Page 119 of Made for Cyn

Cyn grabs my phone with a disgruntled look, and I sigh, sitting down on the bed as he reads through my text to her.

“Rainbow?”

“Yes,” I say, flushing all kinds of red. “That’s my name.”

“Your name is Rainbow?” he asks with a curl to his lip.

“Yes, Cynster,” I mutter, glowering when he smirks.

“What party?”

With a weary shrug, I shake my head. “Who knows? With her, it could be anything.”

“What’s your middle name?”

“What’s yours?” I ask, mulishly.

Smiling, he steps forward and traces a finger over my lips before saying softly, “Michael.”

“Oh,” I breathe, suppressing a shiver.

He smirks before raising an expectant brow, and I relent, saying, “Joyce.”

“Rainbow Joyce,” he says with a wicked gleam that fades when Bastion huffs behind us.

“Come.” He grabs my hand, and I mourn the loss when his eyes turn hard and cold, and he pulls me down the stairs and into a massive kitchen with polished black stone counters and stark white cabinets.

An ornate table painted to match the cabinets sits under a wide window overlooking the gravel drive, and Cyn pushes me toward it, saying, gruffly, “Sit.”

“Cyn,” Bastion growls, but he ignores him as he rifles around in a cabinet before emerging with a first aid kit, which I stare at warily.

“Cyn, we need to talk,” Bastion says again.

“So, talk.”

“Here?” Bastion asks, raising his brows with a frown.

I know he’s talking about me, and I shift under his censure. As much as I’d like the mercurial giant to like me for Cyn’s sake, it’s a lost cause because he has a right to be suspicious. Well, that and he used my cousin and treated her like shit.

“Yes, do you have a problem with that?” Cyn asks icily before having me turn toward the table and lifting my shirt away from my back.

“Fuck,” he growls, tracing his fingers lightly over my skin.

With a whimper, I bury my face in the crook of my arm, surreptitiously wiping my eyes when he begins to clean the wounds.

“I’ll kill the fucker,” Cyn says gruffly and Bastion murmurs behind him, “A-fucking-men.”

“You can’t,” I whisper.

“Why?” Cyn asks, his voice low and menacing.

“What if you get in trouble? What if—”

“I’m not going to get in trouble,” he insists before going back to his work.

It stings so severely for a moment, I lose track of the conversation, only coming to when he pulls the shirt back over my body. I sag onto the table and sigh when he sits down behind me and pulls me gently against his chest.

Stroking my hair back from my face, he searches my eyes with a frown. “Why did you lie?”