Page 22 of Cipher's Baby Girl
Chaos curses under his breath. "So what's your recommendation?"
"Immediate, overwhelming response," I say without hesitation. "Neutralize their forward operating cells before they entrench. Cut supply lines. Disrupt communication infrastructure. Standard counterinsurgency protocol."
The room falls silent, the brothers exchanging glances. My clinical assessment of what is essentially a declaration of war has its usual effect—reminding everyone that I approach violence differently.
Ghost nods slowly. "We stand with the Renegades on this. Shadow Reapers will provide manpower as needed, beginning with intelligence support.” He turns his focus on me. “Cipher, you’ll accompany the Renegade Kings back to Detroit tomorrowand remain for the next month or so—or as long as your special skills are needed.”
I say nothing, merely nodding in agreement.
Chaos clasps Ghost’s arm in the traditional MC greeting. "Appreciate it, brother. We'll coordinate details tomorrow."
"For tonight," Ghost says, rising, "we drink. To brotherhood and blood oaths."
As we file out of the chapel and into the common room, my mind is already mapping surveillance networks, cataloging the cartel's known associates, calculating kill probabilities. Standard operational planning.
Until I catch sight of her. Rose.
She's wearing those borrowed jeans that sit low on her hips and a Shadow Reapers t-shirt that's too big, slipping off one shoulder to reveal the delicate curve where her neck meets her collarbone. My mouth goes dry at the thought of pressing my lips to that exact spot, feeling her pulse jump beneath my tongue.
I force my gaze away, something dark and possessive clawing at my insides. I need a drink. Several.
The common room transforms quickly into a rowdy get-together. Music pounds through massive speakers. The air thickens with cigarette smoke, sweat, and testosterone as brothers and their women crowd around tables and pool tables. The scent of whiskey mingles with leather, motor oil, and sex—the distinctive perfume of an MC party. The Renegade Kings are clearly eager to blow off steam before getting on the road to head home tomorrow.
"Double Woodford, neat”, I tell the prospect manning the bar. “And keep ’em coming.”
Rose
The bass thrums through my body, vibrating the sticky tabletop beneath my fingertips as I sip a soda. The common room pulses with life—smoky air thick with the scent of leather and whiskey. Despite being surrounded by people, I feel strangely isolated, like I'm watching the world through a glass wall.
Across the room, Sophie sits in Blade's lap, her arms wound around his neck as they share whispered conversations punctuated by slow, deep kisses. His hand possessively spans her lower back, keeping her firmly against him, while hers plays with the hair at the nape of his neck in a casual intimacy that makes my heart ache. They look so comfortable together, so certain of their place in each other's lives.
Near them, Ghost has Angel tucked against his side. She laughs at something as he whispers in her ear. When she turns to press her lips to his jaw, his eyes darken with a hunger that's both tender and fierce.
A hollowness expands in my chest as I watch them—these women who belong somewhere, who wear their status as "old ladies" like invisible crowns. According to Sophie and Angel, in the MC world, being someone's old lady means you're claimed, protected, valued. You're not just a girlfriend or even a wife—you're property in the most intimate sense, belonging to a man who would kill or die to keep you safe.
Maybe the concept should horrify me after years of being treated as a possession. It doesn’t. Quite the contrary. I find myself wondering what it would be like to belong to someone who looks at me the way these men look at their women—like they're the center of their universe, precious and irreplaceable.
My eyes drift to the bar where I last saw Cipher. He's gone now, vanished into whatever shadows he retreats to when he's not scowling at me or avoiding me. The memory of our kiss behind the garage flashes through my mind—the way his hands cradled my face with impossible gentleness, the contrast between his brutal strength and tender touch—before everything fell apart.
"Hello? Earth to Rose?" Rash waves his hand in front of my face, pulling me back to the present. "You're a million miles away."
"Sorry," I mutter, heat climbing up my neck. "Just thinking."
His gaze follows where mine had been, understanding dawning in his eyes. "About a certain tech genius who's allergic to social interaction?"
My blush deepens, caught. "No. Maybe. I don't know."
Rash sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I know it's not my place, but...Cipher's complicated."
"So everyone keeps telling me," I say, unable to keep the frustration from my voice. "But no one will actually explain what that means."
"It's not my story to tell," Rash says, echoing what Angel and Sophie told me earlier. "Just...be careful with your heart, okay? The guy's got walls around his walls.”
I nod, though the warning comes too late. My heart is already invested, despite my best efforts to protect it.
As if summoned by my thoughts, a slow song starts playing, something dark and sultry with a heavy beat. Blade leads Sophie to a small open area where they sway together, her head restingon his chest, his hands splayed possessively across her back. Ghost and Angel join them, lost in their own world. Other couples follow, the atmosphere shifting from rowdy to intimate.
I watch, an uncomfortable lump forming in my throat. The tenderness between these hard men and their women feels almost intrusive to witness when I'm sitting here alone, aching for something I can't name.
