Page 39 of Blackmailing Belle (The Lost Girls #4)

Chapter 39

A Contractual End

BELLE

S now falls in fat, lazy flakes, dusting the ruins of my bookstore like a mockery of something soft and beautiful. I can see my reflection in the soot-blackened glass of what used to be my front door, but the image is warped. I look as broken as I feel—covered in ash, my hands scraped and shaking. The air smells like burnt wood and wet cement, acrid and cold.

Dominic is beside me, his towering presence strangely subdued.

I’m still burned by seeing him in the basement when I close my eyes—the vials, the equations, and his hands, steady and sure as if he believed he had every right to play god with my father.

I’m used to his growling commands, cutting through the space around him like he’s always on the brink of violence. But now, he’s silent, still as stone, watching me pick through the wreckage.

"This was my dream," I whisper, my voice raw and cracking .

I clutch what’s left of my favorite sign—a hand-painted wood carving that read Romance Lives Here —now charred and splintered in two. I press the broken pieces to my chest like they’re all that’s holding me together.

At least no one was in the bookstore when it went up in flames. Chip was here earlier, but I sent them home after the fire had been fully put out. Even when Chip tried to stay, I insisted there was nothing they could do tonight. And I need space to grieve.

Dominic exhales through his nose, the sound sharp against the quiet snowfall. "I’ll rebuild it," he says. "Better than before. Whatever you need. It’ll be yours again."

I turn to him, the bitterness bubbling up so fast I can’t stop it. "You think this is just about money?" My voice rises, shaking with every word. "You can’t rebuild this , Dominic. You can’t buy back what it meant to me. And you can’t erase what you did. Not to my father, not to me. You can’t rebuild trust the way you build walls.”

He doesn’t flinch, but his jaw tightens. "I can try."

"No, you can’t," I snap. "This shop wasn’t just a building It was my freedom . It was the one thing I built that wasn’t tied to the Wolves, to my family, to any of this violence. And now—" My breath hitches as the reality slams into me again. I toss the splintered sign onto the rubble. "Now it’s gone. And why? Because of you? Because of them? I don’t even know anymore!"

They did it to punish Dominic. To punish me. Without even knowing or caring what this place meant to me.

The snow keeps falling, blurring the edges of the world, softening everything but the burning ache in my chest. I rake my hands through my hair, shaking my head. "I don’t want to be part of this war, Dominic. I don’t want to be caught between two sides I never wanted to be part of in the first place."

He doesn’t speak for a long moment, and when he finally does, his voice is unnervingly calm. "You’re right."

I blink, thrown by the sudden flatness in his tone. "What?"

He’s not looking at me anymore. His gaze is distant, his green eyes shadowed and cold. "You’re right. This isn’t your war. You don’t belong in it." His words are deliberate, each one delivered like a nail in a coffin.

"Dominic—"

"Consider our contract terminated."

The air seems to thicken around me, the snowfall slowing as my brain tries to catch up. "You mean. . .our marriage?"

"Yes." The word is clipped, devoid of any warmth. He’s not Dominic anymore—he’s the Beast of Boston, sharp and unreadable, a man made of steel. He looks past me at the rubble, his expression carved from ice. "I’ll make arrangements. You’ll be safe. Your father will be cared for."

He starts to turn, his coat brushing against my arm.

"Wait." My voice cracks, but he doesn’t stop. "You can’t just?—"

"I can." He cuts me off without looking back. "And I will. You deserve better than this. It’s clear the only way to make up for this is to remove you from the situation entirely."

My brain can’t comprehend what’s happening, but my gut sinks all the way to the dirty ash-streaked snow.

“I’ll have Basil move in with Mrs. P until you can find accommodations if it makes you feel better. Of course, Tock will help arrange anything you need.”

I didn’t know words could blur together but they’re melding and stretching incoherently in my ears. Dominic’s hands are in his pockets and he speaks so calmly, so decisively, so cold.

“I’m sorry this situation has caused you so much distress, Belle.”

Belle .

The word lands like a blade, clean and merciless.

Dominic has only ever called me Isabelle. It was a tether, a claim, a quiet promise wrapped in syllables no one else had ever bothered to give me. But now? Now he strips those syllables away, sharp and impersonal, like he’s cutting the last thread between us.

His boots crunch over the snow-dusted rubble as he walks away, his broad shoulders disappearing into the white haze.

I’m frozen, my breath clouding in the air, watching him leave. I should feel relieved, shouldn’t I? He’s giving me an out. He’s letting me go. But all I feel is the jagged, unbearable pain of loss.

The snow keeps falling, and I sink to my knees in the ashes of my life, wondering how it’s possible to lose the same thing twice.

The warmth of Poison Apple hits me like a tidal wave as I step through the door, and the low hum of conversation buzzes in my ears. My coat drips melting snow onto the floor, but I barely notice. The roses on it and the weight of my matching ring make me feel even more hollowed out.

“Belle,” Rap’s voice rings out from behind the bar. She’s already moving, her heavy boots thumping against the wood floor as she closes the distance between us.

Before I can speak, she’s pulling me into a tight hug that smells of vanilla and whiskey, a blend as familiar as the steady beat of her pulse against mine. Her arms lock around me, firm but not smothering, and for a moment, I feel like I might not fall apart.

“We’ve been calling you about the store,” Goldie says, her concerned voice floating over my shoulder like the brush of a feather. She steps up next to Rap, her worry etched in the furrow of her brow. “Are you. . .” Her words falter, her gaze roaming over my face. “Are you okay?”

Snow appears beside her. “Of course, she’s not okay,” she says, as if stating the obvious. “Look at her.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ariel says quietly from nearby.

Despite the bar being full of people drinking and laughing, the music thumping through the floor and into my tired empty bones, I let them guide me to the back and into Rap’s office. The edges of my vision are still hazy from exhaustion and the cold. Rap shoves a mug of something hot into my hands, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Drink this.” Goldie wraps a blanket around me that she seems to have procured from out of nowhere.

I take a sip, the warmth of the tea spreading through me, but it does nothing to ease the broken edges inside me. My fingers tighten around the cup as I force out the words.

“He left me,” I whisper, the sound barely audible over the low murmur of the bar.

Rap’s brows knit together. “What do you mean, left you?”

“Dominic,” I say, my voice breaking. “He. . .He ended it. Our marriage. The contract. Everything.”

Snow mutters a curse under her breath across the bar while Goldie’s hand flies to her mouth in shock. Rap rocks back on her heels slightly, her expression unreadable for a moment before she speaks.

“Contract?” Rap asks in a voice far too controlled. She sits on the edge of her desk, crossing her arms. “Alright, Belle. You’re here now. Start at the beginning.”

I spend the night at Rap’s. Goldie lent me some extra clothes, and after sharing what bits I could bring myself to voice, I passed out for fourteen straight hours. Whether it was the aftereffects of the hex or the bone-deep weight of grief dragging me down, I can’t tell.

Chapter Three is gone. Dominic betrayed me and left—rejected me without hesitation. I don’t have an apartment to go back to (I’m not calling Tock), and my father still needs collecting.

But I can’t stay in bed forever. My stomach makes its discontent clear with a loud rumble, and the dull ache in my head reminds me I haven’t had coffee since. . .Well, before everything burned. Maybe before the gala.

I groan, dragging my sad, sorry ass out of bed and into Goldie’s borrowed clothes, which hang awkwardly on me like a second layer of despair. I don’t bother looking in the mirror. I know I look terrible—my hair is a tangled mess, my face is pale and puffy from crying and too much sleep.

Coffee. Just coffee. That’s the only goal I can muster as I shuffle downstairs and out the door, crossing the alley to Poison Apple. The bitter cold snaps at my cheeks and wakes me up just enough to make me regret leaving the cocoon of blankets, but it’s too late now. I push through the heavy door and step into the bar’s warmth and dim light.

By the time I’m inside, the sun is well past its zenith, its muted light filtering through the frosted windows. The air carries the faint smell of polish and wood, layered over a lingering trace of last night’s whiskey and laughter. It’s that rare quiet hour before opening when the world feels like it’s holding its breath.

Rap is behind the bar, her laptop open, fingers moving with steady purpose. The Lost Girls are tucked into their usual booth, their chatter familiar. Goldie shows something on her phone to Snow and Ariel—probably wedding plans—and Ted hovers nearby like her shadow.

The moment they notice me, their conversation halts. Goldie starts to rise, concern etched across her face, but Rap shakes her head once, sharp and decisive, calling them off. They hesitate, torn between their compassion and Rap’s silent command, but eventually, they settle back, their chatter subdued. I know it’s not indifference. Last night, they doted on me, offering encouraging words and steady hands when my grief threatened to drown me. I’m not sure I can bear another wave of kindness without falling apart.

I sit across from Rap on my favorite stool. She doesn’t say anything, just pours fresh coffee into a chipped but beloved mug and slides it across the counter along with a donut on a plate.

I sit, my fingers curling around the warmth of the mug, and glance at her. “Why do you always know exactly what I need?”

“Call it a gift,” she says, leaning her elbows on the counter.

The back door swings open, and I glance over my shoulder. Red steps inside, glowing with that serene energy of someone nearing motherhood. The former Lost Girl is pregnant with twins. Her fiancé, Brexley, is at her side, his hand steady on her back. Behind them, another former Lost Girl— Cinder—strides in, her gothic elegance softened by Kai’s easy smile. His hand brushes hers, their movements synchronized like they’re two halves of the same whole.

Red doesn’t hesitate. She crosses the room and wraps me in a gentle hug, murmuring soft condolences for Chapter Three. The silver-haired werewolf offers a quiet, “Let us know if you need anything.”

Cinder joins them, pulling me into a quick, uncharacteristically tender hug before stepping back. Kai lifts my hand and presses a courtly kiss to the back of it. “My deepest sympathies,” he says, his voice smooth as velvet.

I manage a weak smile, but my throat tightens as the attention weighs on me. It’s Cinder who senses it first, pulling Kai gently toward the booth. “Let’s leave her to Rap,” she murmurs, her hand resting on his arm. The group drifts toward Goldie’s corner.

I take a long swallow from the mug, but it’s not the same. I can’t help but miss the hazelnut coffee from home—or I guess—not my home anymore.

I miss sitting at the kitchen counter as Mrs. P bakes while we chat, my dad reading or writing in the breakfast nook. I miss the library, being surrounded by all of those books I now consider to be some of my closest friends. The flutterbuns that flap around the house, and come to me for snuggles throughout the day as I slip them different types of fruit. I miss Dominic’s voice, low and gravelly as he challenges me, teases me and excites me. I even miss the nights spent in Dominic’s company when we just enjoy our respective activities. And then I miss our. . .other activities.

I chug the rest of my coffee, needing to drown out the feelings. There’s no going back. None of this can be undone.

Rap watches me carefully as she refills my cup. I go about doctoring this one with cream and sugar. “Did you know I consider you the original Lost Girl?”

I meet Rap’s hard green gaze. She pours a cup of coffee for herself. "My Lost Girls. . .” she starts, and then shakes her head as if deciding to take a different tact. "I find girls who have lost their direction, who are running from something, or don’t know their own worth—usually because someone tried to convince them they were worthless, and I make this their new home." She waves a hand at the bar.

Rap likely has a point, so I wait.

"This is where they can be safe. A place where no one will fuck with them, or if someone does, there will be immediate retribution." Her teeth are bared now like a mama bear pissed off anyone would even think to lay a finger on one of her cubs.

And I’d seen it. Patrons who think they can mess with the staff in any capacity are immediately shown that won’t be tolerated. I’ve worked in enough places to know not every employer empowers their employees to strike back so swiftly and without hesitation if boundaries are crossed or disrespect is shown the way that is done here.

Not to mention, if you try to hurt one girl, you bring down the wrath and power of all Poison Apple on your head from the bartenders, to the bouncers, to the emcee. Even the regulars.

Something stings the back of my eyes when I remember how Rap showed up on Dominic’s doorstep with the other girls that day to make sure I was okay.

Forget the Wolves. Forget Roman and Adrian. My family is right here. Though the hole gaping in my heart tells me I’m losing the rest of my found family who resides in that gothic mansion I’ve come to love so much .

"It’s a place where they can rebuild their confidence, and earn some cash, obviously," Rap goes on.

"We helped each other when we were both starting out in our businesses,” I point out quietly. Five years of friendship seem like both an eternity and not nearly any time at all. “Granted, you helped me more—changing my name, scrubbing my past. But I’m not lost. I haven’t been for a long time."

She shakes her head. “When we met. . .” She stops, her voice thick with emotion as she looks down at her coffee. “You helped me more than you could possibly know.”

I can’t say that I do know. Rap always holds things tight to the chest. All I know is when I met her, she was filled with the kind of rage and anger that had to be caused by the deepest of pains.

Rap rests her arms on the bar, folding her fingers together as she leans toward me. Her face softens, and it’s there I find a layer of my friend I’ve never witnessed before. Her expression is full of a kind of longing mixed with pain. "This is also a place where girls can finally admit what they want. A place for you to realize what you want."

"What I want?" I shake my head, still not understanding.

"Belle. Babes. Since I met you, you’ve told me love is a sham. It’s not real, and people only create relationships to use each other. I don’t know what absolute douche nozzle taught you that, but I also know that you use that excuse to protect yourself. I know because you and I have a friendship that is based on more than need. And as far as romantic love, you and I see that real love here." She digs a finger into the bar. "All the time." She turns to the group in the booth. I follow her gaze.

Lost Girls, past and present, are crowded in. Red seems softened by motherhood, and her scary, scarred-face fiancé keeps his hand steady on her rounded belly. Cinder leans into Kai, her gothic coolness melting as he pulls her closer, their matching vampiric grins a quiet testament to their bond. Ted’s fingers absently thread through Goldie’s hair as he tries to follow her whirlwind wedding planning. Goldie chats with Ariel, while Snow eggs Kai on to mess with Cinder.

Their laughter and quiet touches form a picture of love that feels almost too bright to look at.

I swallow hard.

"Love is real," Rap says quietly. "And you’ve wanted it desperately for as long as I’ve known you."

My nose tickles and the sharp heat behind my eyes kicks up again even as I continue to watch the group.

"It may not be exactly like it is in your books, but it’s real. The passion, the devotion, the loyalty, exists in our actual world Belle, not just in your fantasy ones. And you deserve to have all of it."

"Do I?"

The words slipped by without consciously letting them out.

I feel rather than see Rap smile a little. "You deserve it because you want it. And what I need all my lost girls to realize is if there is a desire in their heart, it was put there because it was meant for them."

Her hand covers mine, forcing me to look up. "You’ve wanted love so badly, even if you didn’t want to admit it, that I’ve had no doubt that one day it would waltz right in and find you. Even if you resisted." A wry chuckle escapes her. "I didn’t exactly realize how literally that would manifest, but that Beast of Boston is literal putty in your hands. You shouldn’t be afraid to give him a squeeze. "

A wet burst of laughter escapes me even as I realize the tears are traveling down my cheeks.

"He doesn’t really care about me. He needed me. It’s different."

Rap shakes her head. "No, it’s not. He wants you as much as he needs you. The issue isn’t him loving you. The issue is, you have to let him love you. Everything you want is just on the other side of allowing it to come to you."

The realization that what she’s saying is true doesn’t hit me with the violence of a bombshell; it comes as gently as a wave lapping the shore. It swirls in me, percolating.

"And what do you want, Rapunzel?" I ask, using her full name. "What do you desire?”

She’s always helping and mentoring everyone else. But no one asks her what she needs.

Rap’s gaze flickers to mine with surprise. Cogs and gears grind behind her eyes, but it doesn’t take long for her mind to churn out an answer.

"To be well."

The words come out softly and more vulnerable than I’ve known her to be capable of. I catch a flicker of fear in a woman who I thought possessed none.

Then she straightens and returns to her laptop to immerse herself in work.

The conversation is over, but I’m happy to sit across from my friend in misery for a while longer.

When the bar opens and a crowd begins to gather, I decide to retreat back to Rap’s apartment.

Snow crunches under my boots as I step outside, my breath puffing out in quick clouds. The sun has already set and the streetlamps illuminate the many people walking along, absorbed by wherever they are headed.

I barely register the shadow moving in my periphery before a rough hand grabs my arm, yanking me sideways. My yelp is muffled as something sharp pricks my neck—a needle, cold and unyielding. My vision blurs as the ground tilts beneath me.

I blink, trying to focus, but the edges of my sight are already going dark. The last thing I see is the red neon glow of Poison Apple’s sign, flickering like a distant beacon, as the world goes black.