14. Rose
Rose
Colored lights sweep across the dance floor, slicing through artificial fog and transforming sweaty skin into a kaleidoscope of blues and purples and reds.
The bass thrums through my body like a second heartbeat, vibrating up through the soles of my shoes and settling somewhere deep in my chest. The air tastes of perfume, alcohol, and desire—thick enough to coat my tongue.
I've never experienced anything like this—the freedom, the anonymity, the pulsing energy that seems to lift me from the floor and carry me on its current.
Mere weeks ago, I was locked in a shipping container.
Before that, I spent years isolated under the strictness and cruelty of a man who hated me.
Now I'm here in a fever dream, feeling alive in a way I never thought possible.
Luna grins beside me, her body moving with practiced confidence to the rhythm.
I try to copy her movements, feeling awkward at first but gradually finding my own flow.
The dress I’m wearing clings to my skin, already damp with perspiration.
I can feel eyes on me—male gazes that would have terrified me weeks ago but now give me a strange sense of power.
"You're a natural!" Luna shouts over the music, grabbing my hands and spinning me around.
I laugh. The sound is drowned by the thumping bass, but the feeling bubbles through me like champagne. For these few minutes, I'm not Rose the victim, Rose the burden, Rose the shy and socially awkward just-turned-adult. I'm simply a woman in a pretty dress, dancing under swirling lights.
A tall man with a neatly trimmed goatee approaches, his eyes appreciative but not predatory. "Dance?" he asks, holding out his hand.
I hesitate, glancing at Luna who gives an encouraging nod.
"One song," I agree, allowing him to guide me deeper into the crowd.
He's respectful, keeping a proper distance between us as we move to the music.
I wonder if that's because this club is owned by the Shadow Reapers—no one would dare disrespect women under their protection.
The thought makes me smile. For all their fearsome reputation, the MC has given me more safety than I've known since my mother died.
After the song ends, I thank him politely and make my way to a table Rash is occupying, his eyes sweeping the crowd vigilantly, never leaving the four of us as we dance.
"Having fun?" Rash asks, sliding a glass toward me. "Ginger ale," he adds quietly. "No one needs to know there's no vodka in it."
I take a grateful sip, the carbonation soothing my queasy stomach. "Thanks."
Luna, Sophie, and Angel appear, tumbling off the dance floor, flushed and laughing from dancing.
"Break time," Luna announces, collapsing into a chair at our table. "I need hydration before I pass out."
"You're killing it out there, Rose," Angel says, signaling for drinks. "I've counted at least six guys who can't take their eyes off you."
I feel heat rise to my cheeks, the blush spreading down my neck. "It's just the dress and makeup."
"It's not the dress," Sophie counters. "It's you. The dress just helps you see what we've all seen since you arrived."
"Which is what?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"That you're gorgeous," Luna says matter-of-factly. "And that Cipher is an idiot."
At his name, my heart does that familiar painful contraction.
"He made it pretty clear how he feels," I say, trying to sound indifferent.
"Men say a lot of things they don't mean," Angel says, accepting her drink from the waitress. "Especially men like Cipher."
"You mean men who call you 'Baby Girl' one minute and act like you disgust them the next?" The words slip out before I can stop them, bitter and hurt.
There's a sudden silence at the table. I look up to find three pairs of eyes staring at me with identical expressions of shock.
"What?" I ask, uncomfortable under their scrutiny.
"He called you 'Baby Girl'?" Luna's voice is hushed, like I've just revealed a state secret.
The memory of him whispering it against my skin while buried deep inside me makes my body flush with heat. My body remembers his touch with embarrassing clarity—the weight of him above me, the gentle way his hands explored me, the tenderness that seemed so at odds with his fearsome reputation.
“A few times,” I confirm, confused by their reaction. “It’s not like it means anything.” I wave a hand in the air. “He probably calls all his conquests that," I add with a shrug, trying to seem casual while my heart aches.
Angel's laugh is sharp and disbelieving. “First of all, Cipher doesn’t have conquests . Second, Cipher doesn't call anyone pet names. Ever."
"In the entire time I've known him, I've never heard him use an endearment with anyone," Sophie adds, her expression thoughtful. "Not once."
"Are you sure?" I ask, something fragile and hopeful fluttering in my chest.
"Positive," all three women confirm in unison.
I sit back, trying to process this new information, not sure what it means, if anything.
I’m so lost in thought that I barely notice as one by one each of the women returns to the dance floor until I’m left alone at the table with Rash.
“I need to know the truth about him, Rash,” I say decisively. “I deserve to understand what I’m dealing with."
"It's not my story to?—”
“Stop! Stop saying that! Everyone keeps saying that," I reply, frustration edging into my voice. "But no one will actually tell me anything. Just that he's complicated or damaged or not good with people . That's not helpful."
“Right.” His eyes flick briefly to my still-flat midsection, and his expression softens with sympathy before turning serious again. "You’re right, given the circumstances. But you didn't hear this from me."
"Understood."
He takes a deep breath. "Cipher was born different.
Brilliant—like, genius-level brilliant—but also probably on the autism spectrum, though no one diagnosed that back then.
" He fiddles with a coaster, clearly uncomfortable.
"His parents didn't understand him. They thought there was something wrong with him because he wasn't like other kids. "
My stomach tightens, already sensing where this is going.
"They beat him, abused him,” Rash continues, voice low. "Called him a freak, a weirdo, used to lock him in closets for hours when he displayed what they called freakish behavior . Which was just Cipher being himself—focusing intensely on patterns, asking too many questions, not making eye contact."
A sick feeling spreads through me. I know what it's like to live with someone who uses their power to hurt you simply because you exist.
"When he was fifteen, he was caught hacking into a supposedly secure government database—just because he could.
Instead of arresting him, they recruited him.
Saw his genius and wanted to use it." Rash's expression darkens.
"The government trained him to be a weapon.
Taught him to kill, to torture, to extract information.
Exploited his natural abilities and turned them into something deadly. "
“Our government did this? To a teenager?" I whisper, horrified.
Rash nods grimly. "It gets worse. When he was in his early twenties, they sent him on a mission that went sideways. The official story is that his handlers sacrificed him to protect other assets. Left him to be captured by enemies of the state."
They sold him out?! My hand flies to my mouth. "No..."
"He was held and tortured for months," Rash says, his voice dropping even lower. "Those scars? That's where they came from. I don’t know all of what was done to him, but I know they did unspeakable things to him, Rose."
Tears spring to my eyes as I imagine Cipher—brilliant, isolated Cipher—suffering alone. His scars suddenly take on new meaning—not just marks of pain, but a map of betrayal and survival.
"How did he escape?" I manage to ask.
"He never talks about that part," Rash admits. "But Ghost once said that when they found him, he was covered in blood —not all of it his own. The rumors are that he single-handedly killed everyone in the compound where he was held. All twenty-seven of them."
I should be horrified. I should be afraid. Instead, all I feel is a fierce, protective rage on his behalf. "Good," I say with conviction. "They deserved it."
Rash studies me with surprise. “Yeah…um…right. "
My hand drifts to my stomach again, a new thought forming. Is this why Cipher pushed me away? Not because I wasn't enough, but because he believes he's too damaged? Because he thinks his darkness might somehow hurt me or... any child we might have?
"He doesn't think he deserves you," Rash says as if reading my mind. "Cipher believes he's poison—that he destroys everything he touches. He's pushing you away because in his fucked-up logic, he thinks he's protecting you."
The pieces fall into place with startling clarity. The hot-cold behavior. The tenderness followed by cruelty. The way he watches me when he thinks I don't notice. He's not disgusted by me—he's afraid of himself.
And now I'm carrying his child, binding us together in a way he can't dismiss.
"I need to tell him about the baby," I say softly. "Soon."
"Yeah, you do," Rash agrees. "But it doesn't have to be tonight."
Before I can respond, Luna appears at our table, her expression excited.
"You have to come back to the dance floor," she insists, grabbing my hand. "The DJ just put on my song!"
I allow her to pull me away, throwing Rash a grateful look over my shoulder. As I follow Luna into the crowd, my mind is still reeling from everything I've learned. But for now, I just dance, oblivious to the approaching storm.