Chapter 17
CIPHER
I stood alone in the prep area, savoring the moment I’d worked toward for years.
Beyond these walls, the Descent hummed with the energy of tens of thousands. They were all here to witness my first official match as Havoc’s Nemesis, the culmination of my ambition, the recognition I’d craved since I was that lonely boy watching Villains on TV.
My reflection stared back from the polished metal wall, mask in hand.
Not bad for a guy who spent his childhood being medicated for the crime of thinking too hard.
Outside, the announcer’s voice boomed, warming up the crowd. Their cheers were a rhythm building like a heartbeat.
I flexed my hands, feeling power course through me. I was ready. More than ready.
I had exactly twenty-seven minutes and forty-three seconds until the match began.
I didn’t need the countdown clock mounted on the wall to tell me that.
My internal timing was dialed in to this moment.
One of the perks of having a brain that never shut the fuck up, even when you desperately wanted it to.
I paced the length of the prep room, my footsteps silent despite the metal floor. There was a hollowness that shouldn’t exist on what should be the crowning moment of my career.
Annie.
It had been two days since I’d dropped her off at the Tower. Two days, thirteen hours, and approximately twenty-six minutes, but who’s counting?
I hadn’t messaged her. I wanted to, but didn’t.
Annie was a fucking paradox wrapped in contradictions.
Push too hard, and she’d retreat. Don’t push at all, and she’d assume she wasn’t allowed to reach out.
The woman genuinely believed she wasn’t entitled to take up space in other people’s lives. Even mine, after everything.
“Fuck,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair.
I needed to focus on the match. This was my moment. Havoc and I would put on the show of a lifetime, cementing my status as a top-tier Super Villain. The crowd was already electric, their energy vibrating through the walls.
But my mind kept circling back to her absence.
Twenty-two minutes remaining. Still no Annie.
Traditionally, the Hero’s Keeper delivered a pre-match message to the Villain. Some formal bullshit about honor and fair play or something like that. It was a ritual as old as the Nemesis system itself. Not that I gave a damn about tradition, but I’d been looking forward to seeing her.
Maybe Havoc sent someone else. Maybe Annie requested not to come. Maybe she was standing outside right now, overthinking whether she should knock.
I slid my mask on, feeling the familiar click as the systems initialized and the HUD lit up before my eyes. Data about the arena specs, atmospheric conditions, and power readings scrolled across my vision. Everything was perfect.
Eighteen minutes now.
I flexed my hands, thinking of how they’d looked against her skin. How they’d look later tonight, possibly bruised from fighting her adoptive father, the man I’d idolized as a child.
Life was fucking weird sometimes.
The fifteen-minute warning buzzed. Today I achieved everything I’d ever wanted professionally, yet all I could think about was Annie.
A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. Probably some junior Keeper they’d sent in Annie’s place. Some faceless nobody delivering a message meant for her to bring.
“Enter,” I called, already mentally preparing the appropriate level of disdain.
The door swung open.
Annie.
I forced myself to remain still, to not cross the room and pull her against me, to not bury my face in her neck and breathe her in.
She wore her Keeper attire, the navy blazer and skirt, hair in that severe twist she thought made her look professional instead of just highlighting the delicate curve of her neck. She looked exhausted. Beautiful, but exhausted.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said.
“You’re not disturbing me.” I kept my voice level despite the riot happening in my chest.
“I’m here to deliver Havoc’s official pre-match message.” Her voice took on that formal tone she used when hiding behind rules. “He wishes you luck tonight and hopes this will be the first of many battles between you.”
The formality of it, this ancient tradition between Nemeses, struck me as both ridiculous and profound. Here we were, playing our parts in this elaborate dance, while beneath it all...
“Please return the message,” I said. “Tell Havoc I look forward to demonstrating exactly why the League and Alliance approved our Nemesis status.”
She nodded but didn’t move. Just stood there, like she was trying to decide something. Her fingers twisted together.
Make up your mind, Annie. Stay or go. Choose.
I could see how tightly wound she was after just two days apart. The shadows under her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands. She was falling apart, and it was killing me.
I moved, crossing the space between us. My hands went to her face, tilting it up as my mouth claimed hers.
She gasped against my lips, her hands pressing against my chest as she pulled back. “We can’t,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “The match—”
“We are,” I said, my voice brooking no argument. I backed her against the door, one hand sliding to the back of her neck. I wanted to destroy that perfect twist, but refrained. “We absolutely fucking are.”
I slid my hand beneath her skirt, fingers tracing up her thigh until I found her already slick and ready. The discovery sent a surge of satisfaction through me.
“Fuck, Annie,” I growled against her mouth. “Already wet for me.”
She moaned even as her hands pushed weakly at my chest. I could feel the conflict in her body. She wanted me but she was fighting herself. Classic Annie Bishop, trapped between desire and duty.
“Cipher, I can’t—“ Her voice hitched as my fingers circled her clit. “Someone might—”
I silenced her with another kiss, deeper this time, claiming her mouth the way I wanted to claim the rest of her. When I pulled back, her eyes were glazed, pupils blown wide.
“You were supposed to message me,” I said, keeping my fingers moving in slow circles. “Tell me when you got this wound up.”
She shook her head, her perfect professional mask crumbling with each stroke of my fingers. “You were preparing for the match. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“Bullshit.” I pressed harder, making her gasp. “You think I give a fuck about anything else when you’re like this? When you’re falling apart?” I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear. “You’re the only thing that matters to me. The only fucking thing. So tell me when you need me.”
Annie’s laugh was breathless, almost desperate against my mouth. Her body trembled beneath my touch, caught between surrender and control.
“If I messaged you every time I needed you,” she admitted, “you’d probably hear from me every day right now.”
She needed me. Every fucking day.
I pressed my forehead against hers, my fingers stilling against her cunt. “Then you’re spending every fucking night in my bed from now on.”
Her eyes widened. “Cipher, we can’t—“
“We can. We will.” I wasn’t asking. This wasn’t a negotiation.
I slid my fingers inside her, feeling her clench around me. Her head fell back against the door with a soft thud, exposing the elegant line of her throat.
“Ten minutes until match time,” she gasped, even as her hips rocked against my hand.
I smirked against her skin. “Plenty of time to make you come, Keeper.”
Her hands gripped my suit, no longer pushing me away but pulling me closer. “Havoc will kill you if I’m late.”
“Worth it,” I growled.
Her eyes fluttered closed as she surrendered. Just like that, the perfect, professional Keeper was gone, replaced by the woman who craved what only I could give her.
My Annie.
I curled my fingers inside her, hitting that spot that always made her lose control. Her body tensed, her inner walls clenching around my fingers as I worked her toward release. I knew exactly how to touch her, how much pressure, how fast, when to slow down just enough to drive her crazy.
“Come for me,” I demanded against her mouth. “Now, Annie.”
She came instantly, like she’d been waiting for permission. Her body convulsed around my fingers, her mouth open in a silent scream as she rode out her orgasm. I swallowed the small sounds she made, keeping my hand moving until she grabbed my wrist, oversensitive.
“Fuck,” I whispered, watching her face as she came down. Nothing in the world compared to Annie Bishop losing control. Nothing.
I withdrew my fingers slowly, bringing them to my mouth and sucking them clean while she watched, her chest heaving.
“Tonight,” I said, my voice rough. “When you’re done with all the festivities with Havoc, I want you at the Labyrinth.”
Her eyes, still hazy with pleasure, focused slightly. “Why?”
Instead of answering, I caught her lower lip between my teeth, biting just hard enough to make her gasp. I trailed kisses along her jaw, down the column of her throat, feeling her pulse race beneath my lips.
I reached her collar, the starched fabric a barrier I refused to tolerate. I yanked it aside, exposing the junction where her neck met her shoulder. Without warning, I bit down, marking her where no one would see unless she wanted them to.
She cried out, her hands flying to my shoulders, nails digging in through the material of my suit.
I soothed the bite with my tongue before pulling back to admire the mark I’d left on her skin.
I wanted her collar rubbing against that raw skin for the rest of the night.
She would have to sit in Havoc’s box and pretend to be the perfect Keeper while her body throbbed from my touch.
Every time she shifted in her seat to log a stat for Havoc, the friction of the fabric would remind her of my teeth.
“Come to the Labyrinth,” I repeated, making it clear it wasn’t a request.
The five-minute warning buzzed, breaking the moment between us. Reality crashed back in—the match, the crowd, our professional obligations.
“I have to go,” she said, voice pitched higher than normal. “Havoc will wonder where I’ve been.”