Page 82 of Made for Cyn
It’s quiet as we head to the Burg and inevitably, my thoughts turn to Cyn as I head toward my doom. I wonder if Cyn ever devotes as much time to thinking about me as I do him before I push the thought away. It doesn’t matter.
He made his choice, and it’s not me.
“What’s the plan?” I ask dully, my soul already cold at the thought of what’s about to go down.
“The same thing as last time, except you’re not high,” she says dryly.
“Whatever,” I snort. “You’re the one who gave me the damn shit to begin with.”
“I know, lesson learned,” she huffs, and my eyes fly to hers before a giggle escapes, and soon we’re laughing hysterically, the knowledge that this could be the beginning of the end both painful and bittersweet.
“Iris?”
“Hmm?” Her brows are furrowed as she concentrates on the road, and I trace a pattern in the fabric of my jeans as I say, “Do you think John, um, took, I mean, takes pictures?”
“Huh?” she grunts, pulling up to the house.
It’s a different place than the last, this one nicer. Which inspires a good bit of suspicion, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised because these jerks do things I don’t want to know about. Ever.
“Pictures. He’s so . . . gross. What if he’s, you know, taking pictures of us and stuff?” I don’t want to tell Iris what I learned, mostly because I still don’t completely trust her, but also, she’s already standing at the deep end. This might push her over for good.
She brushes a curl out of her face and faces me with wide eyes. “What? No, I don’t think so.”
“Oh, I thought, maybe around the house or something.”
She laughs, the sound caustic, and grabs the door handle. “Don’t be stupid, Rainy. If he did something like that, I’d have turned him in already. Fucker would deserve it for making it so easy.”
“Oh.” I follow her to the door, mulling over her words. I guess it makes sense, but then where does he take these pictures, he’s intent on using as blackmail?
I’m expecting a house full of people, loud music, and drugs, but instead, there are five guys and us, which makes me full on uneasy. I give Iris a panicked stare because she’s got a grim look of acceptance that scares the shit out of me.
Please tell me she didn’t sign me up for something that I’m not prepared to give. Please tell me this isn’t a setup. She wouldn’t do that, right?
Fuck me.
“Sit down,” one of the guys says, licking his lips as he sucks down a beer with a burp.
Reluctantly, I drop onto a couch in a massive room with plush sofas, fancy art on the walls, and coasters on the side tables. Coasters. The dissonance blows my mind and I glance around at these guys, each tatted up and wearing the same variation of torn-up pants, T-shirts, and work boots.
One such fellow even has a tattoo on his cheek of an eyeball, which—creepy. Somehow, I don’t think this crew is using those coasters, and I have to assume that this isn’t their home, to my everlasting dismay.
So, whose is it?
Another guy with pretty dark eyes and a scar across his chin hands over a couple of beers, and desperately, I take a few sips of mine, as Iris murmurs beside me, “Do not get drunk.”
“What’s going on?” I hiss.
“It’s fine. Stop freaking out. They’re just partying.”
“Oh, yeah, with who? Us? I didn’t sign up for this, Iris.”
“Yeah, well, I guess that’s the difference between you and me because I will do anything to make that dick go away,” she says fiercely.
Flinching, I look into her eyes. The feral promise is real. She’s ugly in her passion because I don’t believe she has limits, and I’m not sure this doesn’t mean she wouldn’t hurt other people to get the ending she wants. What the hell happened to my cousin?
John, of course, which brings me right back around. Fuck me.
“I agreed to this, didn’t I?” I whisper.
