Chapter 25
Belle
I sat on the dusty hardwood floor between the stacks, back pressed against the shelves, knees pulled to my chest.
My body hummed. Alive in a way I didn't recognize.
Lips swollen.
Thighs aching.
Pulse refusing to calm.
My first time.
On a book display table.
With Gideon Jones.
I pressed a hand over my mouth, stifling the sob threatening to break free.
What the hell is happening to me?
The scent of old paper and leather bindings mixed with something else now. Something raw. Something I couldn't name but felt branded into my skin.
I kept replaying it:
The way he kissed me like I was oxygen itself. The way he held me afterwards—just for a second—like I might shatter. The way his voice broke when he whispered mine. How I didn't push him away. How I wanted him.
The pleasure hit in waves, aftershocks radiating through muscles I'd never known could feel this way. My body remembered every touch, every thrust, every whispered command that unraveled me piece by piece.
The shame hit harder.
I dropped my forehead to my knees, fingers digging into my calves.
I gave in.
Not because he forced me.
Not because of the contract.
Because I wanted him so badly I couldn't breathe around it.
My throat tightened. Tears burned behind my eyes but refused to fall.
He'd left. Phone call. Emergency. Gone.
And I was still here. Still trembling. Still feeling him inside me. Still wearing the evidence of what we'd done.
Books surrounded me—stories of people who made better choices, who fought harder, who didn't surrender to the men who controlled them.
I'd spent my whole life in these stacks.
Safe.
Contained.
Now even this space felt tainted. Claimed. His.
I finally understood what he meant when he said everything would change.
This wasn't just sex. This was the moment I stopped being able to lie to myself about what I felt. About what I wanted. About who I was becoming in his hands.
I pressed my palm flat against the floor, steadying myself. Breathed once. Twice. Then forced myself to stand.
My legs shook.
The ache between my thighs reminded me with every movement.
I straightened my clothes with trembling fingers, trying to smooth away the evidence.
It didn't work.
I could still feel him everywhere.
I ran trembling fingers over my neck—the mark he'd given me. Just a day ago now. Still marked. It burned. It thrilled. It destroyed me.
"I'm losing myself," I whispered into the empty bookstore.
The tears came suddenly. Violently.
Ugly, shaking, scared tears that ripped through my chest and left me gasping.
Not because I hated Gideon. Not because he hurt me. But because…
Every time he's cruel, I know how to fight him.
Every time he's soft, I don't.
And it was the softness I couldn't survive.
The cruelty made sense. The dominance. The control. The punishments.
Those were weapons I understood. Armor I could wear.
But the rest?
The way he carried me from the bath like I weighed nothing.
Tucked me in with hands that should've been brutal but weren't. Bought me pajamas—comfortable ones, not pretty ones.
Asked about my mother's favorite books and actually listened when I answered.
Looked at me like I was something precious instead of something owned.
That kindness was a trap. One I kept falling into. One I didn't know how to escape.
I hugged my knees tighter, rocking slightly, trying to hold myself together.
"I don't know who I am anymore."
The girl who walked into this contract had been angry. Defiant. Clear about where the lines were.
That girl wouldn't have begged. Wouldn't have softened. Wouldn't have wanted him.
But I did.
I did.
I wanted his hands on me. His voice in my ear.
His body pressed against mine in the dark.
I wanted the version of him that asked questions and remembered answers.
The one who stood in my bookstore touching spines like they were holy.
The one who looked at me sometimes like he was drowning and I was air.
I pressed my fist against my mouth, trying to muffle the sob.
Because falling for Gideon wasn't just surrender. It was annihilation. And I was already halfway gone.
My phone buzzed on the counter across the room.
I didn't move to check it. Didn't trust my legs. Didn't trust myself.
The bookstore felt different now.
Smaller.
Lonelier.
Wrong without him in it.
And that terrified me more than any punishment ever could.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand. Rough. Angry. Like I could scrub away what just happened.
No.
I refused to think about Gideon. About his mouth claiming mine like he'd been starving for it. About his hands—strong, possessive, gentle when they shouldn't have been. About the way my body opened for him like it had been waiting all along.
No.
I shook my head once, sharp and firm. I wouldn't think about it. Wouldn't replay the sounds I made. Wouldn't remember how his voice broke when he whispered my name.
Work.
That was what I needed.
I moved behind the counter on unsteady legs, forcing myself to focus on the display case knocked askew during last week's renovation. The glass sat crooked, reflecting the overhead lights at odd angles.
I grabbed the edge and pulled, muscles protesting.
It didn't budge.
I tried again. Harder.
The case scraped against the floor with a sharp screech that made me flinch.
Good.
Pain was grounding.
I rearranged the books inside—first editions, signed copies, the ones I kept locked away from casual browsing. My hands moved automatically, placing each spine in perfect alignment.
Alphabetical. Always alphabetical. Straightened the stacks of bookmarks beside the register. Adjusted the angle of the donation jar. Wiped dust from the wood grain with my sleeve. Breathed deep.
Once.
Twice.
Work. Focus. Breathe.
My hands still trembled despite my best efforts. I pressed them flat against the counter, willing them still. The wood was cool beneath my palms. Solid. Real. Unlike everything else in my life right now.
I counted inventory numbers in my head. Recited ISBNs I'd memorized years ago. Focused on the familiar rhythm of the work I'd done a thousand times before.
Anything to stop thinking about—
No.
I grabbed the pricing gun and attacked the new arrivals with mechanical precision.
Click. Stack. Click. Stack.
The repetition helped.
Sort of.
My thighs still ached. My lips still felt swollen. My heart still pounded too fast. But I kept moving. Kept working. Kept pretending I could outrun what I'd just become.
The bell above the door didn't ring.
The bookstore stayed silent except for my ragged breathing.
And somewhere in the back of my mind—the part I refused to acknowledge—I realized I was waiting. For him to come back. For his hand on my waist. For that low voice telling me to stop running from what we both knew was true.
I hated myself for it.
The bell above the door jingled.
My head snapped up.
Two men.
The same ones.
Leather jackets hung heavy on their frames. Cold eyes swept the empty bookstore with predatory ease—the confidence of men who'd already chosen their prey.
The taller one grinned. "Afternoon, sweetheart."
My stomach dropped somewhere near my feet. "The store is closed. You need to leave."
They didn't.
The shorter one snickered—a sound that made my skin crawl. "We don't want books. We want what your daddy owes."
I gripped the counter so hard my knuckles turned white, wood grain biting into my palms. "I told you—he's sick. I don't know anything about any debt."
The taller man leaned casually against the counter. Too close. Too comfortable. "We know you're living with Gideon Jones now."
I froze. Heat flooded my chest—fear, anger, humiliation twisting together until I couldn't separate one from the other.
"That's none of your business."
They laughed. Low and knowing. Like they'd already won something I didn't understand yet.
"Everything about you is our business until your daddy pays up."
My breath stuttered. Caught somewhere between my lungs and throat. "Gideon has nothing to do with this."
"Does he know you're so stubborn?" The taller one tilted his head, studying me like I was something mildly interesting. "Or that you're stupid enough to lie for your old man?"
I flinched despite myself.
He tapped the counter with one finger. Slow. Deliberate. "Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna tell Gideon to settle your father's debt. Or we'll settle it another way."
My voice cracked when I spoke. "Leave."
The word came out smaller than I intended. Weaker.
The taller man leaned in closer, voice dropping low and vicious—intimate in a way that made bile rise in my throat. "See, sweetheart… We've been patient. Real patient. But if Jones doesn't pay?" He shrugged, smile widening. "We start with you."
My heart stopped.
Actually stopped.
The shorter man stepped behind me—not touching, but lining up just enough to make me feel cornered. Trapped between their bodies and the counter I'd been clinging to.
"And once we're done?" The shorter one shrugged, casual as discussing weather. "Maybe someone will finally take your problem seriously."
I choked on a breath that wouldn't come.
Ice crawled down my spine, vertebra by vertebra, settling cold and heavy in my stomach.
They weren't bluffing.
I could see it in their eyes—the flat certainty of men who'd done worse things to better people and never lost sleep over it.
My hands trembled against the wood. Every instinct screamed at me to run. But my legs wouldn't move. Wouldn't carry me away from the counter or toward the phone or anywhere that mattered.
The taller man straightened, adjusting his jacket with deliberate slowness. "You know what? I think we've given her too much time. I think we send the message now."
I forced my voice to stay steady, though my entire body screamed otherwise.
"This isn't Gideon's business. My father's mistakes are not his responsibility."