Cipher’s Baby Girl (Shadow Reapers MC #4)

Prologue 1 Rose

My first waking breath of the morning smells like stale beer and cigarette smoke—remnants of Richard’s vices from the night before.

Another day. Same nauseating air. Same suffocating existence.

The door creaks open before I have time to sit up and get my feet under me fully. I don’t dare flinch as my stepfather’s ominous, hulking frame fills the doorway. He glares at me, his face pockmarked and lined from years of bad habits and worse decisions.

“Git yer ass up, girlie.” His expression is nasty and grimacing. “My breakfast ain’t gonna make itself.”

I keep my gaze trained on the floor. “Yes, sir,” I whisper.

I wait until he grunts with disdain and disappears down the hall before pushing myself up on shaky legs. I learned a long time ago that anything but total subservience isn’t worth the pain or lingering bruises.

The kitchen is a mess when I enter. Empty beer cans crowd the table, cigarette butts spill out on the countertop, and unwashed dishes are piled in the sink. I keep my head down as I start cracking eggs, letting my body move through the motions of cooking while my mind drifts elsewhere.

Mental escape is the only kind I have.

When I was younger, I dreamed of the day I'd leave here. I imagined myself standing on the edge of some busy city street corner, pedestrians and traffic bustling around me, numerous roads leading in all directions, endless possibilities. But dreaming feels futile now.

Richard isolated me by pulling me out of school just before sixth grade and keeping me locked in this house ever since. I’m allowed outside only on rare occasions, and when I am, I’m forced to remain glued to his side. I swallow around the lump in my throat and bite back tears that sting my eyes.

Richard enters the kitchen just as I’m setting his plate of steaming food down on the table.

He barely glances at me while he shovels his breakfast into his mouth.

The television blasts some early morning news program in the living room.

I stand to the side—silent and invisible—and wait for the orders that will inevitably come once he finishes eating.

“Gotta make a trip into town,” he says between bites. “You’re gonna clean up this house while I’m gone.”

I nod and get busy clearing the counter. If he’s leaving, that means I’ll have some peace.

If I had any hope left in me, I’d step through the front door and keep walking. I’d never look back. But any hope I once had is long dead. I have no car, no money, and barely any concept of how to navigate beyond the walls of this oppressive house.

Richard made certain I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to.

The rest of the morning drags as I scrub floors and furniture, trying to erase Richard's slovenly remnants. The work is routine, mind-numbing, and for a fleeting moment, I pretend I’m normal—just a woman tidying her own home.

Richard will be gone all day. Today is a good day.

Then, as the sun begins its descent beyond the hills, the sound of tires crunching over gravel shatters the fragile quiet.

I freeze, a dish still in my hands, as I hear the front door groan open. Heavy footsteps echo through the house, accompanied by Richard’s low mumble. But it’s the second voice—deeper, rougher—that causes the fear inside me to spike.

I set the dish down slowly, careful not to make a sound, and creep a few steps in the direction of the front hallway.

“She’s worth more than that,” Richard mutters.

My stomach ties itself in knots.

The unfamiliar man chuckles, cold and unimpressed. “Your debt’s steep, Hartley. You ain’t in a position to negotiate. Be lucky I’m offering what I am.”

I hear shuffling on the threadbare carpet, and picture Richard shifting uncomfortably. He plays the tough guy, but when he’s faced with someone bigger and meaner, he's like a worm wriggling in the dirt.

“But she's untouched. Virgin pussy."

The man exhales, sounding bored. “I suppose she'll bring a decent price. Okay, I’ll take the bitch off your hands in exchange for clearing your current debt.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

My pulse pounds in my ears.

I don’t understand the meaning behind those words—no, I don’t want to understand, but I do. I know exactly what they mean.

They’re talking about me— selling me.

A nauseating wave of sheer terror grips me so tightly I can’t breathe. I take a step back, my fingers turning numb, my mind spiraling into panic mode. I have to go. I have to get out of here. I have to do it now.

My elbow nudges the plate I set down moments ago. It slides off the counter and crashes onto the floor, shattering.

The conversation in the other room stops.

My heartbeat slams against my ribcage. Leave, leave, leave.

I don’t think. I spin and bolt toward the back door.

My feet barely touch the ground as I race through the back hallway, shove the rusted screen door open so hard it slams against the wall, and sprint outside.

Cold night air engulfs me. My bare feet slap the damp grass as I race through the backyard toward the tree line. I hear Richard shouting my name, but I don’t look back. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I leave home all on my own.

I head for the dense forest that edges our property.

Branches slash at my arms, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I tear through the tree line, and darkness swallows me.

The gnarled trunks and dense foliage slow me down a little, but I don’t stop.

My bare feet are already scraped and torn, and they sting against the cold, damp earth.

But I can’t stop. Not when I know what’s behind me.

Driven by pure adrenaline, I push harder, stumbling over roots and thick underbrush. My heart thunders in my ears. My mind screams a single, panicked thought: keep running.

My body screams in protest, muscles burning, lungs aching.

The feeble moonlight leaks through the thick canopy overhead.

A soft cry slips from my lips as my foot catches on something and I pitch forward, slamming hard against the forest floor. Pain explodes up my leg as my ankle twists.

That’s when I hear it.

Men’s voices—low, cruel—somewhere behind me.

“She can’t have gone far.”

“Little bitch runs fucking fast.”

“Don’t matter. We’ll catch her.”

I need to keep running. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what happens if I manage to escape Richard and the man he’s trying to sell me to. Life has never extended beyond Richard’s house and the weight of his control.

I don’t know what happens if they catch me, but I have a pretty good idea.

No time to think about that. I’m fleeing for my life, and footsteps are gaining.

I give myself just a moment to catch my breath and assess my injury before I struggle to my hands and knees, dirt coating my fingers. My ankle throbs as I push up onto shaking legs, using a tree to steady myself.

Just as I start to limp forward, I’m caught in an iron grip. “Gotchu, you slippery little bitch.”