Page 39 of Cipher's Baby Girl
Something flashes in his eyes—pain? Regret?—before the cold mask slams back into place. "This isn't about rights. It's about safety. Every man in this club is looking at you like they’re starving and you're a steak dinner."
His scent fills my senses, making it hard to maintain my anger. My body remembers his touch with embarrassing clarity.
I force the memories away, clinging to my hurt like a shield. "So what if they are?" I challenge, my voice stronger than I feel. "Maybe I want to be looked at. Maybe I'm tired of being invisible. Of being treated like I don't matter."
"You're making a spectacle of yourself," he hisses, stepping even closer until I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "This isn't you, Rose."
Something snaps inside me—all the hurt, all the confusion, all the rejection crystallizing into pure, righteous fury.
"You don't know who I am," I say, my voice low but steady as I poke him in his hard chest with my finger. "You never bothered to find out. You were too busy pushing me away to protect me from your big, bad self." I take a step closer, letting him feel my presence the way I always feel his. "Well, guess what? I know about your past. I know what was done to you. And I'm not afraid."
His entire body goes still, the kind of stillness that precedes an explosion. "What did you say?" The words barely qualify as a whisper.
My heart hammers against my ribs, but I refuse to back down. Not this time. "I know about your parents. About how they treated you for being different. I know about the government recruiting you when you were just a kid. About how they used you. About the torture." The words tumble out, gathering momentum. "And none of it makes me think less of you. None of it changes how I feel. But your cruelty after what we shared? That's on you, Cipher. That was your choice."
He steps back as if I've physically struck him, shock written across his features before they harden into a mask. "Who told you?" The words are ice-cold, lethal.
"Does it matter?" I shake my head, suddenly exhausted by all of it—the push and pull between us, the way he makes me feel both cherished and worthless, the secrets we're both keeping. "The point is, I understand now why you push people away. But it doesn't excuse how you treat me."
"You don't understand anything," he says, voice rough with some emotion I can't identify.
My hand moves instinctively to my stomach, a gesture becoming more frequent as the reality of my pregnancy settles in. I catch the movement and redirect it to smooth down my dress instead. "I understand more than you think. I know what it's like to be treated as less than human. To be seen as property, as a thing to be used. I lived it for years with Richard."
At my stepfather's name, something dangerous flickers in Cipher's eyes—a predatory focus that reminds me of the dangerous man beneath the controlled surface.
"And I know what it's like to find something good and be afraid to trust it," I continue, my voice softer now. "But I'm done being afraid, Cipher. I'm done letting my past control my future. Maybe you should try the same."
A heavy silence falls between us, filled with all the things we aren't saying. The baby I'm carrying. The feelings I still have for him despite everything. The way his eyes sometimes soften then heat with desire when he looks at me, revealing glimpses of the man behind the weapon.
I turn to walk away, needing space, air, distance from the overwhelming presence of him. His hand shoots out, gripping my arm with surprising gentleness.
"Where are you going?"
"To get some air," I say, pulling free of his grasp. "And then I'm going back to my friends to enjoy what's left of my night. Without you policing my clothing choices."
He stares at me for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes. "It's not safe out there alone."
"It's not safe anywhere," I counter, suddenly bone-tired. "But I refuse to live my life in fear anymore."
I leave him standing there, still clutching my fuzzy purple bathrobe, as I wind through the throng of people until I find a door marked "Exit" at the end of a hallway and such through it.
I find myself in an alley behind the club. The cool night air hits my flushed skin like a blessing, and the quiet is a welcome reprieve from the sensory overload inside.
Leaning against the brick wall, I close my eyes and take deep breaths, one hand resting protectively over my flat belly. The confrontation with Cipher has left me shaking—adrenaline, hurt, and lingering desire all tangled together in my chest.
I need to tell him about the baby. Soon. But not tonight. Not when emotions are running so high. Not when he's acting like a cold stranger one minute and an overprotective caveman the next.
I sniffle and wipe the tears from my eyes. Why am I so emotional? I need to calm down. I know about Cipher’s past, and I understand he’s not any better than I am at social interactions. He’s worse, actually. I can handle it, though. I can handle him, now that I understand where he’s coming from.
After what I learned about his past from Rash, I know deep in my heart that Cipher would never behave the way he has if he didn’t have deep feelings for me. I just need to get a handle on these emotions. The last thing I want to do is cry in front of him when I’m trying to assert my autonomy and independence.
I take a deep breath of the cool night air. I’ll just let him cool off for a few more minutes and then go in and try again to talk to him.
A flicker of movement catches my eye, and I squint into the darkness. The back alley stretches away from the club door, dimly lit by a single security light that casts long shadows across cracked asphalt. I narrow my gaze, but when I see nothing, I tell myself it's just my imagination.
A strange feeling washes over me—a prickling unease that raises goosebumps along my arms. Then I see it—a shadow detaching from the darkness.
My breath catches in my throat as a figure steps into the feeble light. The familiar sneer freezes my blood. I push off from the wall, turning toward the club door, but he moves with surprising speed. His hand clamps over my mouth, stifling my scream, his other arm wrapping around my waist like an iron band.
