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

Chapter Twenty-Three

Isabella

My father hardly seems to acknowledge my existence today. Instead, he looks off into the distance, speaking of the neighbors that came by to visit him today, the nurses giving me a kind look as they come and go, playing into his endless mind tricks.

I can’t get over this morning, over Carter Blackthorne, and I feel ill every time I shift sideways against the bruises on my legs and my ass. When the pain becomes unbearable, I kiss my father’s forehead and leave the hospital, trying to sort my eyes as they adjust to the new navy cast over the sky.

Walking back to my apartment, I think of my new boss.

I feel his hands on my hips, his fingers curled into my throat, and the viciousness of his eyes as he held me in his lap.

Everything feels so foreign when it comes to Carter. I expected something gentle, something passionate, and what I actually received was brutal and dangerous. I suppose I should take the hint now. If I don’t say mercy, then I guess this is my new reality.

A car skids to a stop against the curb of the New York City street. I jump backward in slight surprise, a burly man leaping from the backseat and clinging to my arm almost instantly. Aiming to unlatch myself, I hit the ground, but his sheer strength is enough to send me flying if he wanted to.

At least he shows slight mercy, throwing me over his shoulder before shoving me down into the floorboard of the backseat. I hiccup an inhale; the man not alone as he slides back into the car and shuts the door. The world outside continues onward without even noticing I’ve left it so abruptly.

I cower between the sets of legs, the large, silent men looking forward, uncaring, while the driver throws the car down the road, almost as terrible of a driver as I am when Carter is planting toys all over my body. I attempt to sit up and level the skirt back over my ass after it rode up my hips from being handled.

One of the guys presses his boot into my cheek, lowering me back down with a gentle, pressuring shove. They both snicker among each other, and I blush, feeling that same odd sensation of being used, of being manipulated however my captor pleases—much like how Carter handles me.

“Stay down, Bella.”

I swallow. Of course, they know my name, but hearing them say it makes my stomach cramp. “What is going on? Where am I being taken?”

They exchange a brief, wordless look before one of them cracks a mischievous grin.

“You’ve been summoned, Bella. We’re just here to ensure you make it on time.”

I relax somewhat, thinking of how Carter mentioned that I’ll be meeting him at the club tonight. Perhaps he sent these two in order to make sure I actually showed up this time. I wouldn’t put it past him—their rude and pushy behavior similar to his—but something tells me they wouldn’t be this sinister in intent.

One of them brushes his boot against my inner thigh, brushing my skirt up just enough to show the plane of my ass, and I hiss, yanking it back down in modesty.

This skirt was a very good idea at first. Not anymore, though.

“Come on, baby,” one of the guys sneers. “Just give me a little look. You’re letting Blackthorne have it, right? What’s so wrong about letting me have a peek?”

They laugh, and I blush, tugging my skirt down and keeping my wrists there to protect myself. “You don’t work for Carter, do you?”

“Ha! Not a chance, sweetheart.”

They laugh harder, a leather boot kicking my hands away and pressing the sole of their shoe into the flesh of my core. I hiss, trying to back away from the pressure, but it only pushes me closer to the other one, his hands grabbing at my top and yanking it sideways.

I gasp, the collar of my shirt ripping, leaving a lengthy gash of fabric to hang off my shoulder.

“Stop,” I bite, trying to maintain being fully clothed between the two of their incessant taunting fits.

The car comes to a sudden halt, the doors all flying open at once while someone drags me out by a grasp on my hair. I hit the gritty concrete on my knees, feeling sick from the sudden movement.

My shirt is torn, and my skirt catches the wind.

“Well, little Bella,” a familiar voice sings. “You’ve looked better.”

I inhale sharply, catching Jacob’s dull, beady eyes as they stand over me. The sky is black, and night has fallen on Manhattan, though the lights of this construction site are still lit in yellow, flickering lamps. I shiver harder in the breeze, trying to piece together my shirt to cover my shoulder.

Not that it helps his hungry, greedy eyes from picturing me without the shirt altogether.

“You’re quiet now,” Jacob taunts. “Last time I saw you in my office, just the two of us, you were parading around confidently about quitting the construction company. You were brave and assertive and,” he adds, looking down at my body curled at his feet, “you were so sure I’d never get to bend you over.”

“That hasn’t changed,” I swallow.

“Really?” he asks, his posse of at least six or seven guys all snickering in a burly, amused laugh. “What are you going to do, Bella? You going to fight me? You couldn’t even get out of me pinning you against my desk. You needed that rich boy to talk you out of trouble.”

I flinch, his hand coming down to brush my hair back, placing it over my shoulders while tears pulse down my blushing, hot cheeks. “Please, Jacob. Whatever you want, it’s not—”

“Shh, Bella,” he taunts, leaning over so he can speak directly against my forehead. “I’m not going to do anything to you tonight. Of course, that comes with some cooperation from you. I need you to tell me what your new boss has brewing with the mayor.”

My eyes widen, but I try to hide my concern. “Jacob, I don’t know what he has with Frances. It’s something about making sure he wins reelection, but I don’t know why.”

Jacob shakes his head, disappointed in that response. “You’re going to have to give me more than that, Bella. Especially if you want to keep this shirt on.”

He grabs a fistful of my torn collar, holding it up, exposing my back and midriff to the cold night, just inches away from ripping it off my frame altogether.

“Boss, look here,” a brute mumbles somewhere behind me.

At last, Jacob releases my collar but skims around to the space behind me, his fingers drawing slowly up my spine. I shiver, his touch cool and unwelcome. He bursts into hysterics at the sight of the bruises and blisters I know that lay there.

My head falls in complete shame now.

Jacob tears my shirt off instantly, ripping it down the hem and picking the pieces off like tissue paper from a present. I wasn’t even given the opportunity to lie my way out of his deal in an effort to keep my shirt on, but it was inevitable, I guess.

I hold my arms over my chest, feeling the many sets of eyes snake around my body without invitation.

“Look at that,” Jacob pants. “Such a pretty masterpiece Carter Blackthorne has painted on your back. You look almost as delicious as I was going to mark you the night I bent you over my desk.”

I wince at the memory. Even more so now that I’m topless and far, far more outnumbered.

“I wonder what else lays under all this fabric,” he adds, toying with the edge of my skirt.

I jump forward, ripping it from his grasp. “Jacob, please. I don’t know anything about Carter’s work. I haven’t worked for him for very long, and he hasn’t told me anything personal. I’m not involved in anything important.”

“You are,” he contradicts. “Of course, you’re involved, Bella. If he trusts you enough to sink his cock inside of you underneath that pretty skirt, then I bet you know a lot more about his business than you even think you do.”

He shoves me forward with a harsh kick into my shoulder. I fall forward, useless, and inhale sharply at the feeling of his fingers drawing up my skirt, pushing the fabric up over my ass. He traces the longest, most painful welt and then centers his hand against my inner thigh, pulling up toward my sex.

“You going to tell me now, or will I be forced to—”

“Enough of this!”

I shiver at the familiar voice nearby, screaming down in distinct anger. When I look up to see his silhouette on the scaffolding nearby, it sends rippling anxiety through my body.

It’s Tristan.