13. Cipher
CIPHER
T he warehouse sat like a forgotten husk on the edge of the bay, its rusted walls groaning against the chill of the evening wind. The stench of burned rubber and gasoline filled the air, sharp and acrid. Smoke curled lazily from the charred skeleton of the black sedan that had once been a lead—any glimmer of hope fucking dissipating in the black smoke.
It had been just another dead end.
I stood there, fists clenched at my sides, staring at the ashes as if I could will them to give me answers. The faint orange glow of fire still licked at the wreckage, the flicker felt like a joke, a cruel reminder that we were always one step behind.
Ray walked up beside me, shaking his head. "They knew we were coming, Cipher. This was a setup from the start."
"No shit," I growled, my voice tight with frustration. "Yulian’s a goddamn ghost. He’s always a step ahead because someone’s feeding him our every move."
Ray didn’t respond, which was probably for the best. I wasn’t in the mood for pointless theories. I turned on my heel, kicking a loose piece of debris across the warehouse floor. The clatter echoed through the emptiness, bouncing back at me like my own failure laughing in my face.
We’d combed the place, every inch of it. No bodies. No girls. No drugs. No sign of Yulian. Just another lead burned to the ground, literally.
Back to square fucking one.
The drive back to Port Townsend was suffocating, the weight of failure pressed down on me like a goddamn anvil. My mind raced through every detail, every clue we’d pieced together. But nothing stuck. Nothing made sense.
I parked the truck outside the Inn and sat there for a moment, staring at the building. The warm glow from the windows bled into the night, a stark contrast against the shadows of the mountains.
Mila.
Her name was a constant drumbeat in my skull, relentless and unforgiving. She’d been stuck in that room all day, probably hating me even more than she already did. I couldn’t blame her. Hell, I hated myself.
I pushed the door open and climbed out, my boots crunching against the gravel. As I approached the entrance, Soul was waiting for me on the porch, Brimstone standing by her side, their arms crossed and gazes sharp enough to cut through steel.
"You look like shit," she said bluntly.
"Thanks for the pep talk," I muttered, brushing past her.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Soul’s voice was sharp, her usual calm demeanor stripped away.
Brimstone wasn’t far behind. “The Inn isn’t a goddamn prison cell, Cipher. You can’t just keep her locked up like that.”
Soul grabbed my arm, stopping me. "Cipher, this can’t go on. Mila’s not some criminal you can lock up and throw away the key for. She’s a person."
"She’s a target," I shot back, my voice colder than I intended. "And if Yulian gets to her, she’s dead. You want her blood on your hands, Soul? Because I sure as hell don’t."
Soul’s eyes softened, but her grip didn’t falter. "She hasn’t eaten, Cipher. She’s barely said a word all day. Whatever you’re doing, it’s not working."
I yanked my arm free, my patience worn thin. "I’ll handle it."
Brimstone stepped forward. “I’m only going to say this once, Cipher. Handle your shit or i’m getting Bulldog after your ass.”
Soul stepped aside, but her eyes bore into my back as I walked inside. The walls of the Inn felt tighter than usual, suffocating and oppressive. The weight of everything—Yulian, the dead girl, Mila—threatened to crush me from the inside out.
When I reached her door, I hesitated. My hand hovered over the knob as I drew in a slow, steady breath.
I’d failed at the warehouse. I’d failed to protect another girl from Yulian’s wrath. But I wouldn’t fail Mila. Not her.
Not again.
With a twist of the knob, I stepped inside, bracing myself for the storm that was Mila. Because if I was going to keep her alive, I’d have to face the fire burning in her eyes—and the inferno she ignited in me.
She sat in the corner, her eyes looked up at me from the reflection on the window.
“I came to see how you were,” I said, my voice softer than I intended.
Her head lifted slightly, and when her eyes met mine, they were filled with disdain. “Does this amuse you, biker?” she asked, her voice trembling but sharp. “Having a woman locked up and left for your mercy?”
She stood, the movement slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey. She was dark and beautiful, her allure wrapped up in a package filled with an unrelenting rage that hovered along the surface.
“I hate you,” she said, her voice low and venomous as she stepped closer. “I hate everything about you. Your arrogance. Your cruelty. Your twisted sense of justice.”
Her words were a blade, cutting deep, and yet I couldn’t look away.
“You don’t know me,” I said, my jaw tightening.
She laughed, bitter and sharp. “Don’t I? You’re a monster, Cipher. A man who takes what he wants and justifies it with some self-righteous bullshit.”
She was so close now I could feel her breath against my skin. She tilted her head, her eyes daring me to react. “Do you enjoy this? Do you enjoy watching me squirm?”
My control snapped. I grabbed her by the throat, my hand tightening just enough to pin her against the wall. Her eyes widened, but there was no fear there, only rebelliousness.
“Watch your mouth, Mila,” I growled, my voice a low, dangerous rasp. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
Her hands came up, clutching my wrist, but she didn’t pull away. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips parted as she stared up at me.
We were too close. The heat between us was electric, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t ignore the way my body reacted to her. Her scent, her warmth, the fire in her eyes—it all pushed me to the edge.
“Then show me,” she whispered, her voice a challenge and a plea all at once.
I hated my reaction to her in that moment, just as much as I wanted her. And I hated myself for what I wanted to do next.