Blackmailing Belle (The Lost Girls, #4)

by Holly Roberds

"You’re mine," My words are a dangerous whisper. "And I protect what’s mine. Always."

"This isn’t about love," I growl against her lips, my breath ragged. "This is about what’s mine." "Okay," she breathes.

When his lips capture mine once more, I realize there’s no place I’d rather be—no one else I’d trust to hold me, claim me, protect me. Dominic Blackwell may be a monster, but in this moment, he’s my monster.

"You’re mine, Isabelle." His words vibrate through my entire body. "This body is mine to touch, to taste, to fuck. No one else will ever have you. No one else deserves to."

“I almost lost you,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “Dominic. . .” I whisper, but it seems to anchor him, pulling his attention back to me. He shakes his head, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. “No, Isabelle. I’ve spent so long keeping you at arm’s length, convincing myself it was for your own good. That if I kept the monster in me caged, I’d somehow protect you from what I am. But tonight—seeing you, hearing you—I can’t do it anymore.” His words hang in the air, and I can feel the weight of his confession pressing against my chest. Before I can find the words to respond, he lowers himself onto his knees before me, his hands sliding up my thighs with deliberate slowness. “I’m not letting you go,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the inside of my knee. “Not now. Not ever. I lied to you when I told you why you were perfect.” I open my mouth, but he goes on. “You were unattached, all alone except for your father, someone who might not be so disgusted or fearful of my form based on your reading material, but the truth is—” His words break off as if it’s a struggle to keep going. “The truth is,” he says, finding the words he needs. “Since I saw that picture of you on your website, I wanted you.” His claw caresses my jawline, and suddenly it’s hard to focus on him, my eyes have gone blurry with unshed tears. “I wanted this to be methodical, easily compartmentalized, but you are so much more than anything I could have planned on. I’m obsessed with you.” The last wo...

“I’ve been a coward,” he admits quietly, his voice raw. “Pushing you away, pretending I could keep you safe by keeping you at a distance. But I can’t anymore. I won’t.” My throat tightens at the vulnerability in his tone, and I press a hand to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. “Okay.” His arms tighten around me, his breath warm against my temple. “I mean it, Isabelle. You’re mine. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’re safe with me.” The words sink into me, filling spaces I didn’t know were hollow. Dominic isn’t just holding me—he’s letting me in. As sleep pulls me under, the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulls me into a peace I haven’t felt in years. And for the first time, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, Dominic Blackwell isn’t just a monster. He’s my monster.

Roman’s second in command, the tall blond, is no longer warily eyeing my crew. He stares at my wife as if refamiliarizing himself with her. There is an eagerness, a hunger that sparks in his eyes I don’t like. After a few moments of his intense scrutiny, Isabelle meets his eye and gives him a curt nod. The second in command acknowledges her with a lazy, lopsided smile. It contains that patented Wolf arrogance but something more. They know each other. My chest tightens, heat licking up my spine. I don’t know his name, but I instantly despise him.

"Ah, cousin, always the wit. Tell me, does he treat you well? Or has he tortured you into submission? Taking from our family because we took his?" "What are you talking about?" Isabelle asks, her words coming out stiff. She asks so I don’t have to, but an icy tremor of something foreboding shivers up my spine. I feel Lucien and Tock tense behind me. "Don’t tell me you didn’t know," Roman presses with that light laughter even as his attention volleys between the four of us, drinking in our tension. "Surely you took Isabelle because we were the ones who had your family killed." His words drop like a bomb, echoing in the freezing air. Time freezes the blood in my veins as my mind blanks. Beside me, Isabelle sucks in a sharp breath. I stay perfectly still, my mind reeling. Then my vitals heat, and speed up. My blood rises to a simmer before it begins to boil in my veins, burning me from the inside out. "Really?" Roman says, his tone shifting to incredulous amusement. "You didn’t know? And here I thought this was some grand revenge plot. Marry my cousin, make her yours, then torture her, keep her, kill her eventually, perhaps. A beast of your wrath, I expected more. This feels so. . .calculated."

I can’t be with her. Not anymore. Not after this. I close my eyes, resolving that I don’t give a fuck if I don’t create a pack again. I don’t care if my half-shifted state kills me anymore. The only thing I need to do before I die is take out the Wolves. They will all die painful, bloody deaths, and then afterward I can lay down too and join my family. There’s nothing else for me but vengeance. The freezing air only turns my internal calm even colder and more resolute. I’m done with Isabelle, and I plan to send her away. Far away. I have the ability to move her bookstore across the country, or maybe even to one of the fae realms. All I know is I never want to see her again after today. Because seeing her will always be a reminder of what her family has done to mine. Of finding my mother crumpled on the dance floor in a pool of blood. Of my father, who was barely recognizable. As if they had targeted him specifically or maybe stood over his already dead corpse continuing to release rounds of bullets into his body and face to make a point, or just for the fun of it. Of Lisette.

Protectiveness and an emotion I can’t name spread through me with a fierce yawn. I drop a kiss onto her forehead as I walk outside, taking her to the warm car. They can’t take her away from me. I won’t let them.

I may be the Beast of Boston, but she is my queen and every bit as formidable as royalty.

Adrian takes the drinks from the bartender before turning to hand me mine. As my hand is about to close on the glass, a clawed hand intercepts. Dominic places the gin and tonic back on the bar with deliberate force. His golden eyes lock onto Adrian, unblinking and burning with warning. “I don’t know who you are,” he says, his voice low and rough, “but you’re standing too close to something that belongs to me.” Adrian’s smirk falters, but Dominic doesn’t stop, leaning in just enough to make the air between them crackle with tension. “I suggest you remember that before you try to hand her anything again.”

"There was a day I overheard him with some of the other Wolves," I begin, the words bitter on my tongue. "I stayed out of sight, listening like some stupid girl hoping to hear something sweet. But what I heard. . ." I trail off, my throat tightening as the memory claws its way back. I force myself to meet Dominic’s intense gaze, grounding myself in the present. "He said I was useful. That keeping me ‘wrapped around his finger’ gave him access to my family, to power. He talked about me like a tool, something to be used. And love?" I laugh again, the sound sharp and raw. "He said love wasn’t real. That I was just part of his plan to rise in the ranks. Apparently, I’d make a decent wife, and he ‘could get skinnier tail on the side.’" That was a direct quote that lives like a permanent dagger under my ribs. Dominic’s lips curl into a snarl, his claws grazing my skin. "He said that about you?" I nod. "I learned my lesson that day. People don’t love, Dominic. They use. My parents did it. Adrian did it. It’s all just. . .utility and convenience.” Dominic doesn’t speak, his sharp gaze pinning me in place, but I feel the weight of his focus urging me to continue. "My mother used to complain about my father constantly. She’d sigh and say he didn’t love her the way a husband should. That he cared more about the Wolves, about chemistry equations, and work than about her. And then one day, she just. . .left.” I glance away, but Dominic’s grip keeps me grounded, his claws trailing light...

“And you don’t love Adrian anymore?” His lip curls almost involuntarily as he says the name. “You say you don’t believe in love, but he was your first. Firsts usually have weight, a hold that is impossible to dislodge.” I shrug and shake my head. “I never did. I was just under the illusion I did for a little while. It evaporated when I found out he was using me.” My tongue feels tied even as I say the words. Why is it difficult to denounce love to my husband? We have a contract marriage. Well, I suppose it’s not entirely limited to the confines of paper anymore. Dominic’s teeth flash in a dangerous snarl. "Then you won’t mind if I make sure he knows exactly what happens when he covets what doesn’t belong to him." A shiver races down my spine at the possessive fire in his tone. "Dominic⁠—" "You’re wrong, Isabelle." I blink up at him, trying to keep my voice steady despite the sudden intensity radiating off him. "About what?" "About him." His thumb brushes the curve of my jaw, forcing me to meet his smoldering green gaze. "I can scent his arousal. His desire. He wants you." His words are clipped, filled with barely restrained fury. "But he can’t have you." "Dominic—" "You’re mine," he cuts me off. "Say it." A flash of heat rises in me, clashing with the tension in my chest. "I’m yours." "He touched you once, but he won’t again. Not when every inch of you belongs to me now."

"You’re mine, Isabelle," he commands. "And I won’t let you back in there until you are full of my cum. I want you feel it sliding down your thighs with every step you take, reminding you who are here with and who you belong to.”

She doesn’t believe in love. Told me as much with that dismissive edge in her voice. I chose her because she wasn’t supposed to need it—because I wasn’t supposed to need it. But hearing it from her lips was like a slap, as if love, her love, was something I’d never be worthy of. Something she gave away to a bastard like Adrian, even for a moment. I’d do anything to touch it, to taste it. I bet her love feels like standing in an endless ray of sunshine, warm enough to burn away the cold of any winter.

Isabelle doesn’t see it yet, but she’s more mine than she’ll ever admit. And as much as my wife rejects love, the irony isn’t lost on me—because for her, I think I might burn the whole world down just to see if I could make her believe in it again. "You’re mine," I murmur, the words a vow and a promise. "And no one will ever take you from me."

"You treat her with all the seriousness of a heart attack or send a doctor in who will," Dominic barks over his shoulder. "And so help me, if I hear one more imbecilic word from you about her pain being a result of her weight, I will rip your skin off your body and make a rug out of it. Do you understand me?" I don't register what the doctor replies over the blood pounding in my ears, but when I open my eyes again, he's gone. "But it won't match with our decor." My voice comes out raspy and hoarse. "What's that?" Dominic asks, eyes searching mine. "The shade of his skin is all wrong. We can't put his skin rug in the sitting room. I much prefer the burgundy oriental carpet. And I don't think it will work in any of the guest bedrooms." Dominic smiles though it doesn't reach his eyes. A brief reprieve from pain that comes in the form of flutters. "What about pinned to a wall then, my wife?" I shake my head even as pulsing aches spiral through my body. "No," I grunt. "It will compete with the current aesthetic." He gives a mock sigh. "So true. What would I do without you?"

"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.

"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 ...

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.

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.

"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.”

"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.

"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."

"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."

I let her go, and now she’s become another haunting presence I can’t escape. She isn’t dead, but this. . .this feels like a death. Hers. Mine. Ours.

I was too scared to admit the truth—to admit that I need her. Not just because she’s my wife or because she’s tied to my survival, but because she’s the only thing that’s ever made me feel whole. And now she’s gone.

Only one thing matters now. Belle. She’s in danger, and I’m going to find her even if it’s the last thing I do. Which it very well might be.

“Dominic?” My voice wavers as I take a cautious step toward him. His face is pale, his green eyes dull, and the ferocity that had driven him moments ago has drained away like water slipping through cracks in stone. “What’s wrong?” He shakes his head slightly as though he can’t afford the energy to respond. Slowly, he slides down the wall until he’s sitting, his back pressed against it for support. The sight sends a jolt of fear through me. Dominic never looks weak—not like this. “Dom, talk to me,” I plead, kneeling beside him. “You’re scaring me.” A faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but it’s brittle and fleeting. “I told you. . .this marriage was always going to end one way,” he says, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “In death.”

"Isabelle. . .” He trails off, and the use of my full name sends hot spikes of desperation through me. He's always been the only one who refuses to call me by the nickname everyone else uses. “We tried. We tried to form a pack, but it didn’t work. That’s okay.” Shifters die without a pack. It hits me so suddenly, so intensely, I instantly hate myself for not connecting the dots earlier. I knew half-shifted Dominic was in pain, but I never guessed it was killing him. How could I have been so stupid? "I meant what I said, Isabelle. You'll get your freedom. Everything I have will be yours—except for what I've left for Lucien and the others. You can live your life however you want." "Stop," I plead, cradling his face as if I can physically stop him from leaving this world. “Just stop.” His eyes flicker open, softer now, filled with something I can’t bear to name. “Belle. . .you’ll be better off without me.” The words hit me like a physical blow and the fear I’d been holding at bay surges forward, consuming me whole. I press my palms to his chest, feeling the sluggish thrum of his heartbeat beneath my hands. “You don’t get to decide that,” I snap, tears blurring my vision. “You don’t get to give up on me—on us.” “I’m not giving up,” he murmurs, his voice faltering. “I’ve just. . .run out of time.” Dominic’s breathing slows, the weight of his body sagging further against the wall. His pallor is ashen, his once-vivid green eyes now dim. “If I could stay, I’d show you how much I l...

“Dominic,” I whisper, leaning my forehead against his. “I love you too. And you’re right. I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.” Then I drop a kiss onto his lips. They are cold and unresponsive. His body slackens in my arms. “Dominic?” I cry, shaking him gently. “No. No, no, no. You can’t leave me!”

“So you can shift now, but you still haven’t lost that grumpy impossible attitude,” I say, getting up off the floor on shaking legs, but never letting go of Dominic. My husband’s low rumble vibrates through me, steady and real. "Let’s go home," I say softly, no longer afraid of believing in love. I once thought love was a fantasy—something spun only in the pages of a book— beautiful, completely unattainable. But this? This is flesh and blood, unshakable and true. It fills the center of my being, satisfying the deepest, truest part of me. Despite trying to deny my need, it’s just like Rap said. It feels like the secret desire in my heart was there because it was always meant for me.

Dominic as a lion is magnificent—powerful, commanding—but as a man? He’s devastating. Broad shoulders that seem carved from marble, a beard rough and unkempt, framing a face that’s all hard edges and raw power—and green eyes that still burn with the feral intensity that drew me to him in the first place. His presence is magnetic, a force that makes it hard to think straight. But it’s not just his looks—it’s the way he carries himself with a confidence that doesn’t demand attention but commands it anyway. He’s still dangerous, still wild, and he still makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world when he looks at me. And when he smiled for the first time—an actual, genuine smile—it felt like the sun breaking through storm clouds. My husband is hot. In every possible way. I am, without question, the luckiest woman alive. Not only because he’s a smokeshow of a man who occasionally shifts into a lion—though that makes for excellent fireside cuddling with a good book. When he gets incredibly amped up, either agitated or insanely aroused, his body finds that spot between forms again. I’ll lick and suck, agitating his cock and then pull away right before he comes. His already generous muscles thicken and lengthen, claws sprout, fangs lengthen, and his pupils turn to slits. Barbs lift against my tongue, and that’s when I know he’s about to pull me by my hair and piston down my throat, or throw me over the nearest piece of furniture and rail me within an inch of my life. So y...

“Remember when I said you were perfect because you would read and keep to yourself in my company? And you told me that you were so much more than that? That I didn’t bother to consider your ambition, but it’s just as much a part of you?” “Where are you going with this?” My anticipation rises, though I’m not sure why. I have no idea what he’s driving at, even as we reach the end of the block. He grips my shoulders, pulling me in for a deep, lingering kiss that leaves me lightheaded and thoroughly melted. “You were right. But then you became perfect for that too. And I couldn’t stand the idea of having you lose that part of yourself.” He turns me around. The large corner shop gleams in the afternoon sunlight, its two-story storefront framed by wide windows and a lavender door. Embedded in the wood, a stained-glass panel depicts a pink rose wrapped in thorns. Above the entrance, a sign in elegant script reads: Chapter Three: Where Love is the Best Plot Twist. I can’t breathe. I might be having a stroke. “What. . .How—” Words fail me as I turn to Dominic, who has his hands shoved in his pockets. His green eyes watch me with a mixture of amusement and something deeper—something that steals my breath. “It’s not just a bookstore anymore,” he says, stepping closer. “It has a café and a bigger community space to easily host book signings, events, whatever you want.” I blink rapidly, tears blurring my vision. “Dominic, I told you before. You can’t just buy me off.” I’m only saying t...

“Come on. You need to see inside, and if you kiss me like that again I might end up taking you right here on the street. We’re both far too busy to be arrested today.” I laugh and follow him to the door which opens with a cheery jingle of a bell. “Yeah, like we’d get arrested.” I snort. “Okay then, I’m in no mood to schmooze or threaten cops.”

“To new beginnings! To monster smut! To me, for single-handedly managing all the newbie hires!” I blink. “You hired people already?” Chip lifts a brow, giving me a look like I just asked if books require words. “Belle. Did you think the two of us could run this entire operation alone? No, no, I’ll be training a whole squad of caffeine-fueled, book-loving recruits. Minimum qualifications include speed, sass, and a deep respect for their new overlord—me.” Dominic sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I told you, you can’t make them call you ‘overlord.’” Chip hands him a flute of champagne and clinks it against their own as they continue to argue about appropriate titles.

As I stand by the door of Chapter Three, Dominic steps in behind me, his arms sliding around my waist, pulling me flush against him. He leans down, his breath warm against my ear. “What do you think?” I can’t even pretend to fight the smile. “It’s perfect.” He presses a slow kiss to my neck, holding me tighter. This isn’t just a bookstore. It’s a home. A family. Proof that love—messy, imperfect, real love—exists. That it was always real. That I was never foolish for wanting it. And now? It’s mine. Love. Family. Friends. Purpose. And romance books. For the first time, I’m not just reading the story—I’m living it. And I wouldn’t change a single page.