Feathers and Thorne Series Books 1 - 3: The Complete Collection

Chapter Twenty

Isabella

I adjust my jeans, cringing as I button them together against my abdomen. Every movement hurts, and every little flinch is exhausting—the bruises on my ass from last night are hardly healed, and they still swell in the shape of Carter’s belt.

Thinking about it all over again, I’m forced to flinch.

The toys were fun, I have no qualms there, and the unlikely place of doing it in the mayor’s office was liberating. But that’s where the line was drawn for me.

Carter came after me with a viciousness I’d never known before.

I never want to know it again, either.

It’s the weekend, so my father will be expecting me; at least, I hope he will be expecting me. Maybe even recognize me. I can only be so hopeful. I wear a loose T-shirt, Carter’s belt leaving a diagonal stripe of a welt across my lower back.

Opening the door, I move slowly, trying to keep sane through every exhausting stride.

“Hey, do you know the code for the laundry room?” a soft voice calls out. I lean against the wall, meeting the blue-eyed stare from the girl across the hallway. She points to the keypad on the service door, smiling coyly. “I just moved in, and I have no idea how to unlock this door.”

I wave to her keys. “There should be a code on the back of the keycard you use for the garage.”

She gives me a blank expression and only shrugs in reply. I lock my apartment, edging every painful step it takes until I’m at the laundry room door. I can only imagine the ache it’ll cause me to get down the stairs, walk to the hospital, and somehow make the trip back eventually.

“You can just use mine,” I breathe, typing it out accordingly. “Half the time, it doesn’t work, anyways. And don’t use the dryer in the back. It’ll steal your quarters.”

She smiles, too upbeat for this early in the morning. “Thanks, I really appreciate it. I’m Samantha Roberts. You can just call me Sam. I just moved from Chicago.”

I take her outstretched hand, my back aching as I do so. I lean on the doorway and inhale sharply when it presses into my hip. “I’m Isabella. Most people call me Bella.”

“It’s great to meet you, Bella. I think I live right next door to you. We should get coffee sometime and hang out. I could really use a friend in this city,” she grins. “Where are you off to?”

“I… uh…” I press a palm to my forehead, feeling a flicker of heat brush down my cheeks. “Sorry, I’m just not feeling well today. I don’t think I’m going anywhere.”

Her eyes widen, and she drops her basket of laundry. “You look so pale. Are you okay? I can walk you back to your apartment.”

She takes my arm, not needing a reply. I hold back tears from the dull ache lacing my back and my ass. I can’t see straight, only feeling Carter beat relentlessly at my body with his belt in a moment I thought was going to be much kinder than it turned out to be.

Sam opens the door to my apartment, stricken with surprise, while she takes in my apartment, although I’m quite sure it’s fairly similar to hers. “I love how you did this,” she hums, taking a quick glance around the space. “You made it look so much bigger by adding that partition. And that kitchen table, it’s so small, it fits perfectly! How did you decorate so well?”

I try to put words together, at least to sound half coherent, but I can’t handle the feeling of my jeans rubbing against the raw blisters of my ass anymore. I step into the corner of my bedroom, changing into a short, loose skirt that I would never wear outside for fear of the wind brushing it up.

I inhale sharply, the cold air biting my fresh bruises.

Sam stands in the living room, a little stunned, her eyes brushing down my thighs when I turn and catch her staring. “What… I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry, but what happened to you?”

I adjust my skirt over my legs, hoping the lashes against the back of my thighs are somewhat covered now. “It’s nothing, really.”

“You look like you were in a fight, Bella,” she gusts. “Were you robbed or something?”

How do I tell a girl I just met that the bruises on my backside are from my cold, callous boss? I don’t even think I can rationalize that in my own head. I’d make a terrible first impression on my neighbor if I told the truth.

“I’m fine, I promise,” I groan. “It was just a little fun gone awry.”

She raised her blond, manicured brow. “Fun for you, or fun for him?”

I don’t feel the need to respond. Seems like everyone I meet these days can see right through me. This new girl from Chicago is obviously no exception to that rule.

“Sorry,” she exhales. “I think I overstepped. I shouldn’t have said anything at all. I’m right next door if you ever need me. Thanks for the laundry code.”

She waltzes out, and I collapse on my chest, squeezing the edge of my blanket through my palms to counteract the tension in my backside. I hear my door open, expecting to see Sam returning to give her two cents on my welts.

Instead, I feel a cold, familiar hand drag up the back of my leg.

I flinch, flip over, and stare up at Carter Blackthorne.

“Dove, you’re late,” he growls. “You were supposed to be at my office this morning.”

“I was?”

“Yes, I explained it last night on the drive back from the mayor’s office. You were half asleep, though. I should have known you wouldn’t be up in time to make it to the office, but…” he glances down at the short, above-the-knee skirt I just changed into. “I highly doubt you were dressing for the office.”

I bow my head, hissing a breath as I sit up and pressure all my weight onto my ass. My stiff mattress doesn’t help, either. “Sorry, Carter. I had a hard time focusing last night, and then this morning… I just…”

He leans down, trying to meet my eyes, although he stands so far above me. “What is it?”

He reaches for my chin, trying to adjust my face, but I wince.

He notices it right away and backs off.

“I have bruises,” I mutter, shamefully speaking under the guise of an exasperated exhale. “Carter, last night… I don’t understand—”

“Don’t understand what, exactly?”

I don’t have words to describe the horror of my mind when I saw my backside this morning. I stand from the bed and turn, lifting up my skirt to expose the red, swollen stripes on my legs and ass. I glance over my shoulder, seeing Carter take in the sight with a curious head tilt.

He hardly seems bothered by the marks. If anything, he seems enticed by them.

“Do they hurt?” he hums.

“Of course they hurt,” I reply, tucking my skirt back down and pressing my back into the wall. I don’t like how intrigued he seems to be after admiring the bruises he made last night. “I didn’t like that, Carter. I didn’t… I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?”

His bright, faraway eyes freeze me where I stand. “Why do you think you’ve done something wrong, dove?”

We must be on completely different levels of understanding when it comes to these marks.

“Never mind,” I pant, shaking my head. “What do you need me to do for work today? I can change and be at the office… wherever it is.”

He leans back, his eyes sovereign on my body. “No. We can have our meeting here. It’s fine.” He turns, pointing to my kitchen, which he normally has no issue rifling through. “Does your freezer make ice?”

I nod. He makes his way through my apartment and fills a plastic bag of ice cubes, tying it off. He comes back to my little bedroom corner and pulls my arm, tripping me over his lap. He holds me there over his legs, lifting my skirt suddenly.

I yelp when the ice pack presses into my sore ass.

“Easy, dove. Just relax,” he whispers, oddly calm after his intense brutality last night. “These marks aren’t your fault. You did nothing wrong.”

I flinch, holding back tears while the hot welts against my legs are met with the freezing pack of ice. Carter snickers a noise resembling a chuckle. I can’t help but wonder what the hell he finds so funny about me laid out over her lap while he wipes an ice pack against my wounds.

“What is funny, Carter?”

“You think you did something wrong,” he says. “You’re not the one with problems. I am.”