, raising a brow. “Maybe a little less tongue next time.”

Scoffing, I flip him the bird. “Fuck off.”

“I did, thanks,” he says with a smug smile.

“Great, you were getting off while I was being attacked. Sounds about right,” I mumble, leaning down to grab my phones, both of which fell from my pocket during Peter’s pathetic siege.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Cyn roars.

Jig grabs his arm, and Bastion says quietly, “Bro.”

Warily I eye him, unsure where his attitude is coming from, considering he just blamed me for Peter’s quasi attack.

“Never mind.”

“No, tell me,” he says through clenched teeth.

Shrugging helplessly, I glance at Jig in the darkness, but I can only see his grim smile as I say, “Well, you were out fucking around while I was fending off my uncle…”

His lips pull back in a soundless snarl, and he pulls from Jig’s arms, stalking away. Stunned, I stare after him before Bastion breaks the moment.

“Fucking bitches always causing trouble.”

Speechless, I stare at him before everything bubbles over, and I stalk forward with a snarl. When I’m within touching distance, I raise my hand as though to slap him and knee him in the nuts instead when he goes to grab my arm.

Jig whimpers beside me and grabs his own junk in solidarity, and Bastion groans, clutching his package with a fierce glare.

“Call me a bitch again. I dare you,” I sneer.

He looks away and I huff before stalking back to the fire and plopping back down beside Tim on the log.

Tim eyes me and silently hands me the booze, but before I can take a drink, the bottle is plucked from my hand, and the sticky, stinky liquid flows down my shirt.

My nipples pebble under the chill, and I toss a dirty look Tim’s way before standing to confront Shelby. She’s got a shit-eating grin on her face, and the evening’s events roll through my brain. It’s too much, and I lose my shit, flying toward her.

I’m pretty sure it’s a football maneuver Jig mentioned during one of our huddles in school when I slam her to the ground before shoving my knee into her stomach.

She groans, flapping her arms around wildly, and I shove harder into her abdomen, hoping she doesn’t puke on me.

“Are you done?” I mutter when she collapses to the ground.

“Bitch,” she heaves.

“If one more person calls me a bitch,” I bellow, grinding into her, “I’ma lose my shit.”

“You mean you haven’t already?” Jig asks behind me, stepping back with raised hands when I swing around with a glare.

Ignoring his wide grin, I huff and pull up from Shelby, saying briskly, “Anybody else?”

Swinging my arms wide, I turn to the group, all watching me with wide-eyed expressions. “Anybody wanna call me a bitch?”

Heads swing in the negative as Shelby turns to her side and coughs, glancing up with a wretched expression when Cyn appears with a scowl. “Let’s go.”

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