Page 21 of Cipher's Baby Girl
"Or maybe I just disgust him,” I counter, the simpler explanation feeling more plausible. "Maybe he regrets rescuing me."
Angel's laugh is genuine this time. "Trust me, that man doesn't regret finding you. Quite the opposite. Ghost caught him installing extra cameras outside your room 'for security.' That's Cipher-speak for 'I'm obsessed but won't admit it.'"
"Then why?—"
"Because caring about someone means having something to lose," Sophie interrupts gently. "And men like Cipher, they'd rather be alone than risk that pain."
The words strike a chord within me. I understand that fear—the terror of opening yourself to more hurt, more loss.
“It doesn't matter," I say, trying to convince myself as much as them. "Whatever I thought I felt for him... it was probably just gratitude. He rescued me, so my mind attached to him. It's not real."
"Is that what you tell yourself?" Angel's gaze is too perceptive, too knowing.
I nod firmly, ignoring the way my heart protests the lie. "It has to be. Anything else is just... fantasy." I take another sip of coffee, ignoring the way my stomach protests. "He's made it clear he's not interested. I need to respect that and move on."
"If that's what you want," Sophie says, clearly unconvinced.
"It is." The lie feels heavy on my tongue. "Besides, I'm focusing on figuring out who I am now. What I want to do with my life. I can't build an identity around a man, especially one who doesn't want me."
Angel raises her mug in a mock toast. "That's an incredibly healthy attitude. I'm impressed."
Fortunately, the conversation shifts to lighter topics—I learn a lot about the club, club life in an MC, and some of the people who live here. Angel, whose real name is Mira, has started a charity for young adults who have aged out of the foster care system. Sophie works as a veterinary technician at a local vet office, which explains the two dogs I’ve seen running around the place—Paco, a chihuahua that belongs to Abuela, and Max, a German Shepard that used to belong to Sophie’s mean and abusive aunt until Sophie rescued it.
I participate in the conversation as best I can, asking questions, laughing at the right moments, all while my mind is completely preoccupied.
The truth is, I can't stop thinking about Cipher. About how, despite the way he turned tail and ran after that kiss, something deep inside me recognizes him as mine in a way I can't explain or rationalize.
After coffee, I return to my familiar chores around the compound. As I work, I make a silent vow to myself. I will get over Cipher. I will stop looking for him in every room I enter. I will stop hoping for another glimpse of the tenderness he sometimes lets peek through.
So what if he scooped me up from that container floor while I was sweaty and dirty and terrified? So what if he looked at me like I was precious instead of worthless? So what if he called me "Baby Girl" in a voice that made my entire body respond? He didn't even know my name then. It probably means nothing—just what he calls every woman whose name he doesn't know.
I tell myself these things as I ignore the hollow ache in my chest and the tight knot in my stomach. I tell myself these things, and I almost believe them.
Almost.
Chapter 8
Cipher
The table vibrates beneath my palms as Chaos, the Renegade King's President, slams his fist down for emphasis. Every face in the chapel turns toward him—fourteen men representing two MCs, united by a common enemy.
"Fucking Cuervos are pushing product through our eastern corridor," Chaos growls, his face twisted with rage. "Found three of my guys gutted two nights ago. Message carved into their chests."
Ghost leans forward, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "What kind of message?"
“Their logo—a crow. Cute, right?" Chaos's laugh is cold and hollow. "They're testing boundaries, seeing how far they can push before we push back."
I sit silently, analyzing the data I’ve collected. My mind processes the information differently—calculating probabilities while the others debate strategy. Ghost relies on me for this—my ability to detach and assess without emotional interference.
My emotional detachment is precisely what makes me valuable in these situations and precisely what makes me poisonfor someone like Rose. The thought of her sends an unwelcome spike of heat through my system, disrupting my calculations.
"Cipher," Ghost's voice cuts through my momentary lapse. "You've been monitoring cartel movements. What's your assessment?"
All eyes turn to me. I straighten, switching seamlessly into briefing mode, pushing thoughts of soft curves and wounded eyes from my mind.
"Los Cuervos Cartel has been expanding for the past eighteen months," I state, voice flat. "They've absorbed or eliminated three smaller organizations. Their tactics follow predictable escalation patterns—territorial marking, strategic eliminations, then full operational takeover."
I pull up satellite imagery on my tablet, sliding it across the table. "They're establishing distribution networks here, here, and here." I point to the key locations. "Based on historical patterns, the executions of Renegade members indicate phase two has begun."
