Page 33 of Cipher's Baby Girl
I scan the room, pretending I'm not searching for one particular face. I shouldn't care what Cipher thinks of my transformation. I shouldn't want his approval or his desire. But my traitorous heart still leaps when I spot him emerging from the hallway that leads to his surveillance room.
When his eyes land on me, he comes to a dead stop. For a split second, something flashes across his face—something hot and hungry that makes my skin tingle—before his expression hardens into a sneer of disapproval. His gaze rakes over me from head to toe, lingering on the low neckline of the dress, the expanse of leg revealed by the hem, the high heels that bring me closer to eye level with other women.
"What the fuck are you wearing?” he demands, striding toward our group with barely leashed aggression in every step.
"It's called fashion, grandpa," Luna snarks.
Cipher ignores her, his eyes locked on me. "You're not seriously going out looking like that, are you?”
Involuntarily, I shrink back, my shoulders hunching, and I hate myself for it—for cowering.
"You look...” His features contort into an expression of revulsion as his frigid gaze sweeps over my dress, my hair, my makeup.“Unacceptable. Go change.”
His words hit me with the force of a Mac truck, and I want to run to my room, hide under the covers, and cry my eyes out. He’s disgusted by me. A week ago, I might have crumbled under that icy stare, might have actually done it—run to my room in tears. But something has shifted inside me—maybe it's the hormones, maybe it's the sexy underwear, or maybe it's just that I'm tired of living in a prison.
“No," I say simply, lifting my chin. His jaw tightens, the muscle jumping beneath his skin. His hands clench at his sides, and for a wild moment, I think he might reach for me. For a moment, something raw and vulnerable flashes in his eyes, so quickly I almost miss it. Then the mask slams back into place, harder and colder than before.
Without another word, he turns and stalks away, his broad shoulders rigid with tension. I watch him go, my moment of courage faltering as the adrenaline fades, leaving behind the familiar ache of rejection.
"Well," Luna breaks the silence, "that was rude as hell.”
Rash puts a supportive hand on my shoulder. "You okay, little sis?"
I nod, though the truth is more complicated. Standing up to Cipher felt good—empowering in a way I've rarely experienced. But his disdain for me cuts deeper than I want to admit.
"I'm fine," I lie, forcing a smile. "Let's go. I'm ready to have some fun."
Chapter 13
Cipher
I slam the door to my surveillance room hard enough to rattle the reinforced frame. The sound echoes, matching the chaos clanging through my mind.
The image of Rose in that burgundy dress is seared into my memory with painful clarity. The way the fabric clung to her perfect curves. How the heels made her legs look endless. The soft glow of the compound lights on her skin, highlighting every delicate feature that haunts my dreams.
"Fuck!" I drive my fist into the concrete wall, welcoming the sharp pain that shoots up my arm. It's not enough to drown out the surge of possessiveness that seeing her dressed like that triggered in me, though.
I drop into my chair, accessing the compound's exterior cameras. My eyes find Rose immediately. Her walk is a little different in those heels, but after weeks of watching her, I’d know her anywhere. Yes, I may not have been around the compound for the past month and a half, but I’ve been watching her remotely from the Renegade Kings clubhouse in Detroit.
The night-vision feed renders her clearly despite the darkness, the green glow highlighting her as she climbs into Rash's SUV.
My chest tightens as I switch to the Shadow's Edge security feed. Our club's downtown establishment connects to our network through encryption I designed myself. Dozens of cameras, some with audio capability, cover nearly every corner of the place.
The club is packed tonight, and I don’t like it. The dance floor is crowded with bodies, creating enough density to conceal potential threats.
I’m still watching the monitor trained on the main entrance when they arrive, and my eyes lock onto Rose immediately. She moves differently—spine straighter, stride more confident, head held higher. The transformation goes beyond the dress and makeup—something fundamental has shifted in her.
Men notice. Of course they do. Their reactions are textbook—turned heads, longer than normal glances, subtle shifts in posture. White-hot fury builds in my chest at each appreciative glance thrown her way.
"You look like you're contemplating mass murder."
I don't turn as Blade enters uninvited. His assessment is accurate.
"Working," I respond curtly, increasing magnification on a camera showing a fucker with a goatee approaching Rose. He stands too close. Way too close.
"Right. Surveillance. Very important." Blade's voice drips with sarcasm as he pulls up a chair. "Nothing to do with the hot blonde in the red dress who just told you to fuck off in front of the entire club."
“Burgundy,” I respond automatically as I mentally catalog the most efficient ways to neutralize the goateed asshole. “The dress is burgundy.”
