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

Chapter Thirty-Two

Isabella

I’m exhausted by the time I make it to my apartment. I lean against my door, fumbling with my keys, when a familiar face retreats from the laundry room.

Sam is holding a basket, her light hair and bright eyes indistinguishable from the rest of this dark, dreary city. She kicks her basket into her apartment and runs over to my side, taking the apartment keys from my jittery, exhausted hands.

“Thank you,” I groan, overwhelmed by the wine and the cardio tonight. “I’m a little on edge.”

“It’s fine,” she replies with a soft smile. “You look kind of flushed, Isabella. Are you sure you’re okay?” Her eyes fall, and her brows knit. “You’re not wearing any shoes. Oh god, were you robbed?”

“No, I wasn’t robbed. Just a little shocked by something I saw tonight.”

I scurry into my apartment, collapsing on the couch. My feet are sore and blistered, my body tired as I try to catch my breath. It’s further from the restaurant to my apartment than it is when coming home from the hospital when I visit my father.

I should have taken my purse or paid for a taxi, but even then, I don’t think I could afford it.

While I bury my face into my palms, I realize the prostitute on the sidewalk tonight probably made more money from Carter than I have! But even with that terrible encounter tonight, I can’t shake the odd feeling that the woman who approached him tonight looked a lot like me.

Her body was curvier in some ways, her hair somewhat shorter, but the basic facts of her appearance were still too similar to mine for me to ignore.

Sam scurries out of my kitchen, holding a glass of tap water. I hesitate to take it, the pipes in this building are a little overdue for a cleaning, but it would seem rather rude if I refused. I sip on it a little, and Sam makes herself comfortable on my couch.

“You don’t look so good,” she breathes. “Is everything okay?”

I wipe my face, trying to clear the heartache from my features. “I’m okay. I’m just upset. It’s been kind of a long few nights. I need a break.”

She looks at my little TV on the wall ahead. “Want to watch a movie? I have popcorn at my place, and I can bring over some wine.”

Although my stomach aches with the thought of more wine, I agree. “That would be fun, I guess.”

She hurries away, returning soon with snacks and wine in hand. I pull a few of my winter blankets out of my closet and set them up on the floor so we can lean back onto the couch like an indoor picnic. I’ve always wanted a girl’s night with movies and wine—I just didn’t think tonight, of all nights, would be the most appropriate.

I change out of my dress and put on a comfy shirt. Sam is in some cute silk pajamas and looks just as in need of a relaxing night as I do. She’s already seen me with my whipped belt marks and then tonight, too frazzled to open my door.

Does this mean we’re friends now?

I settle in beside her, my hands still trembling as they rest in my lap. The popcorn spreads hints of butter and salt through the air, and she sets it between us. Sam smiles a rough, uncomfortable grin that I know all too well.

“Are you okay?”

She seems surprised by my question. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you? It seems like you’ve had a few hard days—”

“I’ll live,” I breathe, hopeful that I’m correct in that assumption. “But seriously, Sam. We’re hanging out, about to watch a movie, so that means we’re friends. If somethings wrong, you can tell me.”

She looks away for a moment, a flicker of compressed strain crossing her features. “It’s been hard adjusting to this city. I haven’t had much luck meeting people.” Her eyes cross my wounded frame. “What about you? You came into the building tonight like you ran all the way from the harbor.”

“I practically did,” I gust. I pop a few bites of popcorn into my mouth, the taste nothing like the expensive dinner I had tonight with Carter, but maybe that’s a good thing. I sip the cheap wine she brought and take it by the stem of the bottle to do so.

Sam giggles lightly. “You definitely have had a rough night, Isabella.”

I shrug, giggling as the bitter, dry wine swerves down my throat. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” She leans back, picking through a bag of pretzel sticks. “You said it yourself; we are friends now.”

I consider the entire night, the past few weeks in whole, and the wild, untraceable path my life has taken. I want to be able to share the truth about what has happened because it is my life now.

But at what crime, at what unforeseen twist of events, would I even begin?

“My father is sick, and I’ve changed jobs recently,” I mutter aimlessly. “It’s just a lot of pressure, and it’s hard to get to know my new boss when he’s so serious and stern and pushy and abrasive and…” My head falls, the bottle loose in my fist. “I like him,” I mumble. “But he terrifies me.”

Her eyes flicker to my shoulders, down to my lower back, like she can see through my oversized top that my skin is marked with old bruises from Carter’s belt. “Is he the one that did the… the marks?”

I only nod, wishing this bottle would break in my palm so I’d have an excuse to get out of this talk.

“So, do you like him more than you fear him?”

It seems like an easy enough question, but I can only muster a modest shrug. “I don’t know.”

She doesn’t press further, and I’m happy about it. “Well, however you feel, just know that you don’t have to date him just cause he’s your boss. You’re pretty and young, and you’re really nice, Isabella. So you can date whoever you’d like.”

With that, I suppose we can agree to disagree. Carter is far out of my league, so why is he busy hunting brunettes to fuck in his office? Never mind Carter Blackthorne and his horrible outburst tonight against Tristan—against me.

The movie plays on, and at least for the night, I haven’t got a worry over Carter.

Knowing him, he’s probably on his favorite, familiar sidewalk, hunting his next prey.

***

I wake with a small nudge against my shoulder. My eyes are hazy and tired, my vision unsettled while the wine still loops through my system. But even in this blur of a morning, I recognize Tristan Blackthorne.

“Good morning, Isabella. You’re late for work,” he hums.

I glance sideways, seeing Sam passed out nearby on the floor, in the same state I wish I was in before Tristan broke into my apartment and ruined it all. I roll my eyes and swat his hand off my shoulder.

“Then let him fire me for all I care,” I growl.

Tristan looks away, the glimmer of his bruise sparkling in the sunlight. “You can’t do that, Bella. You’ve got to get up and get ready.”

I roll my eyes and sit up all the way. Seems easier than standing, anyway. “I don’t even have any work clothes; they were all in Carter’s car last night and—”

He points to the kitchen, lined with familiar-looking shopping bags and the pair of heels I threw off my feet when I ran from him. I eye everything carefully, wondering why, of all the people in Carter’s world, Tristan is the one trying to push me back into Carter’s twisted embrace.

“Well, even with the clothes, I don’t want any part of the Blackthorne family,” I mumble, unsure if I even believe that or not. It makes sense out loud, but why does it hurt? “Not after last night.”

“I can’t leave here without you, Bella. I have to take you to work,” Tristan sighs.

I finally stand, my stomach turning from the alcohol. Tristan stands firmly in place, though his bruised, split lip looks a little fresh for him to be on Carter’s side of things.

“Aren’t you supposed to have the day off, Tristan?”

“I changed my mind,” he mumbles. “Like you should change your mind about skipping out on doing what Carter has hired you to do.”

“I don’t feel like being a prostitute today,” I snicker in a sarcastic whip.

I like being close with Carter, but I feel too uneasy after last night to get over the oddness surrounding my new boss. Tristan mentioned Brooke and then taunted Carter on why he should tell me about his sadistic needs—or whatever he called it.

“Get dressed, Isabella. I really don’t want to drag you out of this building in just a T-shirt, but Carter sent me here to come to get you, and that means I have to, without excuse,” Tristan breathes.

I eye him carefully. He wouldn’t actually take me out of my apartment forcefully, in just my nightshirt… would he? He’s the same blood as Carter, so I guess it shouldn’t surprise me.

But I thought of Tristan as all business. So why is he really here?

“Fine,” I grumble at last. “If I go with you, though, where are you taking me?”

He leans back on his heels. “Frances is having a news conference in an hour. It’s going to be outside the mayor’s office, and Carter wants you to be there.”

“Why me?”

He motions towards the bags of clothes, his patience wearing thinner by the minute. “Get dressed, and I’ll get you there, Isabella. The rest will be explained later. Please… go get ready.”

I finally oblige, slipping into my expensive new business skirt and tucking in my blouse. When I’ve got my heels on, and some makeup brushed across my face, I step out of my hidden corner to see Tristan staring longingly toward Sam as she sleeps blissfully unaware on my floor.

He breaks his gaze from her at last.

“Don’t even think about it,” I beg. “She doesn’t need to be involved in your family business.”

He raises his brow like I’ve challenged him. “Neither do you, and yet you’re dressed and ready to go.”

“Didn’t sound like I had much of a choice, Tristan. Not when you’re threatening to drag me out of here in my pajamas and throw me on the mayor’s office front steps.”

He stuffs his hands into his front pockets and smiles avidly. “I’m actually not allowed to touch you at all, per the boss’ commands, but it got you dressed and ready to go, right?”

I could back down now, tell Tristan I quit, and mail Carter all those expensive clothes back, but I have to be realistic. Carter wouldn’t let me leave so easily.

I don’t even think he’d let me go if I uttered his least favorite word of all time. No matter his hatred for it, the word wanders through my thoughts constantly.

Mercy. Mercy. Mercy.