Page 115 of Made for Cyn

He looks between the two of us, and his mouth thins. “Sit down.”

Iris must sense his ferocity because she sits with a scowl, and with a weary sigh, I join her, glancing between the guys tiredly.

I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m sure it has to do with Iris, and I don’t know if I should intervene or not. She’s playing with fire, and she’s bound to get burned. Besides, Cyn isn’t good at taking no for an answer anyway.

“Now,” Cyn says, as Bastion moves around the corner to join him, “somebody is going to tell me what the fuck is going on!”

When Iris and I merely stare at him, he sighs and pulls out the chair across from us, pinning me with his stare and growling, “Who whipped you?”

Oh shit. Dropping my gaze, I inhale sharply, wincing when Iris says beside me, “That’s what you want to know? Shit. It’s John.”

Giving her a death glare, she just shrugs, unapologetic, and I wonder if it’s because she thinks they’ll help. Even so, it would be because of me, and with Hate’s warning buzzing in my ears, I don’t want to bring this down on any of them.

This is serious shit. Cyn could die.

“Who’s John?” Cyn asks with a deadly gleam in his eyes.

“Iris—”

“My stepfather.”

Closing my eyes, I rub them tiredly, wishing, not for the first time, that I had never left the damn compound as everything within my control slowly slips from my fingers.

“What’s going on? He hurt you, LB?” Jig exclaims.

And giving in, I whisper to my hands, clenched in my lap, “Yes.”

“Did you report it?” Jig asks, and for once, his playful tone is glaringly absent.

Iris snorts. “He’s got his lies figured out. There’s no use.”

“Lies? So, what . . . this isn’t the first time?” Bastion says quietly, and the deep tone raises the hair on my arms. Meeting his stare, I find a darkness so vicious that I glance away uncomfortably.

Holy fuck. I thought Cyn was scary.

Iris looks down at the table with a shrug and Bastion stalks over, slamming his hands on the wood. We both jump out of our skin and Iris raises her wide brown eyes to his, a world of pain behind them before she blinks and her mask slides back into place.

Bastion sucks in a breath, turning away and Cyn says grimly, “What’s he holding over your head?”

When he looks at me, I whisper, “My brother.”

And when he looks at Iris, she looks away and sniffles, wiping her nose before pulling her lips into a grimace.

“Iris,” Cyn growls.

“He made me into a fucking whore. No one will believe me now. Ha! Maybe he’s fucking right,” she says, standing so abruptly her chair flies across the room before she stalks to the sliding glass door and steps outside.

“Fuck,” Bastion mutters, his eyes dark as midnight before he steps down the hall.

“Did he do anything else to you, beauty?” Cyn asks silkily, and I shake my head. The lies are caught in my throat, but he senses my hesitation and bows his head, his hand clenching convulsively on the table.

“He’s a dead man,” he growls, and Jig nods from where he’s standing.

“You can’t,” I whisper. “You could go to jail.”

His head whips around, and I shrink from the wrath in his eyes. “You think I’m going to sit around while he hurts you? Fuck no.”

“But—”