Belle Unbound Pt. 12

Thank you to everyone who's stayed with Belle's story. Your messages--your investment in her journey--mean more than you know. Ongoing series like this don't always get the love that single-shot stories do, but your support has kept this one alive and burning bright. So if you're here, reading this next part, just know: I see you. And I'm so grateful.

In this chapter we hear both Belle and Tyler's voices.

If you're just joining Belle's story, here's what you need to know:

Somewhere out past the dusty roads of 1990s Mississippi, far from curious neighbors or the safety of town, Billy's life was quietly stolen and replaced with someone new--Belle.

The change wasn't his choice. But over time, resistance gave way to survival, and survival began to feel a lot like desire. Now, Belle isn't just a pawn in her twisted neighbor Mr. Carver's game--she's learning to play. And she's playing to win.

Carver introduced her to the Circle, a powerful and secretive network of men who collect and control girls like her. That's where she met Red: rebellious, sharp-tongued, and owned by the local police chief. In one stolen day, they found something fierce between them--friendship, maybe even love. Together, they've started to imagine a way out.

But breaking free means staying close to danger. And Belle is getting better at pretending. Maybe too good.

At the lodge, where the girls are trained and tested, Belle uncovered a terrible truth: hidden cameras, a surveillance room, and hundreds of tapes capturing the Circle's most powerful men at their most vulnerable. These recordings--these weapons--are the foundation of their empire.

When Belle and Red were forced to seduce Senator Hargrove--Tyler's father--it changed everything. Belle's shame gave way to fury, and together, she and Red stole the senator's tape... and many others.

But to get them into the right hands, Belle needed freedom. Just a little. Enough to contact Tyler. Enough to warn him. And to earn it, she had to do what Carver asked: seduce Maxwell Tierney, a friend and business associate. So she dressed up, played the part, smiled when she wanted to scream--and did the deed.

To her horror, it felt easy. Maybe even enjoyable.

But her performance bought her a day away from Carver. And with it, a chance.

She met Tyler.

She was scared--terrified, even--that he'd recoil at who she'd become. That the old friend she once loved would be lost to her forever.

Instead, he held her. Accepted her. Saw her. Cared for her more than ever.

And when she placed the bag of blackmail tapes in his hands, she did it with the trembling hope that he'd know what to do. That he'd be brave enough--for both of them.

Now, Belle is back under Carver's roof. And if he suspects what she's done, the cost could be unimaginable.

This is a dark erotic thriller with twisted turns and fierce hearts.

Belle may be broken--but she's never beaten.

All characters are over 18 and this is a complete work of fantasy and nothing more.

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Tyler's story

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Tyler:

I watched Billy leave the diner, his tires crunching over gravel.

'Billy.' 'His.' Those weren't the right words anymore.

Belle was one of the most beautiful girls I'd ever met. Even before I realized who she was, I felt it--that pull. I'm ashamed to admit I half-hoped Billy was running late so I could talk to that mysterious blonde and maybe get her number.

But the truth is, I'd always been drawn to Billy.

We'd been tight since kindergarten. Different in a lot of ways, but the kind of different that fits together. I'd been protective of him from early on. I was always a big kid--thanks to Dad's football genes--and clumsy with it. Billy was small, quiet, and often alone. I guess I became his shadow, or maybe he became mine.

By high school, we were an odd pair. I was tall, athletic, confident. Billy stayed small and shy--so shy I might've been his only real friend. That just made me want to look out for him more. I wasn't a bully-stopper in the traditional sense--I didn't need my fists much. People liked me, and I used that to make sure no one messed with him.

Then, when I was about thirteen, I had a dream.

About Billy.

I woke up sick with confusion. How could I feel that way about another boy? I ignored him for a day or two, couldn't look him in the eye. But he had a way of pulling me back in. The dreams didn't stop, though. And over time, the feelings got stronger. It started to feel a lot like love.

I dated girls early. It came easy. I looked older, had the quarterback thing going on, and I knew how to smile the right way. I liked girls--I still do--but a part of it was me trying to prove something. To myself. To my dad. To everyone.

Billy's home life was a mess. I knew that. His stepmom was a monster, and his dad checked out years ago. So our house became his safe place. He stayed over most weekends, joined in on holidays. My mom loved him like one of our own. Maybe she saw it too--how much he meant to me.

I lost my virginity early, had a couple long-term girlfriends. I thought maybe that would push the feelings away. It didn't. If anything, it made them clearer. I wasn't into other boys--just Billy. And I started realizing I liked girls who looked like him: soft-featured, short hair, sharp cheekbones, flat-chested, those freckled eyes that wrinkled when he laughed. His stepmom called him 'pretty boy.' He hated it. I didn't.

Sometimes I'd lounge around half-naked when he stayed over, hoping--just hoping--he'd look at me the way I looked at him. He never did. And maybe that hurt more than it should have.

I almost told him. God knows I came close. Especially the day his stepmom took him away. My heart broke that day. Not just because I missed my friend. I missed the boy I was in love with.

When he finally called again, I couldn't believe it. Every feeling came rushing back like a damn flood. I didn't know what would happen if I told him, but I had to say it. I needed him to know.

More than anything, I just wanted to be near him again. To see his face. Maybe even hold him if he'd let me.

Then I walked into that diner. And there she was.

Belle.

At first I didn't know it was him. Her. This stunning girl who looked like every fantasy I'd ever had. When she called me over, I thought maybe it was someone I'd dated in high school. I was shocked when I realized the truth. But it made sense. Belle fit him. Fit her. She looked more herself than I'd ever seen.

And God, she was beautiful.

It took everything I had not to reach across the table and kiss her. I was ready to tell her how I'd always felt. Especially when she told me she liked men as well as women. But something stopped me. She looked sad. Haunted. Not like the Billy I remembered, who'd always carried pain but never wore it on his face.

Then she told me everything.

I could barely breathe as the story came out--about the Lodge, the Circle, what they'd done to her. What my own father had done.

I knew he'd cheated on my mom. Their marriage had been falling apart for years. But this? It was beyond shameful. It was criminal. To find out he'd been with Belle--at the Lodge--filmed, used... My blood boiled.

And yet, I saw it in her eyes. She wasn't just angry. She was scared. Scared of me. And that broke something in me.

The hardest part? Hearing her talk about Red. I wasn't jealous. Not really. Just sad. Sad that I'd missed my chance. That maybe if I'd spoken up back then, things would've turned out different. Maybe she wouldn't have been taken. Maybe none of this would've happened.

But she trusted me. Enough to give me the tapes. Not just my dad's, but a whole library of blackmail. It was everything. A life's worth of leverage. And she gave it to me. Her fate was in this plastic bag. If I threw it in a dumpster as she left, her life would be chained to the Circle forever.

But there was no way in hell I was going to let that happen.

On the drive back to university, I made a plan. First stop: Pa.

I called him the second I got back.

"Pa, we need to talk."

"Sure thing, kiddo. Sounds serious."

"I need you to call the Dean. Tell him I need a leave of absence."

There was a pause. "Son, what's this about? You in trouble?"

"It's about the Lodge. What you did there."

Another pause--longer this time. I could hear his breath catch.

"I... I don't know what you--"

"Don't lie to me, Pa. I know everything. And someone filmed it."

His voice dropped, unsure and small. "Okay. I'll call the Dean. Say it's a family emergency."

"Well, it kinda is, isn't it?"

We met at an old fishing cabin my grandpa bought years ago. Away from prying eyes. I didn't fear him--not anymore. I was stronger, and I wasn't the kid who looked up to him. I'd become someone else.

I laid it all out. The Circle. The grooming. The blackmail. How they turned vulnerable boys into girls, then used them to seduce powerful men--filming every second. Belle hadn't just been hurt. She'd been used as a weapon.

He sat there with his head in his hands.

"You watch it?" he asked, weakly.

"No, of course I didn't fucking watch it Pa." The absolute last thing I wanted to see was my Pa doing unspeakable things to my best friend.

He nodded. Quiet. Numb. But I saw something shift in him. Regret, maybe. Maybe even resolve.

"We need to shut this down. This isn't about you anymore. It's about the girls they're still hurting. And I know you've still got some decency in you. Use it."

"I know someone in the FBI," he said eventually. "Frankie Mancuso. Organized crime division. I trust her."

He picked up the phone.

"Frankie? Jim Hargrove. I've got something. Something big. You ever hear of the Circle?"

She had. Barely.

"Well, I've got what you need. Come to Memphis. Tonight."

He hung up and turned to me. "She's coming. Let's go."

I threw my bags in the car. All I could think about was Belle.

Hold on, baby.

Help's coming.

Keeping safe

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Belle:

The door clicked shut behind me as I stepped into the dim coolness of Carver's house. I barely had time to draw a breath before his voice drifted from the study.

"Belle... back so soon?"

I froze, my grip tightening on the strap of my bag. I was sure I'd returned exactly on time--maybe even a few minutes late--savoring every second of freedom I could steal from him.

No panic. Stay calm.

I swallowed hard, smoothing the tension from my face as I turned toward his voice and forced a smile. "Yes. I suppose I didn't feel like staying out too long."

He was seated by the window, one leg crossed neatly over the other, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. The afternoon light pooled around him, casting long shadows across the fine lines of his face. His smile was warm.

Too warm.

"I hope you enjoyed yourself," he said, lifting his glass in a slow, deliberate toast.

I nodded, walking carefully into the room. "I did. It was nice to have a bit of space. Thank you for letting me go."

His eyes tracked me, sharp and watchful beneath the surface of his easy charm. "It was my pleasure. You deserved it--after everything you did with Tierney. I figured some air would do you good."

The compliment dripped like honey, but my stomach twisted at the memory of what I'd done to earn it.

"I just needed a break," I said softly. "Cleared my head. I'm feeling much better now."

"Good." He took a long, savoring sip of whiskey. "Where did you go?"

"The riverfront," I answered quickly. "Then I browsed a few shops. Just wandered."

"Wandered?" he echoed. "And nothing special? That's a shame. A whole day to yourself, and nothing to write home about?"

My pulse quickened. Stay calm. "It was peaceful. That's what I needed."

He nodded, slowly. Thoughtfully. Turning the words over like stones in his palm. "No one approached you?"

"No," I said smoothly. The lie didn't catch in my throat.

"No old friends? Strange encounters?"

I shook my head. "No, sir. Nothing like that."

His gaze flicked to the bag on my shoulder. "Did you buy anything?"

"A scarf."

"Show me."

I blinked. My fingers clenched around the strap. "It's just--"

"Show me."

His tone didn't change. No sharpness. No threat. Just pure, quiet control. The command curled into my chest like a hook.

I reached into the bag and pulled out the folded silk scarf I'd bought for exactly this moment. It felt too light in my hands--flimsy as the lie I was living.

He took it from me, letting the fabric slip between his fingers. A slow smile curled at his lips.

"Pretty."

"I thought so," I murmured.

He looked up at me, his gaze cool and unreadable. "You're not hiding anything from me, are you?"

My chest tightened. "Of course not."

"You wouldn't lie to me," he said, voice soft as velvet.

"No."

A pause stretched out. And suddenly, I wasn't just afraid for myself. A cold edge of fear twisted in my gut--for Tyler. For what might happen if Carver suspected too much.

"You know what happens to people who lie to me."

"I know."

He watched me for a long moment. Then he leaned back in his chair, the scarf draped across his hand like a trophy.

"Good girl."

The words made my skin crawl.

He began to undo his belt. I looked away, but not before I caught the flash of red satin--his usual private indulgence. A signal.

I knew what he expected of me.

As I knelt between his legs, I let my eyes slide shut, summoning another place. I thought of Tyler--his warmth, his strength, the way he looked at me with love, not hunger. I thought about what it might have been like to run. To disappear with him. It would have been so easy. America is big.

People vanish all the time.

But then I thought of Red.

Of the other girls.

And the ones still to come. I couldn't bear leaving them to the Carvers of this world.

I reached over and freed his thin cock, feeling it get harder in my finger tips as I gently stroked my hand up and down the foreskin, making Carver coo with pleasure. I knew just how to please him, how to use my fingertips to edge him ever closer.

I leaned in and licked the tip like it was a popsicle. "Do you want me to suck it daddy?" I whispered.

"Hmm yes darling girl. You do such a good job. The best in fact."

I slipped his cock between my lips, his taste familiar now as his penis pushed deeper into my throat.

I'd noticed that sex was becoming easier. I didn't have to zone myself out as much as before. I actually enjoyed it.

But I would happily not have to sit on my knees pleasuring Carver ever again.

Soon my lips were bobbing up and down on his shaft, dribbling my saliva down his cock and onto his balls.

My mind drifted back to Tyler. Tyler had been there for me so much in the past. I still wasn't over how well he'd dealt with it all. And that kiss...

My fingers slipped down under Carver's scrotum, pushing in-between the satin panties now bunched around his balls, finally I probed and then teased at his hole.

"Why Belle, you dirty little bitch! Oh god, ohhh that feels good."

I upped my pace, slurping and sucking, humming and hawing at his meat as my finger teased his rim.

I could feel his balls tighten, his hips pushed up. I knew he'd want to make me gag on him, so I beat him to the punch, taking all of him into my mouth, all the way to my throat, while I pushed my finger up inside of him.

Before his hand had even reached my head I felt him explode inside of me. I held him there as long as I could, swallowing most of his salty cum, before slowly sliding him out of my throat. As I pulled back a single drip of cum dropped slowly from my lips as I looked at him.

He looked back at me, his gaze hazy, his smile steeped in lazy satisfaction.

I did enjoy sex. I enjoyed it as a woman--giving pleasure, feeling wanted. And I was good at it. But that wasn't enough anymore. I wanted more than just being used. I wanted someone I desired, someone who desired me--not as a plaything, but as a person. Someone I could care for.

Someone who might care for me, too.

I was sick of being used. Sick of others being used too.

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Tyler:

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, drowning the hallway in a pale, sickly glow. I sat stiffly outside the viewing room, hands clenched into tight fists on my lap. My father--Senator James Hargrove--stood near the wall, shoulders slumped, eyes vacant. For a man who built a life on power and appearances, he looked like a hollowed-out shell.

The door opened with a sharp metallic click. Special Agent Francesca Mancuso--'Frankie' to him--stepped out. She didn't look at him right away. Didn't even acknowledge his presence. She pulled the door shut behind her, sealing away whatever fresh hell she'd just seen on those tapes.

When her eyes finally met his, they were sharp and furious.

"I trusted you, Jim," she said, voice low but crackling with fury. "I thought you were better than the others."

"Frankie," he said softly, her name falling from his mouth like a habit.

"Don't." She raised a hand, cutting him off with a flick of her fingers. "Don't speak to me like that.

Not after this."

I sat frozen, my gut roiling. The air between them felt brittle, like glass ready to shatter.

"What's on the tapes?" I asked, even though I already knew it was bad. I needed to hear it from her.

Frankie turned to me, her expression tight. "Senator Hargrove," she said flatly, "is one of many. Not the first caught in this honey trap. And looking at the scale of it--he won't be the last."

My throat tightened. Bile rose.

My father. With her.

"I didn't know," he murmured, voice trembling. "I didn't know who they were. That they'd been pushed into it. Not really. I didn't know what it would cost."

I stood abruptly, the chair screeching against the tile. "That's supposed to make it better?"

He didn't answer. Couldn't. His pale, haunted eyes met mine for a second, then dropped. He looked like a man drowning. But I had no pity to offer.

Frankie stepped in between us, her voice sharp. "We don't have time for guilt or righteous anger. Those girls are in danger--right now."

"I want to help," my father said. "Whatever it takes."

"You need to understand--your career is over," Frankie said coldly. "This is real. Your reputation. Your life. It's done."

"I know." He straightened a little, a shadow of the man he used to be. "I don't care. Just tell me what to do."

Her gaze hardened. "Names. We need them all. Everyone in the Circle. Every man tied to this."

She looked at me. "And take me to your contact."

I hesitated. "I don't know if she--" But I did know. She trusted me. And now I was about to drag her into something even worse.

Frankie softened--just slightly. "We can protect her. But if we wait, she's dead. You know that, right?"

I shut my eyes. Saw Belle's face. That quiet, defiant smile.

"I'll ask her," I said. "I'll do it."

"Good," Frankie replied. "Let's move."

We stepped into the cold night. My father led the way to the car, his steps heavy with guilt. He didn't say a word as he unlocked the doors.

I slid into the backseat. The world outside blurred as we pulled away. He wasn't the towering man from my childhood anymore. Just a broken soul grasping at redemption.

For a moment, I felt sorry for him. But not enough to forgive him.

And as the headlights cut through the dark, I prayed we weren't already too late.

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Belle:

The air in Carver's garden was crisp with the bite of autumn, but my mind wandered--far from falling leaves and bare branches, dreaming of what spring might bring. I trailed my fingers over the delicate leaves of the azaleas, imagining their blossoms erupting in vivid pinks and reds. The hydrangeas would bloom next, heavy and full. The ivy would twist and climb, blanketing the trellis in soft green.

It was the one beautiful thing I'd made here.

The garden had been wild when I arrived. Untamed. Like me. And like me, Carver had trimmed and twisted it into something else. Something he could own. The comparison wasn't lost on me.

Not as I knelt in the dirt, tracing a vine between my fingers.

I had poured myself into this place. Tended it. Loved it. Because in a house full of shadows, it was the only spot that felt alive.

But would I be here to see it bloom? Would I even make it through the winter?

The creak of the back door shattered the quiet.

"Belle."

His voice slid through the garden like a snake in the grass.

I turned slowly.

Carver stood in the doorway, a cigarette burning between his fingers. He watched me the way he always did--with a lazy smile and eyes that told me nothing. Nothing good.

"Come inside, darling."

I dusted the dirt from my hands, careful not to move too fast. He'd let me out. Given me a taste of freedom. But with Carver, nothing was ever given without a string attached.

I stepped past him. The door closed behind me, sealing the cage again.

He nodded toward the sitting room. "We need to talk about tomorrow."

I followed him in silence, sinking into the velvet chair. He lounged across from me, tapping a lazy rhythm on the armrest.

"You'll be seeing the Chief."

The words hit like a slap. I froze, breath catching in my throat.

"The Chief?" I echoed, trying not to tremble.

Carver's smile didn't waver, but there was something sharp behind his eyes. "He's requested you. Wants your company at his lodge. Apparently, he's quite taken with you."

My stomach turned.

The Chief. Of all the monsters in the Circle, he was the one who haunted my sleep. Cruel. Sadistic. He enjoyed watching people break.

And Red was his.

I curled my hands into fists. "Will... Red be there?"

Carver's grin deepened. "Oh, I imagine so."

Hope sparked in my chest--thin, desperate. If I could see her. Tell her about Tyler. About the tapes. About a way out.

"You'll go in the morning," Carver said, voice firm now. "Make yourself presentable."

I nodded, lips pressed tight to keep from pleading. Pleading made him suspicious. Pleading got punished.

As I stood, my legs felt hollow.

"Belle."

I turned back, heart thudding.

"You've done beautiful work in the garden." He smiled, slow and deliberate. "Shame you won't be here to see it bloom."

The words dropped like stones.

"I'll enjoy it while I can," I whispered, then slipped away before my face could betray the fear blooming behind my eyes.

That night, as I lay in bed, I thought of the garden. Of all the things I'd never see. The flowers that would bloom without me.

And the girl with flame-red hair, still trapped, still waiting.

Hold on, Red. Just a little longer.

We're coming.

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If you've been reading along, feeling with Belle and rooting for her, I'd love to hear from you. A message, a comment--even just a kind word--means more than you might think.

Your support keeps this story alive.

With love,

Tania x