Page 88 of Forged in Rain

“Because,” she says, running her hand through her hair. “We’re Flaherty’s. We don’t roll over; we fight.”

“Fight for what, Iris? Do you even know what you’re fighting for?”

Her eyes narrow before she says, “To live. Do you want to live, Rainy?”

Her tone sends a shiver down my spine, and I rub my aching chest before dropping my hand when the burn from the continuous bruise I can’t seem to let go of flares to life.

Maybe it’s stupid, but that pain reminds me that what I had with Cyn was real, and I want to feel it because I’m disturbingly numb in the wake of everything.

“Do you?”

“I—yes,” I whisper.

“Then get up. Get dressed and stop moping. We have to focus on survival now.”

“Why?”

“Because nobody else cares,” she says, and I look away from the glitter in her eyes.

Nodding, I step up to my dresser and suck in a deep breath. Maybe I can’t fix shit, but I don’t want to die, and Iris’ fervent words tell me the possibility is all too real.

“Where are we going?”

“Party at the Point.”

Dropping my hands, I turn to her with an incredulous look, and she smiles. “If you can’t fucking beat ‘em, join ‘em, Rainy.”

“You’re out of your mind.” I shake my head.

“Yep, and you are too.”

With that, she pulls out my gypsy skirt and a tank and shoves them in my hands before pushing me toward the bathroom. When I emerge, I look like the girl who went to a party at the beach all those months ago. Well, except for the darkness behind my eyes.

My hair hangs to my lower back in pretty curls. Iris did my makeup, so my brown eyes pop, and I grab a light jacket, hoping I won’t freeze in the early April temperatures before following her out to the car.

Once we’re on the way, I take a breath and murmur, “What’s the plan?”

She shrugs and glances at me with a sly smile. “We have an errand to run, and then we show those fuckers you don’t mess with a Flaherty.”

“Please tell me the errand doesn’t include Saul?”

I haven’t given much thought to the dick, but I’m reminded of his threats after Cyn beat the shit out of him.

“Nope. Saul’s MIA. I haven’t heard from him, and word on the street is he ran into bad shit.”

Oh wow. I can’t say I’m sad. He was a dick, but part of me can’t believe this type of thing has become casual conversation.

“Iris?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you doing this? I thought it was my turn to take the hit? You basically threw me under the bus with Jagger.”

She glances at me in the darkness, her features barely discernible until we pass a streetlight, and I spy her furrowed brow. “Nothing is as it seems, Rainy. Nothing.”

“Which means what? Did you do this because of Pam?”

Her hands tighten on the wheel, and I grimace.

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