Page 41 of Cipher's Baby Girl
"Protect her?" Rash laughs again, cold and cutting. "From what? Happiness? Because that's all she wants. She doesn't expect you to be perfect, man. She just wants to matter to someone."
His words carve a hollow space in my chest. "She deserves better than me."
"Maybe," Rash concedes, his anger cooling slightly. “Probably. But she chose you anyway. And now she's carrying your child while trying to figure out how to tell you—a man who can't even look at her without flinching."
My child.
The realization rewires everything inside me. Every priority, every mission parameter, every survival instinct—all of it reconfigures in an instant. For the first time in my life, something matters more than mission completion, more than tactical advantage, more than my own survival.
"How long has she known?" My voice comes out rough, barely audible.
"Few days. She only took the test today, though.” Rash's expression softens. "She's terrified, man. Not just of being pregnant, but of telling you. Of being rejected again."
The reminder of my cruelty feels like acid in my veins. I've made the woman I care most about in this world afraid to approach me. I've never failed so completely at anything in my life.
"I need to find her." The need burns through me like wildfire. "Now."
"Yeah, you do." Rash checks his watch, frowning. “I’m not sure where she is, though. She's been out of my sight for almost nine minutes."
Quickly, I pull out my phone and type in the code to gain access to the club cameras. It takes far too long to find the correct feed, then rewind the digital footage to when Rose and I were talking in the back hallway. I watch as she stomps across the main room, nudging people out of her way until she pushes through an emergency exit.
What the fuck?
"Call Ghost. Alert him that Rose might be in trouble,” I command, my feet already following her path.
I push through the exit door, emerging into the alley behind the club. The night air is cold, the space dimly lit and completely empty.
"Rose?" I call, moving methodically through the space, looking for any trace of her. Nothing.
My heart pounds against my ribs as combat instincts take over, sharpening my senses.
Again, I access the club's security cameras and scroll back through the footage, searching.
There—Rose emerges from the exit, visibly upset. The timestamp reads eleven minutes ago. She leans against the wall, taking deep breaths, one hand resting protectively on her stomach. Now I understand the significance of that gesture. My child. Our child.
For a minute and a half, she stands alone. Then there’s movement at the edge of the frame. A figure approaches, male, middle-aged, out of shape but determined. Richard fucking Hartley.
My muscles lock with tension as Rose notices him too late. She tries to run, but he's on her in seconds, one hand clamping over her mouth, the other arm around her waist. She fights back—my brave, fierce Rose.
Then I see it—the flash of a syringe, the quick jab to her neck. Her struggles weaken almost immediately, her body going limp in his grasp before being shoved into a rusty blue pickup.
Something primal and lethal unfurls inside me—the weapon they created, the hunter they trained, the killer they unleashed. But this time, it's not for country or mission or even revenge. It's for something far more important—love.
I check the time again. Almost fourteen minutes. A significant head start, but not insurmountable. Not for me. Not for what I become when unleashed.
I return to the club, moving with single-minded purpose toward our gathered brothers. Ghost looks up as I approach, already on alert from whatever Rash has told him.
"Rose has been taken," I state, forcing my voice to remain steady. "By Richard Hartley, her stepfather. Almost eighteen minutes ago. He drugged her with something. Likely a sedative, fast-acting."
The reaction is immediate—brothers reaching for weapons, faces hardening with purpose. These men may be hard-partying outlaws, but they protect their own with unwavering loyalty.
And Rose is one of ours. Has been since I carried her from that damned shipping container.
I can track the vehicle through traffic cameras and satellite feeds, but I already have a good idea of where he’s taking her. I’ve had eyes on the slimeball for weeks, waiting until the perfect time to make my move. I know about his small, remote hunting cabin.
Ghost approaches, his face as angry as I've ever seen it. "Whatever you need, brother, you got. The full force of the club is behind you."
I nod, the tactical part of my brain already planning the most efficient extraction. But something stops me—a truth that needs to be spoken.
