Page 131 of Made for Cyn

Neither of my parents graduated from high school, and although their lives are unconventional, they’re happy. I could join them wherever they are. Iris is safe now. John is gone. Poor Pam is devastated, but I hope she finds a way to move on.

I could too. Technically, I could even go back to the commune because now, Prophet Jim sounds better than the perfidy of these dicks.

“C’mon,” Iris says, appearing at my door.

“Where?”

“Party.”

“Iris, I’m tired,” I say, turning over and facing the window. Aren’t we done with this?

“I don’t care. You’re not going to wallow over that fucker. Show him. Show him that he made a mistake,” she says, waving her arms around.

“Like you’re doing?” I say bitterly.

After a painful pause, I turn over and look at her, and she gives me an ugly smile. “There’s no redemption for me, Rain. But you, you can make that fucker cry for letting you slip through his fingers.”

“Really? How? As you said, he was using me anyway,” I say, pressing my hand to my roiling stomach.

“Because maybe he was using you, but he’s still a fucking dude who covets. Show him that he doesn’t fucking deserve you.”

“I don’t know,” I say softly, although a small smile curls my lips.

I want him to want me, but to what end? He only wants me because he can’t have me. It doesn’t change anything for me, and I feel like a dead woman walking.

“Whatever,” she says roughly, dropping beside me and grabbing my chin, “don’t fucking let a guy bring you down. Ever.”

Staring into her dark eyes blazing with determination, I nod because maybe I feel dead inside, but Cynster Michael Callahan doesn’t need to know.

???

Iris straightens my hair to hang down my back in a dark sheath ending at my ass, before applying deep dark makeup that makes my eyes sparkle. Pulling out the skinniest jeans I have, I pull them over my hips and smirk as I rip up one of Cyn’s shirts that he was perennially pulling over my head and tying the ends into a knot around my torso.

Iris loans me a cute pair of biker boots that cover my ankles, and with a light jacket that will come nowhere near to keeping me warm, we head out. She’s wearing a tight red dress reminiscent of what she wore that first night I was here when we went to the beach. With a strange pang in my chest, I follow her out the door, wishing I could go back to that girl and have a really tough conversation with her.

Would I change anything? I don’t know. Cyn showed me a side of myself and life that I’d never known before. And as much as I hurt, I can’t imagine never knowing it now, even if the knowledge sits like a lump of burning hot coal on my icy chest.

“What are we doing here?” I ask uneasily, glancing around at the sea of cars.

We’re back at the warehouse where I met Hate formally and where Shelby attacked me, after which the end became my beginning.

She turns to me with a smile, but her eyes are glassy. “The best way to get to Cyn is through Jagger.”

“I thought that was Saul,” I mutter sourly. Despite getting out of bed and coming here, I still don’t trust Iris. There always seems to be another lie waiting to be revealed with her.

I had hoped this would be over, but now I fear it’s only just beginning. Why else would I be here?

Following behind Iris, I contemplate leaving, walking home if I have to, until I step through the entrance, and the first people I see are Shelby and Cyn. Jig’s words from last time jump through my head about how he’d never brought another girl here, and I wonder if that’s still true.

But it doesn’t matter because he’s with her now, and she’s practically crawling up his body as he sucks her down sloppily. Looking away, I resolve to fucking stay because I will show Cynster Callahan if it kills me that he should have never let me go.

I slip into the crowd, away from Iris and whatever she has planned because I don’t want to be affiliated with her. I just want to make Cyn feel the same fucking pain pushing at my chest like a knife in my fucking heart.

It’s probably foolish because he doesn’t care, but what do I have to lose? I’ve already lost it all.

Helping myself to a drink from the bar, I sidle up to the edge and glance around. There’s a hopelessness inside me that tells me I might actually be willing to fuck someone without caring about the feelings I thought were so important before. Ha. What a joke.

I should have fucked Saul a long time ago. Then this would be over, and John never would’ve had the chance to hurt me even further. Except, I remind myself, making eye contact with Jagger across the room where he stands next to Hate, maybe Saul wasn’t the end game, just another tool in someone’s arsenal.