Chapter 12 #3
“Besides,” I continued, unable to help myself, “it’s not like you were being entirely noble. You just wanted me sober so I couldn’t blame the alcohol afterward.”
“True.”
“That’s manipulative.”
“Strategic,” he corrected.
“Semantics.”
“Accuracy.”
I bit back a smile. This was the problem with Cipher. Even when I was angry at him, arguing with him was fun.
“You’re impossible,” I said, not quite managing to keep the fondness from my voice.
“And yet you’re still here.”
“Because you’re my ride.”
“You could have called Havoc.”
“And explain why I needed a rescue from your penthouse at 8 AM? No thanks.”
Cipher chuckled, the sound warming something inside me that I’d been trying desperately to keep frozen. “Fair point.”
This was dangerous. The more time I spent with him, the harder it became to hold on to my anger. Each conversation, each shared smile, each moment of honesty chipped away at the walls I’d built.
I was fighting a losing battle and I knew it.
“You’re quiet,” Cipher observed.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
A thought struck me suddenly. Maybe I could use this unexpected encounter to get some answers.
“Have you ever heard of someone called Wraith?”
Cipher’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. If I hadn’t been watching closely, I might have missed it.
“Why are you looking for Wraith?” His tone remained casual, but there was an edge underneath it.
“Just something that came up.” I debated how much I could let him know. “Havoc thinks he might be able to help with something.”
“With what?”
I hesitated. “A technical problem. I know he’s hard to get a hold of, just wondered if you knew him.”
Cipher’s jaw tightened. “Stay away from Wraith.”
“Why?”
“He’s dangerous.”
“More dangerous than you?” I couldn’t help the skepticism in my voice.
“Different kind of dangerous.” Cipher’s eyes remained fixed on the road.
I sighed, leaning my head against the window. “I don’t really have a choice about Wraith. Havoc specifically requested him.”
“You’re going to run.” Cipher changed the subject abruptly.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re getting uncomfortable with how comfortable we are together. With how close we were last night. You’re going to run now.”
The accuracy of his assessment stung and I hated that I was that transparent.
“It’s not running if I don’t interact with you,” I said stiffly. “I have no reason to.”
“No reason?” His eyebrow arched. “What about the fact that you still want me?”
“Wanting isn’t a good enough reason for anything.”
“It is when it’s mutual.” His voice dropped lower. “When it’s this intense.”
“We tried that already,” I reminded him. “It ended with you lying to me and putting me in danger.”
“And yet here we are.”
“Because Dawn needed me.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re deflecting.”
I crossed my arms. “I’m not running. I’m maintaining professional boundaries.”
“Call it whatever helps you sleep at night, Sparks.” Cipher’s voice lost all trace of our previous banter. “But know this—if you run, I’m coming after you.”
I looked at his profile. The sharp line of his jaw and the cold calculation in his silver eyes reminded me exactly who was driving this car. A shiver traced its way down my spine. I wanted him to do it. The darkest part of my soul wanted to run simply to force him to hunt me.
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.” His eyes met mine, intense and unwavering. “I let you go once. I won’t make that mistake again.”
I scoffed. “Let me go? You never had me to begin with.”
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but I forced it out anyway, my self-preservation instinct finally kicking in.
Cipher’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “You can lie to yourself if you want, Annie. But I hate it when you lie to me.”
“I’m not—“
“You are.” His voice cut through mine, not loud but with an edge that silenced me instantly. “I had you. In my bed. In my life. In every way that matters.”
Heat rushed to my face. “That was just sex.”
“Bullshit.” He turned to look at me as we stopped at a red light, his silver eyes piercing. “We gave each other parts of ourselves we’ve never given anyone else.”
My heart was beating too hard, too fast. He was right. The intimacy we shared terrified me because I couldn’t control it and I needed distance before it crushed the last of my resolve.
“You want the truth from me at every turn,” he continued. “You demand it. You expect it. I’d like the same in return.”
I looked at him and saw the vulnerability he only ever exposed to me. I knew exactly where his armor ended. I took a breath and chose to slide the knife right into that exposed skin.
“You didn’t have me,” I said, keeping my voice dead and flat. “Not in any way that mattered. I was your plaything when we were out together. The rest of the time it was just fucking at your request. So who’s lying to themselves now?”
I felt a twisted sense of satisfaction briefly before it turned into nausea.
Cipher’s expression went blank. The silver in his eyes frosted over, withdrawing to a place I couldn’t reach. The silence that filled the car was absolute and devastating.
I’d hit something painful so I could buy myself space. Yet, despite my anger and hurt, a part of me wanted to take it back. To reach across the console and touch his arm. To say I didn’t mean it.
But pride kept my hands folded in my lap, my eyes fixed on the road ahead.
The remaining minutes of our drive stretched into an eternity before the car pulled up to the Tower.
Cipher still hadn’t spoken. His profile was carved from stone, jaw tight, eyes forward.
I reached for the door handle, suddenly desperate to escape the tension I’d created.
“Thank you for the ride.” The politeness sounded absurd after what I’d said.
“You’re welcome.” Cipher’s voice was flat, mechanical. Nothing like the warm, dangerous purr I’d grown accustomed to. Just empty syllables.
I hesitated, my hand on the door handle. An apology worked its way up in my throat—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, it wasn’t just fucking to me—but I swallowed it down. This was what I wanted, right? Distance. Space. Boundaries.
I stepped out of the car. Cipher didn’t look at me, just stared straight ahead.
“Goodbye, Cipher.” The words felt inadequate, empty.
He nodded once, a barely perceptible movement.
I closed the door and watched as the car pulled away, disappearing into traffic as the knot in my stomach tightened.
This was good. This was progress. I’d hurt him, and he deserved to hurt after what he’d done to me.
Except it didn’t feel good at all.
I turned toward the Tower, my sanctuary of rules and order and professional distance. The place where Annie Bishop, competent Keeper, worked and definitely didn’t think about Villains with silver eyes and clever hands.
I was such a fucking liar.