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

Chapter Thirty-Three

Isabella

Tristan keeps a grip on my elbow when we step out of the car like I intend to run off. Maybe I do. I haven’t really decided yet, not until I see Carter meandering through the growing crowd outside the mayor’s office building.

His light ocean eyes find me at once, and I stop, Tristan pulling my arm to prompt me forward. I grimace but oblige so as not to draw too much attention to myself or Carter when he comes forward and takes me in a familiar, loose embrace.

He kisses my temple, and I squirm slightly. “Good morning, dove.”

“What do you want?” I mutter to his chest. “I figured me ditching you last night was as good as a job resignation, Carter.”

Tristan hangs back a few paces, falling in line with the other Blackthorne men in expensive, black suits with little black cufflinks adorned with a red B to tie into their powerful last name—similar to the signature look on Carter Blackthorne, who prefers the black roses.

“You think I’d let you quit, dove? Never,” he purrs.

I finally push free of his hold, and he pouts impishly.

“I’m not your damn prostitute,” I snarl. “And I will not be paraded around like one.”

He gives up trying to hold me in a hug but settles for taking my hand in his. He squeezes my fingers so tight that it won’t be an easy feat to break loose, so I give up the mere idea of it altogether. He pulls me into his side, moving through the buzzing crowd.

It’s impossible not to notice the Blackthorne men all following in tow.

“I let you walk away from me once, Bella, but it’s the only time I’m going to let it happen,” he hums, taking me up the stairs and into the building. The police look past Carter like the ghost he is. “Come in here. Let’s talk.”

He yanks me into a spare room on the first floor, nowhere near Frances’ office upstairs. I swallow at the small utility closet, my back pressing into the door while Carter finally releases my hand and the hefty grasp he kept on it.

“My family name is very important,” Carter says, standing over me in menacing authority. “I was adopted into the Blackthorne name. My mother and father had already built an empire of wealth, and when I was old enough to make my own decisions, I took the family business in another direction.”

“What kind of direction?” I pant. “Killing guys in the mayor’s office and selling guns internationally?”

He doesn’t seem too upset over my attempt to spit spite at him. If anything, he agrees.

“Something like that, dove, and a little more than that.” He brings his lips close to my ear, speaking soft and warm exhales against my cheek. “I’ve done a lot of unlawful things, and the only part of my life that has suffered from it has been the romantic part. I can’t exactly parade around a woman knowing that it would cause that woman a lot of trouble from my enemies.”

“Good for her,” I bite.

His hands press into my hips, and he shoves my back a little harder against the door, his frame pressing into my chest in aggravation. “You better stop mouthing off, dove. I will punish you for that later.”

“And what if I call mercy, Carter? Then what happens?”

“You wouldn’t. I know you wouldn’t, Bella. You like being fucked by me. I can see it on your face and feel it in your body. You just don’t want to be used by me, and that’s fair.”

I press my palm into his chest, trying to shove him back, but he stays. “Then why am I here, Carter?”

He smiles at my demure surrender. “Because I’m going to break my own rules, dove. You and I are going to go out there as happy Manhattan voters and cheer on our dear mayor for reelection. And you will stay on my arm. I will tend to you dearly, and I’ll prove to everyone watching that I’m not into prostitutes. I’m only interested in Isabella Julis.”

“And what about those enemies you speak of?”

“I’ll kill any of them that come for you, dove.”

I bite down a flattered smile at those words. I would love to be doted on by Carter, and he can see that’s what I’m looking for right now. It doesn’t make up for my embarrassment last night, but considering his fit of frustration, I doubt he will allow something like that to happen again.

He takes the next move without needing permission, plowing his lips into mine. I feel his tongue brush my own, his fingertips kneading into my lower back and grabbing the edge of my ass into his palms. I hiccup slightly, his budding arousal flinching against my stomach.

I can’t be fucked right now!

He pulls away at last, brushing my lengthy brown hair back behind my ears. “You will still be punished for running away from me last night,” he breathes, a hint of a grin softening his features. “I told you when you run from me, it only makes me want you more.”

My stomach falls, but I give in. If he were any less charming, maybe I wouldn’t accept such treatment, but he speaks it away so easily. He’s powerful and in the public eye, along with some darker entities that rest in his business life as well.

He would need pleasure somehow, and I shouldn’t judge him for not wanting to put a woman in danger by going out with such a prominent figure. But for now, for the situation last night, I guess I can look past it.

“Let’s go play politics,” he hums, kissing my cheek, his hands flipping me to turn around. My ass brushes his pelvis, and he moans slightly, reaching past me to grab the doorknob. “I love the new clothes, dove. Can’t wait to rip them off of your body with my teeth.”

I shiver with anticipation, in warm arousal, but he shoves me back into the building hallway where his cousin Tristan is patiently waiting for us to finish our talk. It’s clear he thought we were doing something else, his irritated demeanor only ever showing when I’m having sex with Carter.

After going back outside into the sun, the chilly breeze swishes through the street and steals the breath from my lungs. Carter strips out of his suit jacket, draping it over my shoulders. I cling to his scent while Frances levels himself behind the podium.

The media microphones are already set up, and the cameras all start flickering alive for the news stations. Carter takes my hand and holds it beside him, his relatives all scattering around the crowd for now.

I can’t help but admire how beautiful Carter Blackthorne is.

He wears a white dress shirt, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, his shirt tucked into his black pants. The dark suspenders look a little outdated, but nonetheless expensive and tasteful, his leather shoes polished to perfection.

I must be staring at him too much because he smiles briefly, flicking his eyes over to meet mine for just a moment.

“You aren’t listening to the mayor, dove,” he teases.

I shrug. “I don’t work for the mayor.”

He leans sideways, kissing my head tenderly and warmly, and then settles back to his towering stance beside me. It feels nice to be seen in public with him like this, even for some boring, meaningless press conference.

I toy with his fingers, laced into my palm, and drown out Frances’ speech to the press about how he will lower taxes, clean up the dirty streets, and be the best damn mayor he should have been all along. It’s a mediocre event overall, but being with Carter makes it seem less monotonous.

Until everything goes quiet, a slow and still lens comes over the world as a gun fires and bullets scatter against the steps in front of the mayor’s office building.

Carter throws me to the ground, Tristan hitting the concrete nearby with the same intensity. I cower under my boss and his cousin, the gunfire not ceasing until a loud, screeching sound of tires skid off into the distance.

Everyone is screaming, running in disoriented paths, but Carter looks to Tristan and me first for assurances. We both nod, not feeling any wounds, and then he bolts up the stairs toward Frances Johnson.

Tristan stays with me, thankfully, his eyes searching for the others.

I hold a hand to my mouth when I spot one of the Blackthorne men laid out on the concrete steps a few paces away, his body drowning in a puddle of thick, crimson blood. Tristan follows my gaze and runs to his side, his hands feeling around his collar in angst.

I can tell from here that he’s dead. Tristan bows his head in resolve when he realizes it as well.

My eyes shift over the few people laid out, dead or in the process of becoming so. I’m dizzy with the sight of it all, with the chaos and screaming, my hands trembling in my lap and keeping me from standing.

“Come on, dove,” Carter pants, pulling me into his arms at once. “It’s okay, everything is okay. We need to get out of here right now.”

“Is the mayor—”

“He’s alive,” Carter breathes.

His cold eyes trail over my shoulder, seeing Tristan sit over the death of someone he is related to. Instead of leaving my side, Carter pulls me into his chest closer, kissing my temple.

It’s clear now that Carter doesn’t just need me for sex. He needs stability just like I do, just like everyone does, and Carter Blackthorne appears human again.