Page 38 of Cipher's Baby Girl
Images flash through my mind—Rose and Rash laughing together in the kitchen, his hand on her shoulder in the common room, their heads bent close in private conversation. I've been monitoring them for weeks, watching their friendship develop, assigning Rash to remote duties to keep them apart. But I failed to see what was happening. I pushed her away, and she found comfort in younger, less damaged arms.
One night. I allowed myself one night with her, then rejected her out of some misguided notion of protection. And now she's carrying another man's child.
Too late. You’retoo late. Too late, you stupid fuck. You waited too long.
The truth is brutal in its simplicity. I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with her. Now she’s carrying Rash's child.
How long have they been sleeping together? Is she in love with him? And the most pressing question of all—why is Rash allowing her to dance half-naked at the club tonight?
Why isn’t he guarding her better? Protecting her? Keeping lecherous eyes off her?
I snatch the fuzzy purple bathrobe off the floor where I dropped it. Fuck it. My baby or not, someone needs to be at that club watching out for Rose. Someone needs to protect her.
Chapter 16
Rose
Luna waves her arms in the air in time with the beat, her grin wild and free as she spins in a circle. I laugh, the sound drowned out by the music. Sophie and Angel join us, the three of us dancing in a protective circle as we move together.
Across the room, I spot Rash leaning back in his chair, his vigilant eyes never leaving our group. When our gazes meet, he raises his glass in silent salute.
Angel leans in, her lips brushing my ear as she speaks. “Uh-oh, here comes trouble!”
The hairs on my arms rise before I consciously register what's happening. That familiar prickle across my skin, that weight of eyes on me like a physical touch.
I turn slowly, already knowing what I'll find. Cipher.
The crowd parts around him like the Red Sea, people instinctively giving way to a dangerous predator in their midst. He stalks through the club with lethal grace, his powerful frame clad in his usual black t-shirt and leather cut, his dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail that emphasizes the harsh angles of his face and the deep scar along his jawline. There’s no doubt he’s seething with barely contained rage.
His eyes—cold, hard, intense—lock onto mine with laser precision. The look in them steals my breath.
"Holy shit," Luna mutters, unconsciously taking a step back. "Someone's daddy's mad."
The double meaning of her words sends a jolt through my system, my hand instinctively moving to shield my belly before I catch myself. Does he know? Has he somehow found out about the baby?
Before I can process the thought, Cipher reaches us. Without a word, he grabs my wrist, his grip firm but not painful. The contact sends electricity racing up my arm, my traitorous body still responding like a needy harlot to his mere touch.
"Hey!" I protest as he begins pulling me through the crowd, my heels making it difficult to keep pace with his long strides. "What are you doing? Where are we going?”
He doesn't answer, just continues cutting a path toward a hallway at the back of the club, his broad back rigid with tension. I glance over my shoulder to see my friends watching with wide eyes, Rash already moving to follow before Angel catches his arm, shaking her head in silent command.
The pounding music fades slightly as Cipher pulls me into a dimly lit hallway just beyond the restrooms. When he finally turns to face me, the force of his gaze nearly staggers me. Up close, I can see the muscle jumping in his jaw, the slight flare of his nostrils as he breathes, the dangerous light in his eyes that should frighten the hell out of me but instead sends heat pooling between my thighs.
"What the hell, Cipher?" I yank my arm free. "You can't just manhandle me whenever you feel like it!"
Instead of answering, he thrusts something at me—something purple and fuzzy.
"Put it on." His voice is a low growl that vibrates through my chest. His eyes drop briefly to where the dress dips low between my breasts before snapping back to my face.
“What is…” I stare in complete disbelief. “Is that...my bathrobe?"
“Put it on,” he repeats.
The absurdity of the moment temporarily short-circuits my anger. "You want me to put on my bathrobe? In a nightclub?" I laugh, the sound sharp with disbelief. "Have you completely lost your mind?"
"You're too exposed." He gestures at my dress with a jerky movement, his knuckles white around the purple fabric. "Every man in this place can see—" He cuts himself off, jaw clenching. "Put it on. Now."
Understanding dawns, and with it, fresh anger that burns away the last of my nervousness. "Let me get this straight." I step closer, practically nose to chest as I glower up at him. "You haven't been around for weeks. Haven’t spoken to me except to glare from across rooms or say something nasty and cruel. You took my virginity, then tossed me aside like I meant nothing. And now you think you have the right to dictate what I wear?"
