"Okay," Shy said, sharing a worried look with me as I released Belle's wrists. She reached for one of them herself. "Why don't we go get something to eat, okay?" she coaxed, leading her sister away.
I mouthed an apology to her as she looked over her shoulder at me, but she shook her head and mouthed back that it wasn't my fault.
We all knew Belle had been fragile since her kidnappers had shown back up. She probably would have been able to find some sort of normal if that hadn't happened. But the fear of that had triggered some sort of PTSD in her. And none of us had any idea what to do about it other than give her the space when she clearly needed it, but also gently encouraging her to eat and sleep and play with the animals, and letting her know we were there for her.
"Tell me Arty is getting fucking somewhere on this," I said, walking back to Huck. "Maybe if she knows the fuckers are dead, she won't be so scared all the time."
"Maybe," Huck said, but was clearly dubious.
"Well, once they're dead, at least she can go get some therapy then."
"True," he agreed. "Arty hit a dead-end with the facial recognition. Whoever they were, they haven't been arrested before. We need more from Belle, but..."
"Yeah," I agreed, looking off toward the house.
We'd done our best with what Shy and I had to go on. But the guys at the apartment got us nowhere, and Shy had been so freaked by the whole incident, that her memory of the guy who'd approached her had holes in it.
Belle was the best option since she'd seen all the men and on more than one occasion, but she seemed so brittle, so breakable, that we were all afraid to even ask for more. If we did, all that other shit she hadn't been ready to talk about might come pouring out, and it didn't seem like she had the strength yet to deal with that.
I wouldn't say that shoving shit down and not dealing with it thing was a healthy method to handle things, but without a professional to help her, it seemed like the best thing for her fragile state.
Unfortunately, though, without the information she possessed, we were making no strides toward finding the bastards, so she could go out and seek some therapy.
It was getting tight between the rock and hard place we'd all been living in.
"I know that was a bit... troubling," Alaric said, coming up to join us. "But maybe that wasn't bad?" he added. "Shooting, it seemed like an outlet for her. Outlets are healthy. She's going to implode if she doesn't have one."
"I'm sure I can't be hearing you right," Huck said, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. "You want to put a loaded gun in the hand of a woman with some pretty obvious mental health issues."
"Yes," Alaric said, nodding. "But maybe blanks next time. Just in case."
"Listen, what I care about is that everyone is safe. If you can make sure that happens, and you clear this with Shy, do what you gotta do," Huck said, shrugging, then turning to walk away.
"Boss man seems stressed," Eddie concluded.
"Boss man has a wife and kids and an unknown threat against the club. On top of that, two guests. One who is traumatized. And a shipment that is two days late. He has earned the right to be stressed," I said, tone a little pointed.
Huck was, in general, a pretty laid-back president. He didn't micromanage anyone, or get too hard on them either for any minor fuck up. And since he gave everyone a long leash, it wasn't good for members—or even hangabouts—to speculate about Huck's mindset.
"Noted, man, noted," Eddie said, holding up his hands. "I think I'm gonna go make some loaded nachos," he declared. "Your lady, she likes to eat. I'm not above luring her into loving me through her stomach."
"Yeah, good luck with that, Eddie," I said, shrugging.
"You're so sure about her feelings for you, huh?" he asked.
That was an interesting question. It wasn't one I'd ever felt the need to ponder before in my life. Because, quite frankly, no woman had ever lasted more than a night or two. Not long enough to even consider the idea of feelings.
It was new with Shy too, yeah. But we had a bit of a head start, what with living together almost from the jump. It gave us time to see if time together would cure us of our interest, or simply solidify it.
Speaking for myself, the more I got of her, the more I wanted.
Hell, I'd caught the woman painting one of the kids' nails the day before, and I'd had distinct thoughts about a future of seeing her do that, bent over the hand of a kid that looked a lot like her. And maybe a little bit like me.