5. Rose
Rose
The compound has gradually become more crowded over the past two days. Bikers from allied clubs all over the state have arrived for Luna and Saint’s wedding.
The wedding ceremony itself is brief and surprisingly touching.
Luna wears a gorgeous dress that belonged to her mother, and Saint's expression as she walks toward him contains such naked adoration it almost hurts my heart to witness.
They exchange vows, and when Saint kisses her, the crowd erupts in cheers and wolf whistles.
Afterward, the reception transforms the outside courtyard into a raucous party—wilder, louder, more chaotic than any gathering I've ever experienced.
I watch as strange men with cuts from other motorcycle clubs mingle with women in various states of undress.
Music blasts from massive speakers. A long line of tables are laden with food along one side, while a makeshift bar dominates another. I hover near the edge of the activity, nursing a soda that I've barely touched. Every instinct screams at me to remain invisible, to avoid drawing attention.
"Having fun?" Rash appears beside me, looking different in a clean button-up shirt instead of his usual ratty t-shirt, though his leather cut remains firmly in place.
"It's...intense," I admit.
He laughs. "Wait 'til they really get going. This is tame compared to what it'll be in a couple of hours."
The thought makes my anxiety spike. Already the noise is overwhelming, the press of bodies making me feel trapped. "I'm not sure I'll last that long."
Rash's expression turns sympathetic. "It's a lot, I know. First time I was at a club party, I stood in the corner wide-eyed, just watching, for hours.” He nods toward the outbuilding on the far side of the compound.
"There's a quieter spot behind the garage if you need a breather. Not many people go back there."
I smile gratefully. "Thanks. I might do that."
"Just let me know if you need an escort. Some of these guys from other chapters can get handsy when they're drunk."
The warning sends a chill through me. I've been so focused on my anxiety about the crowd that I hadn't considered the potential danger of being a single woman around intoxicated men with questionable boundaries.
As if sensing my discomfort, Rash quickly adds, "Don't worry, though. Ghost marked you as off-limits. Anyone who touches you answers to him." He grins. "And believe me, no one wants that."
The reassurance helps, but as the night progresses and the party grows rowdier, my nerves fray further. The music gets louder, the dancing more suggestive. I watch as Luna and Saint share their first dance, her head resting against his chest, his large arms wrapped around her possessively.
My eyes scan the crowd almost involuntarily, searching for one particular figure.
I finally spot Cipher standing alone near the bar, his posture rigid, expression unreadable.
He is incredibly handsome in black jeans with his leather cut over a black t-shirt that stretches to span his broad shoulders.
Even from a distance, his presence exerts a gravitational pull on me.
As if sensing my gaze, his head turns, eyes locking with mine across the crowded space.
The eye contact sends electricity racing along my skin.
For a moment, something flashes in his expression—before his face shutters closed again, cold and remote.
The disconnect between that fleeting look and his otherwise detached demeanor fuels the confusion that's been building since my rescue.
What did I imagine in that shipping container?
Was the connection I felt merely desperation on my part, my traumatized mind latching onto the first person who showed me kindness?
I watch as he turns away, disappearing into the crowd, and something inside me deflates. The noise suddenly becomes unbearable, the press of bodies suffocating. I remember Rash's suggestion and slip away from the main celebration, making my way toward the garage at the far end of the compound.
Behind the building, I find a small patch of concrete with a couple of plastic chairs overlooking a stretch of dark woods.
It’s just like Rash said. The music is muffled here, the air cooler against my heated skin.
I sink into one of the chairs, kicking off the sandals I borrowed from Sophie and letting my bare feet rest against the cool concrete.
The relative quiet is a balm to my overwhelmed senses, and I close my eyes.
“Hiding?”
The deep voice startles me so badly I nearly fall out of the chair. My eyes fly open to find Cipher standing a few feet away, his powerful frame outlined against the distant lights of the celebration. My heart slams against my ribcage in excitement.
"I—" My voice fails me. This is the closest he's been to me since he rescued me, the first time he's directly addressed me since then. "Too loud," I finally manage. “And crowded.”
His dark hair is pulled back in its usual tight ponytail, emphasizing the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones. His eyes move over me in a slow, deliberate assessment that makes heat bloom across my skin, and I smooth down my dress self-consciously.
After several seconds of awkward silence, I gather my courage. "You've been avoiding me."
As his jaw tightens, the scar on his face pulls slightly at the corner of his mouth. "Yes."
The blunt admission stuns me. I expected denial or deflection, not this raw honesty. “Um… Why?"
He turns to look at me fully then, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that sends a flood of moisture to my panties, and I instinctively squeeze my thighs together.
He looks away again, his profile harsh in the dim light. "It's better that way."
Frustration bubbles up through my usual caution. "Better for who?"
"For you." The words come out clipped, definitive.
"Shouldn't I be the one to decide that?" The boldness of my question surprises even me. I've never challenged authority so directly before, and I’m further shocked to realize I’m on my feet.
Cipher's head turns sharply, something flashing in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or reluctant admiration.
Emboldened by his continued engagement, I let more of my frustration leak out.
"I just want to understand why you act like I don't exist when you're the one who—" I stop, unable to articulate exactly what he did that night.
Saved me? Claimed me? Made me feel safe for the first time in years?
“Who acted like I mattered," I whisper, the admission pulled from some vulnerable place deep within.
His entire body goes rigid at the words, muscles tensing visibly beneath his clothes. For a moment, I think he's going to leave, to just walk away abandoning me. Instead, he shifts slightly toward me, the space between us shrinking.
"You need to forget that," he says, his voice barely audible.
"But I can’t.” I turn to face him fully, heart pounding so hard I'm sure he must hear it. "I remember everything about that night. The way you looked at me. The way you held me.”
His expression shifts, a crack in the cold facade. His hand moves slowly, giving me plenty of time to pull away, before his fingertips brush my cheek with astonishing tenderness.
The roughness of his calloused fingers against my skin sends a shiver through my entire body. Without thinking, I lean slightly into his hand, craving more of this contact.
"You’re not for me,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone. And then, almost as if he’s arguing with himself, “You’re not mine.”
Before I can respond to tell him that I’ll be his, that all he has to do is say the word, that I’ve been waiting since I arrived to be his, his hand slides to the nape of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair.
Time seems to slow as he leans forward, his eyes never leaving mine, giving me every opportunity to retreat.
But retreat is the last thing on my mind as his face draws closer to mine.
“Oh, Baby Girl, what you do to me.” The confession falls from his lips like a strangled growl. Then his mouth is on mine, and the world dissolves around us.
The kiss is gentle at first, almost hesitant—a question rather than a demand. His lips are softer than I expected, a contrast to the hard edges of the rest of him. My first kiss. The sensation is so new, so overwhelming that for a moment I freeze, unsure how to respond.
Sensing my uncertainty, he begins to pull back, but instinct drives me forward, my hand coming up to grip his t-shirt, keeping him close. Something like a growl rumbles in his chest as he deepens the kiss, his hand tightening in my hair.
Heat floods my body, pooling low in my abdomen and sparking a need so all-consuming it frightens me. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him without hesitation, eager to taste more of him, to experience everything this powerful man is offering.
His other arm wraps around my waist as he sinks into a chair, pulling me against him and onto his lap.
The new position brings us flush against each other, his muscled chest hard against my softer curves.
Through the thin fabric of my dress, I can feel the heat of him, the solid strength of his thighs beneath mine.
The kiss turns hungrier, more demanding, his hand sliding up my back to cradle my head as he devours my mouth with a passion that leaves me breathless. I'm drowning in sensation, my body responding in ways I've never experienced—my nipples tightening, a throbbing heat building between my thighs.
My inexperienced hands explore tentatively, tracing the hard planes of his chest, feeling the tension in his shoulders. When my fingers brush against the side of his neck, encountering the raised edge of what feels like a scar, he shudders beneath me.
Emboldened, I let my hand slide higher, into his hair, loosening the tight ponytail until dark strands fall around his face. He makes a sound against my mouth—half groan, half warning—that sends electricity racing down my spine.
"Cipher," I whisper against his lips, the name a plea though I'm not sure what I'm begging for.
His response is to kiss me harder, one hand sliding down to grip my hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh with restrained strength. The slight pain mingles with pleasure, intensifying everything. His beard stubble scrapes gently against my skin, the sensation thrilling.
Lost in the moment, my hips shift involuntarily against him, seeking something I can't name. The movement brings me into contact with his hard manhood, the evidence of his desire, and the realization of what I'm feeling sends a shiver of excitement through me.
I pull back slightly, needing to catch my breath, to process the overwhelming sensations. His eyes are dark, pupils dilated, his breathing as ragged as my own. For a moment, we simply stare at each other, the connection between us almost tangible.
Then something shifts in his expression, a shadow crossing his features. His hands, which had been holding me with such passionate possession, suddenly freeze. I watch in confusion as awareness seems to crash over him. His face hardens into a mask of…disgust?
"Fuck," he growls, lifting me off his lap and setting me back in my own chair with careful but definitive movements. He stands abruptly, putting distance between us, running a hand roughly through his loosened hair. “Fuck!”
The whiplash of his sudden withdrawal leaves me dizzy and confused. "Cipher?—"
"No." The word cuts through the night air like a blade. "This was a mistake."
“Mistake?” I whisper, a sharp, searing pain blooming in my chest.
He won't look at me now, his posture rigid, hands clenched at his sides. “A huge fucking mistake.” He shakes his head.
Before I have a chance to say a word, he turns and takes off, his strides long and purposeful, leaving me alone in the looming darkness with swollen lips and a heart that feels like it's being crushed in a vise.