A couple minutes later, I got a text back from Shy saying she was okay, and that she would keep us in the loop.
Then I didn't hear shit from her.
Not that night.
Nor the next day.
I was just about to reach out again when I got a panicked call that changed everything.
Chapter Five
Shy
I guess I figured I would get another note.
That was what I'd been expecting, I realized, when I got up the next morning and walked out of my bedroom.
A note under the door.
Only, there wasn't one there.
My stomach twisted hard as I went through the motions of the morning, trying not to let myself think about what might be happening to Belle if the men holding her didn't hear the fake news about McCoy being killed.
I'd done a search online myself before I'd finally passed out.
True to their word, there were several articles on reputable news websites as well as some really amateur ones. And several shaky videos and blurry pictures of the whole event after the gunshots rang out, as people rushed out of the house in waves, and I had no choice but to run off with them.
I knew the bullets were blanks, but my stomach had been in a knot the whole way out of there, worried there was a live bullet in the gun, or that the blanks could have genuinely hurt him.
On top of that worry, I was paranoid that someone knew who I was, that I was being reported, that cops might show up at my door.
When I got home, I hugged a resistant Max—my sister's bunny—to my chest, and worried myself sick until I got a text from McCoy an hour or so later, asking if I was okay. When he was the one who had to be rolled out in a body bag.
I sat up until I found myself nodding off on the floor in the bathroom before dragging myself to bed, reminding myself that it would likely take the kidnappers a little bit of time before they came across the information.
But when there was no note in the morning, there was nothing to stop the dread that weighed down on me as I took care of the animals and got myself ready for work.
The afternoon and early evening was a blur of fingers being thrust in front of me. Judging by my tips, I'd done a halfway decent job somehow even without remembering a single bit of nail art I'd done when the rest of the staff shuffled out, leaving me to handle the count like I did most evenings, having worked at Lily's since I was seventeen, so I was a bit more trusted than the techs who came and went all the time.
It was around seven when I collected my things, turned off the lights, and made my way out front.
Nothing seemed weird.
Nothing.
Until I heard the squealing of tires, a sound that filled me immediately with dread as my head whipped over, catching the side of a black SUV with tinted windows pull up in front of me.
Panic hit my system all at once, a tightening sensation around my throat, a pressure on my chest. My pulse pounded in my temples, my throat, my chest, as I wondered if I was going to be snatched off the street before I could even warn one of the Henchmen.
Were they watching like they said they would be?
Would they follow?
Would they make sure my sister and I were okay like they promised?
My stomach dropped as the back door of the SUV opened, and I was frozen in place as a body tumbled out and onto the sidewalk right in front of me.
Before my brain could even process what had happened, the car was peeling off.
I had just enough rational thought left that I looked over, noting the model and one of the license plate letters before it was gone around the corner.
It was then, with my stomach flip-flopping, that I found the courage to look down at the body.
It took all of a tenth of a second to recognize her.
"Belle," I cried, dropping down to my knees beside her prone form, my hands going to her face, framing it, pulling it up. There was a nasty bruise on her left temple and dark smudges under her eyes. "Belle!" I called, shaking her a bit in my fear, watching as her eyes slit open. "Oh, my God," I said, feeling the tears welling up and falling down my cheeks as she focused on me.
"Shy?"
"Hey, yeah. You're okay now, okay? I just... we have to get you up," I told her. "Can you get up? Here, I'll help," I said, paranoia having me looking up and down the street as my hands went under her arms, half hauling her onto her shaky legs. "What's wrong with your legs?" I asked, moving under her arm to take her weight.