16. Rose
Rose
Luna waves her arms in the air in time with the beat, her grin wild and free as she spins in a circle. I laugh, the sound drowned out by the music. Sophie and Angel join us, the three of us dancing in a protective circle as we move together.
Across the room, I spot Rash leaning back in his chair, his vigilant eyes never leaving our group. When our gazes meet, he raises his glass in silent salute.
Angel leans in, her lips brushing my ear as she speaks. “Uh-oh, here comes trouble!”
The hairs on my arms rise before I consciously register what's happening. That familiar prickle across my skin, that weight of eyes on me like a physical touch.
I turn slowly, already knowing what I'll find. Cipher.
The crowd parts around him like the Red Sea, people instinctively giving way to a dangerous predator in their midst. He stalks through the club with lethal grace, his powerful frame clad in his usual black t-shirt and leather cut, his dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail that emphasizes the harsh angles of his face and the deep scar along his jawline.
There’s no doubt he’s seething with barely contained rage.
His eyes—cold, hard, intense—lock onto mine with laser precision. The look in them steals my breath.
"Holy shit," Luna mutters, unconsciously taking a step back. "Someone's daddy's mad."
The double meaning of her words sends a jolt through my system, my hand instinctively moving to shield my belly before I catch myself. Does he know? Has he somehow found out about the baby?
Before I can process the thought, Cipher reaches us. Without a word, he grabs my wrist, his grip firm but not painful. The contact sends electricity racing up my arm, my traitorous body still responding like a needy harlot to his mere touch.
"Hey!" I protest as he begins pulling me through the crowd, my heels making it difficult to keep pace with his long strides. "What are you doing? Where are we going?”
He doesn't answer, just continues cutting a path toward a hallway at the back of the club, his broad back rigid with tension. I glance over my shoulder to see my friends watching with wide eyes, Rash already moving to follow before Angel catches his arm, shaking her head in silent command.
The pounding music fades slightly as Cipher pulls me into a dimly lit hallway just beyond the restrooms. When he finally turns to face me, the force of his gaze nearly staggers me.
Up close, I can see the muscle jumping in his jaw, the slight flare of his nostrils as he breathes, the dangerous light in his eyes that should frighten the hell out of me but instead sends heat pooling between my thighs.
"What the hell, Cipher?" I yank my arm free. "You can't just manhandle me whenever you feel like it!"
Instead of answering, he thrusts something at me—something purple and fuzzy.
"Put it on." His voice is a low growl that vibrates through my chest. His eyes drop briefly to where the dress dips low between my breasts before snapping back to my face.
“What is…” I stare in complete disbelief. “Is that...my bathrobe?"
“Put it on,” he repeats.
The absurdity of the moment temporarily short-circuits my anger. "You want me to put on my bathrobe? In a nightclub?" I laugh, the sound sharp with disbelief. "Have you completely lost your mind?"
"You're too exposed." He gestures at my dress with a jerky movement, his knuckles white around the purple fabric. "Every man in this place can see—" He cuts himself off, jaw clenching. "Put it on. Now."
Understanding dawns, and with it, fresh anger that burns away the last of my nervousness.
"Let me get this straight." I step closer, practically nose to chest as I glower up at him.
"You haven't been around for weeks. Haven’t spoken to me except to glare from across rooms or say something nasty and cruel.
You took my virginity, then tossed me aside like I meant nothing.
And now you think you have the right to dictate what I wear? "
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.
"None of that now," he hisses in my ear, his breath hot and foul against my skin. "You've caused enough trouble, girlie.”
My first instinct is to submit—the survival response ingrained by years of abuse—but the knowledge of my pregnancy ignites a new, fierce protectiveness. I struggle, kick, and twist, my heel managing to connect with his shin.
I feel a sharp prick in my neck, a cold spreading sensation that makes my heart stutter with panic. No, no, no. Whatever I’ve just been injected with can't be good for my baby. Desperate, I fight harder, but to no avail.
My vision blurs, the world tilting sideways as the drug takes hold. I want to scream, but my mouth won't form words. My tongue is thick and unresponsive. Shadows lengthen and distort. My thoughts turn syrupy and slow, but one thought remains crystal clear—I need to protect my baby.
Through rapidly closing tunnel vision, I see Richard glance nervously over his shoulder before shoving me headfirst into his rusty blue pickup truck.
.