Page 1 of Cipher's Baby Girl
Prologue 1: Rose
My first waking breath of the morning smells like stale beer and cigarette smoke—remnants of Richard’s vices from the night before.
Another day. Same nauseating air. Same suffocating existence.
The door creaks open before I have time to sit up and get my feet under me fully. I don’t dare flinch as my stepfather’s ominous, hulking frame fills the doorway. He glares at me, his face pockmarked and lined from years of bad habits and worse decisions.
“Git yer ass up, girlie.” His expression is nasty and grimacing. “My breakfast ain’t gonna make itself.”
I keep my gaze trained on the floor. “Yes, sir,” I whisper.
I wait until he grunts with disdain and disappears down the hall before pushing myself up on shaky legs. I learned a long time ago that anything but total subservience isn’t worth the pain or lingering bruises.
The kitchen is a mess when I enter. Empty beer cans crowd the table, cigarette butts spill out on the countertop, and unwashed dishes are piled in the sink. I keep my head down asI start cracking eggs, letting my body move through the motions of cooking while my mind drifts elsewhere.
Mental escape is the only kind I have.
When I was younger, I dreamed of the day I'd leave here. I imagined myself standing on the edge of some busy city street corner, pedestrians and traffic bustling around me, numerous roads leading in all directions, endless possibilities. But dreaming feels futile now.
Richard isolated me by pulling me out of school just before sixth grade and keeping me locked in this house ever since. I’m allowed outside only on rare occasions, and when I am, I’m forced to remain glued to his side. I swallow around the lump in my throat and bite back tears that sting my eyes.
Richard enters the kitchen just as I’m setting his plate of steaming food down on the table. He barely glances at me while he shovels his breakfast into his mouth. The television blasts some early morning news program in the living room. I stand to the side—silent and invisible—and wait for the orders that will inevitably come once he finishes eating.
“Gotta make a trip into town,” he says between bites. “You’re gonna clean up this house while I’m gone.”
I nod and get busy clearing the counter. If he’s leaving, that means I’ll have some peace.
If I had any hope left in me, I’d step through the front door and keep walking. I’d never look back. But any hope I once had is long dead. I have no car, no money, and barely any concept of how to navigate beyond the walls of this oppressive house.
Richard made certain I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to.
The rest of the morning drags as I scrub floors and furniture, trying to erase Richard's slovenly remnants. The work is routine, mind-numbing, and for a fleeting moment, I pretend I’m normal—just a woman tidying her own home.
Richard will be gone all day. Today is a good day.
Then, as the sun begins its descent beyond the hills, the sound of tires crunching over gravel shatters the fragile quiet.
I freeze, a dish still in my hands, as I hear the front door groan open. Heavy footsteps echo through the house, accompanied by Richard’s low mumble. But it’s the second voice—deeper, rougher—that causes the fear inside me to spike.
I set the dish down slowly, careful not to make a sound, and creep a few steps in the direction of the front hallway.
“She’s worth more than that,” Richard mutters.
My stomach ties itself in knots.
The unfamiliar man chuckles, cold and unimpressed. “Your debt’s steep, Hartley. You ain’t in a position to negotiate. Be lucky I’m offering what I am.”
I hear shuffling on the threadbare carpet, and picture Richard shifting uncomfortably. He plays the tough guy, but when he’s faced with someone bigger and meaner, he's like a worm wriggling in the dirt.
“But she's untouched. Virgin pussy."
The man exhales, sounding bored. “I suppose she'll bring a decent price. Okay, I’ll take the bitch off your hands in exchange for clearing your current debt.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
My pulse pounds in my ears.
I don’t understand the meaning behind those words—no, I don’twantto understand, but I do. I know exactly what they mean.
