Page 2 of Blackmailing Belle (The Lost Girls #4)

Chapter 2

My Favorite Chapter

BELLE

I needed the panties gone. I needed Grim inside me, now. I needed him filling me until I couldn’t think. The ache inside me was unbearable. He wasn’t close enough and some part of me screamed I would be safe once he was inside. And I needed Grim to lose himself in me. I may have been the one restrained, but not for a second did I doubt the control I had over him.

"Mine," Grim snarled. My hips jerked as Grim ripped off my panties.

"This is disgusting." The sharp voice cuts through my reading haze, shattering my focus. "And I want my money back."

The need to scream builds in the back of my throat, but I muscle it back down, lowering the book I've got a white-knuckled grip on.

A woman wearing a camel hair coat that probably costs more than my monthly rent stands before me, brandishing a paperback like its evidence from a crime scene. The book's spine is cracked in multiple places, the pages suspiciously rippled as if it's been read in the bath. French-manicured nails drum against my counter in sharp, staccato beats, and her ash-blonde hair is pulled into a severe bun that makes my head hurt just looking at it.

It's not her fault that I've hardly been sleeping. My bloodshot eyes burn behind my glasses from spending days calling hospitals and police stations, searching for my mentally unstable father. My hair has escaped my bun in wild tendrils, and I know the cardigan I'm wearing over my Happily Ever After or Bust tee shirt has seen better days.

Floor-to-ceiling shelves create cozy nooks and crannies throughout my shop, each one carefully curated with twinkling lights and plush reading chairs. Romance covers in every shade imaginable line the walls—a rainbow of promises and passion that usually fills me with pride. The ancient hardwood floors creak beneath my feet as I set my book aside and take a steadying breath, the way I learned long ago when dealing with volatile individuals.

"I understand you're unhappy with your purchase," I say, keeping my voice firm but pleasant. "However, our return policy?—"

"These should be banned," she cuts me off, volume rising. "Boston is a human city for a reason . We don't need shifter smut or mage romance or any other fae propaganda corrupting decent people. And you—" she gestures at me with disgust "—should be ashamed, pushing this monster-loving filth."

I maintain eye contact, my hands relaxed at my sides. The way she towers over the counter, trying to intimidate with her height and volume—I've seen it all before.

From people far more dangerous than an angry reader.

"All our books are clearly labeled with content warnings," I explain, the same steady tone I use when my dad is having an episode. "If you'd prefer, I can recommend something else from our collection."

"I want to speak to your manager."

A small smile tugs at my lips. "You're speaking to the owner."

Her face flushes an ugly red as she sweeps her critical eye over my form. "No wonder this place is a joke. Just wait until I post about this on?—"

"Feel free to leave an honest review of your experience," I say, still calm and steady. "But I need to ask you to lower your voice or leave the store."

She opens her mouth, then closes it, thrown by my continued composure. It's a trick I learned young—the calmer you stay, the more foolish their rage appears.

"This isn't over," she snaps, but she's already backing away, her bluster deflating against my quiet certainty.

"Have a nice day," I call after her, though I doubt she’d be capable of enjoying it even if it were nice. The bell above the door chimes at her exit, its cheerful tinkle at odds with the tension she leaves in her wake. Only when she's gone do I let out a long breath, inhaling the familiar comfort of paper, coffee, and the lavender essential oil I use to combat anxiety.

Those few minutes of tense exchange sucked out what little emotional resilience I had left in me.

It doesn’t help that I’m nearly sick with worry over my dad being out there in his addled state. Sometimes he comes home on his own, sometimes with a ride from the local police, but it looks like I’ll have to resort to finding him myself, searching Boston block by block. Returning to places I’d rather never visit again, in case he thought to go to familiar territory even if we aren’t welcome anymore.

I worked hard to leave our old life behind after dad’s incident, but it’s difficult taking care of a man who forgets and goes back to what is familiar.

A snow plow noisily passes by outside, pushing fresh snow from the road. What I wouldn't give to forget all my problems and be at home in my threadbare reading chair, snuggled in a cozy blanket, drinking hot chocolate and tearing through the rest of this series.

I automatically open a drawer, reaching for a plastic-wrapped treat. Almost as soon as I pick it up, I put the Magic Morsel back down. As much as I want to eat a square of Magic Fairy Fudge, I do not want the fifteen minutes of telepathy that comes along with the magical sweet treat. Not today. I can barely handle my own thoughts.

The soft hum of conversation catches my ear. A group of women approach the counter, and my spirits rise. Their faces glow with the warmth of camaraderie and the many pots of vanilla rose tea. The last members of the romance book club, Lust & Lit, have packed up, and their arms are laden with books they couldn’t resist buying after tonight’s discussion.

I get to work checking out the books they’ve chosen for next week’s meeting. They are ravenous readers.

"Isabelle, tonight was amazing," gushes Gingie, one of my regulars. "I mean, rereading A Scandalous Arrangement with the group? I forgot how much I loved it." Gingie has a penchant for Regency romances and enthusiasm in spades. "That moment in the carriage when Emma realizes he’s actually a prince—it gives me chills every time."

"I’ll never get over how perfect that is," Rachel Anne adds in agreement, sweeping her dark hair behind an ear. "It’s your favorite for a reason, right? You even named the shop after that chapter? Chapter Three?"

I smile, the warmth of the memory bubbling up despite my exhaustion. "I did. I’ll never forget reading it for the first time. I couldn’t stop thinking about it for weeks and reread the book twelve times that year."

They all laugh.

"Emma’s such a strong character," Yanette says, one of the women who organizes the group. She rests her elbow on the counter. "She doesn’t just see a prince—she sees the person behind the crown. It’s not love at first sight, but once she sees him clearly, everything changes. I see so much of her in you."

I laugh softly, brushing off the compliment even as it stirs something bittersweet in my chest.

The new girl, Hannah, clutches A Scandalous Arrangement tighter to her chest. "This was my first romance, and I couldn’t put it down. I didn’t know books could make you feel so much."

"You never forget your first," I say warmly, handing her next week’s read. "And this one is going to be even steamier."

Hannah giggles, her cheeks pink. "This is really raising the bar on the guys I date."

That earns a wave of sighs and playful nudges from the others, but my smile falters ever so slightly. "Good luck with that," I say with more sharpness than I intend. "In my experience, love is best kept between the pages of a book. Lucky for us, we’ve got plenty of them." I wave a hand to my many shelves.

While the other women laugh, Hannah’s brows pinch like she’s not sure whether I’m joking. Gingie elbows her gently. "Don’t listen to her, hun. Belle gave up on love in real life a long time ago. Though I don’t think it’s given up on her." Gingie gives me a pointed look. "The right person will sweep you off your feet one day. "

"He’ll have to possess Herculean strength to pull that off," I say, waving a hand over my plus-size figure. The memory of camel coat’s scathing, judgmental stare said everything her mouth didn’t.

You’re fat and worthless.

Not that I’m not used to it. What once cut like glass now only slides across my skin with the dull edge of a plastic knife. Not pleasant but expected.

It was a lifetime ago, but I grew up around people who taught me softness and vulnerability weren’t just frowned upon—they were dangerous liabilities. I once read that sometimes our bodies adapt, creating shields where our minds can’t. Maybe mine did just that, forging armor to protect me from the world I grew up in. If that’s true, then I’ve made myself a soft place to land.

Sometimes, I wonder if one day I’ll feel strong enough or safe enough to let the weight go.

Not that it’s ever been for lack of trying. No crash diet or hours pounding the pavement ever even made a dent in my figure, so I stopped hating the body I live in and decided to appreciate it for what it is—mine.

The book club’s joy is infectious, and I find myself waving them out with genuine warmth as they chatter about next month’s pick.

As the door chimes behind them, a sense of calm settles over me. Moments like this make it all worth it—the long hours, the stress, the constant work to take care of my dad while running a business.

He’ll turn up. He always does, I remind myself.

Knowing chapter three still resonates, that it sparked something in Hannah the way it once did in me. . .It’s why I opened this bookstore. It’s why I keep going, even when the world feels like it’s closing in. The stories may be fiction, but the connections they bring? The main character energy it can inspire? The escapes it can provide from the unpleasant parts of life? That’s as real as it gets.

The door chimes again, and two men enter. The lanky one, pale-skinned with floppy blonde hair, has a smile that could charm the spines off a hedgehog. Behind him is a behemoth of a man, bald with deep brown skin. His tweed jacket and scholarly glasses give him the air of someone who could teach an advanced college course on philosophy—perhaps right before or after picking up a person and breaking them into two equal pieces.

"Welcome to Chapter Three," I say warmly. "Are you looking for anything in particular?" I bite down on my desire to point out I have an excellent selection of Queer romance. It's rude to assume, but they’d make a striking pair.

The lanky one's lips twitch as he snaps open a metal lighter before clicking it closed in repeated succession. "We're not here for books, mademoiselle ," he says with a slight French accent while sauntering over to my front display. Cajun French, if I’m not mistaken.

"I'm Tock and this is Lucien," the larger man says in a British accent.

Running his long fingers along the spine of a mage romance book, Lucien smiles up at me. "And our boss, the Beast of Boston, has something that belongs to you, cher ."

“Your father,” Tock clarifies.

Time slows. The sounds of my shop and background music become muffled in my ears.

Ice drips into my veins as panic pierces my already aching sleep-deprived brain.

The Beast of Boston.

The name alone makes my skin crawl. Even in a world divided between humans, Mages, and fae, he's legendary—the mafia boss who rules Boston's underworld from the shadows. Worse yet, he deals in Thorns—the most powerful hexes and curses in any realm.

Some say he's an Ogre, others whisper he's something worse. But everyone agrees—what the Beast wants, he takes.

"You know where he is? My father?" The words barely scrape out of my suddenly dry throat.

"That we do, mon cher ."

Tock rolls his shoulders back. "We’d like you to come with us. . .now." It isn’t a request.

My insides twist like a wet rag until I can't breathe. I look between the men, trying to think of any way out of this. But they have my father, and it's my job to take care of him.

So I close up shop and allow the men to lead me outside to a black SUV that screams I'll never return alive.