18. Rose #2
In that moment, I make my decision. Turning away from the bathroom, I lunge toward the kitchenette instead, grabbing the first thing my hand finds—a heavy cast iron pan left on the stove.
"What the fuck?" Richard lurches to his feet as I swing the pan with all my strength.
It connects with his shoulder rather than his head as I'd aimed for, but it's enough to send him staggering backward. The whiskey bottle crashes to the floor, glass shattering, the pungent smell of alcohol filling the air.
"You little bitch!" he roars, recovering faster than I anticipated, lunging for me with rage contorting his features.
I retreat, pan still clutched in my hand, but my heel catches on the edge of the rug. I fall backward, landing hard, the pan clattering from my grip. Richard is on me in seconds, his weight crushing me into the floor, his hands wrapping around my throat.
"I'm gonna make you pay for that," he snarls, spittle flying from his lips as his fingers tighten. "Gonna make you beg before I'm done with you."
Black spots dance at the edges of my vision as his grip cuts off my air. My hands claw desperately at his face, his arms, trying to break his hold. The baby, I have to protect the baby?—
The door explodes inward with a crash that seems to shake the entire cabin. Splinters of wood fly through the air as the frame gives way completely. Richard's head jerks up, his grip loosening just enough for me to drag in a painful breath.
And then he's gone, his weight torn away from me with such violence that I hear the sickening crack of bone. I roll to my side, coughing and gasping, my vision blurry with tears and lack of oxygen.
Through the haze, I see Cipher—but not the controlled, cold man I've come to know. This is something else entirely. Something unhinged, inhuman, and utterly terrifying.
He moves with preternatural speed and precision, each blow calculated for maximum damage.
Blood sprays across the cabin wall as his fist connects with Richard's nose, shattering it instantly.
Richard tries to fight back, landing a lucky punch that splits Cipher's lip, but it's like watching a mouse attack a wolf. Morosely comical and utterly hopeless.
"You touched what's mine," Cipher snarls, voice barely recognizable as human. He punctuates each word with a blow that makes Richard's head snap back, blood and spittle flying. "You put your hands on my woman ."
Richard's face is a bloody mess, but still, he spits defiance. "Your whore came from my house," he gasps. "She's my property?—"
The words end in a gurgle as Cipher's hand closes around his throat, lifting him off his feet with one arm. The display of raw strength is staggering, the muscles in Cipher's arm flexing beneath his skin as he holds Richard aloft, his feet dangling uselessly.
"Say it again," Cipher invites, voice deadly quiet now. "Call her your property one more time."
I should be horrified by the violence. Should be afraid of this man who can inflict such damage with cold, methodical precision.
Instead, I feel only relief, only gratitude, only certainty that my baby and I are safe now.
This is what Cipher is—a weapon, yes, but one pointed at those who would harm me.
His darkness isn't something to fear, but something that protects what he values.
"Cipher," I whisper, my voice raw from Richard's strangling.
His head snaps toward me, eyes wild with rage and something else—fear? For me?
Richard takes advantage of the momentary distraction, reaching for something in his pocket—the knife he used to cut my zip ties. He lunges, blade glinting in the dim light.
Cipher moves with blinding speed, catching Richard's wrist and twisting until bone snaps with an audible crack. The knife clatters to the floor. Richard screams, the sound cut short as Cipher delivers a blow to his temple that renders him instantly unconscious.
Cipher stands over Richard's crumpled form for a moment, chest heaving, knuckles dripping blood—whether his own or Richard's, I can't tell. His face is a mask of cold fury, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his scar. Then he turns to me, and the transformation is startling.
The rage drains from his face, replaced by concern so acute it makes my chest ache. His eyes soften, his posture changes, his entire being shifting from destroyer to protector in the space of a heartbeat. He crosses to me in two long strides before crouching down so we’re face to face.
His hands hover over me, not touching, as if afraid I'll shatter. "Are you hurt? Is the baby hurt? Did he—" He can't seem to finish the question, his eyes moving over me, cataloging every bruise, every mark.
The baby? He knows about the baby?
"No," I assure him, my eyes glued to his bloodied hand. "You got here in time. I'm okay." I swallow hard and finally say the words aloud. "We're okay. Me and our baby."
His eyes drop to her stomach, a raw vulnerability running through him. "Our baby.” His voice is barely audible.
I nod, suddenly terrified of his reaction. Will he reject me again? Push me away? Tell me he doesn’t want our baby?
Instead, he does the last thing I expect. He gathers me into his arms with excruciating gentleness, one hand cradling my head against his chest, the other wrapping around my waist to pull me close. His heartbeat thunders against my ear, fast and strong.
"I'm sorry," he whispers into my hair, his voice breaking.
"I'm so fucking sorry, Baby Girl. For everything.
For pushing you away. For making you think I didn't want you.
" His arms tighten around me, as though I might disappear if he doesn’t hold me tight enough.
. "I was trying to protect you from me, and instead I left you vulnerable. "
His hands are gentle now, so different from the lethal weapons they were moments ago. The contrast should frighten me, but it doesn’t.
I feel protected. Cherished.
"I thought you hated me," I admit, my voice small against his chest.
His grip tightens. "Never. Not for a single second." He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his own filled with a depth of emotion I've never seen there before. "I've been yours since the moment I found you. I was just too stupid to admit it."
This is everything I've wanted from him, everything I'd given up hoping for. But questions still linger.
"How did you know?" I ask. "About the baby?"
A shadow crosses his face. "Found the pregnancy test in your trash when I went to your room looking for something to cover you up at the club." His jaw tightens, a flash of that earlier violence crossing his features. "I thought it was Rash's baby at first."
Despite everything, I can't help the small laugh that escapes me. "Rash? Ewww. He's like a brother to me."
"I know that now," he says, smoothing my hair back from my face with gentle fingers. "He set me straight. Told me what an idiot I've been."
"He wasn't wrong," I say, but there's no heat in the words.
"No, he wasn't." Cipher's lips quirk in what might almost be a smile. “But if you give me another chance, I’ll never make that mistake again.” His expression turns serious, his thumb tracing the bruise forming on my cheekbone.
"I'm never letting anyone hurt you again, Rose. You or our baby. I swear to you.”
The words "our baby" in his mouth send warmth flooding through me. For the first time, I allow myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, we have a future together. That maybe the broken pieces of both our lives can fit together to create something whole.
Outside, I hear the rumble of motorcycles—the rest of the Shadow Reapers arriving. But for now, in this moment, it's just us. Just me and Cipher and the tiny life we've created.
"Take me home," I whisper, suddenly exhausted as the adrenaline fades.
He stands in one fluid motion, lifting me effortlessly into his arms the same way he did that first night in the shipping container—rescued again, cradled against his chest like something valuable and cherished.
"What about him?" I ask, nodding toward Richard's unconscious form.
Cipher's eyes turn cold, that lethal focus returning briefly. "The brothers will handle him. He'll never touch you again." There's a promise in those words, dark and final.
As he carries me from the cabin, I see Ghost, Blade, and several other brothers arriving, their expressions grim and purposeful.
"I'm taking her home,” Cipher tells Ghost, his voice brooking no argument. "He's inside. Breathing, for now."
Ghost nods, his eyes softening when they land on me. "We'll handle it."
Cipher carries me to his motorcycle, setting me down with reluctance. "Can you ride?" he asks, genuine concern in his voice. "It's not ideal in your condition, but?—"
"I can ride," I assure him. "Just don't let me go."
Something shifts in his expression—vulnerability, tenderness, determination all mingled together. "Never again, Baby Girl," he promises, the words feeling like a vow. "Never again."