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

Chapter Fifty-One

Carter

I manage to get Isabella upstairs, her nosey neighbor already stomping down the hall where I let my dove sleep soundly in my arms. Her bright eyes widen while I let myself into Isabella’s apartment, Sam already coming over to check on the state of her new friend.

“What the hell happened now?”

“Stitches to the back of the head,” I breathe, running my hands through my messy, untamed scalp. “She is pretty medicated right now. Movie night may have to wait, but I do have a favor to ask.”

She gives me a cautious look. “What is it?”

I dig through my wallet and slap down three, maybe four, bundles of bills on the table. Sam steps away as though I threw drugs out between us, her eyes shifting carefully to Isabella, who whines in bed.

“What is this for?” she groans.

“I want you to stay here tonight. Order pizza when she wakes up. Make sure you two have a good time but that you stay inside until morning.”

Her brows pinch, and she folds her arms over her chest. “Why?”

“Because I have to handle the men who did this to her, and I’m going to handle them all in one night. I will have one of my cousins posted at the door in the hallway. If you hear gunfire, shouting, or anything out of the ordinary, call this number.”

I flick her a business card, and in an act of acceptance of my deal, she sticks it into her front pocket. “What are you going to do to the guys who hurt her?”

“You don’t want to know,” I breathe. “It would be easier in case there is a trail later.”

Her eyes widen, and she nods. “Makes sense.”

I can’t help but sense the shift of acceptance this neighbor has for me. “What? You’re not going to give me a harder time? You practically told her this morning that if she wanted to leave me to be safe, you would help.”

She only shrugs, folding her hands in front of her abdomen. “She said you didn’t make the marks on her face, and I believe her. But that doesn’t mean I trust you. She showed me what marks you made on the back of her legs.”

I feel the warmth flush down my face at once. “I was a bit rougher with her back then.”

“As long as you aren’t doing it still,” she hums, “then I trust her when she says she is safe with you.”

“I appreciate that,” I grumble, adjusting the holsters on my hips when I hear a knock on the door. I nod goodbye to Sam, who tends to Isabella immediately while I open the door and greet my cousin. “Hey, Paul. Thanks for coming by.”

He shrugs, missing his other half, Luce, who looks identical to him. “All good, Carter. I’m just a little concerned. Tristan told our parents you fired him. You’re not planning to go after him, are you?”

“I have to,” I admit shamelessly. “He put Isabella in the hospital. I need to know why he is betraying me like this. She had to get stitches, Paul. He can have his downward spiral all he wants, but he can’t take her down with him.”

My cousin nods solemnly. “Are you going to void his contract?”

I recognize our codeword phrase for killing a man, but in this instance, I haven’t exactly decided if I will void Tristan’s contract or not. If anything, he will get a stern annexing.

“You know, if that was my plan, Paul, I would have the decency to call your mother first,” I breathe at last. He seems semi-relieved at that assurance. “Just keep an eye on things, please. I don’t want her getting caught up in more of my trouble.”

He nods, taking my hand and shaking it firmly, though he grips it tighter when I turn to leave. He chews on his lip with a demure grin. “Is there going to be a wedding soon?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and this woman,” he says with a shrug. “You never bring women home, let alone attach protection to one when you’re in trouble. I’m just curious about what I should tell Anita when I get home. She really likes Bella.”

“I am sure she does, but if she’s holding her breath for a wedding, tell her to stop,” I grunt. “I’ve got too many wars going on right now to even focus on my future with Isabella. After what your damn brother did to her today, I wouldn’t be surprised if she wants to leave me.”

His brow cocks. “So am I here to make sure no one comes in or that no one comes out?”

I wave off his accusation and trail down the many, winding stairs. This place is disgusting and not in my most favorite part of Manhattan, but I’d be remiss if I made Isabella move out. In a perfect world, she would be in my penthouse, but even then, it wouldn’t suit her.

She needs the best of everything—including me. I’ve been less than kind to her lately, and it upsets me to know that she wanted so terribly to get away from me at the office today. I feel horrible for my actions, but I also know I have to focus more on our troubles now than I can focus on her.

The next fundraising gala is in two nights. I have to have three problems solved by then. I need Tristan to explain himself for hurting Isabella today. I still need to handle that prick Jacob Lacey, and last but not least, I need to clean the mess I made with Phillips today.

I shouldn’t have punched him, but when he mumbled about keeping my whore in check, I couldn’t help but slam my fist into his pompous face. I’m done letting everyone tell me Isabella Julis is just some hooker to me.

She is more than just a sexual good time. Right now, she’s my main priority outside of the mayor’s election.

“Ernesto,” I grumble, climbing into the passenger seat of the SUV. “Nice to see you again.”

He seems relaxed after our last tiff on the way to Aunt Anita’s house. “Always a pleasure, Carter. Where are we going tonight?”

“I need to speak with Tristan,” I say simply, adjusting the pistols on my hips and triple-checking the ammunition in both of them. He notices, but he is too skittish to admit it after he overstepped last time and got to walk across the bridge in search of a taxi. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill him. Just talk to him.”

“You have a funny way of preparing to talk to your cousin, Carter. What did he do?”

I wonder if it’s worth telling him the whole story, considering how he spoke of Bella in the car while she was sleeping in the backseat. But that had a lot to do with Brooke, and I’ve had enough conversations about her this week that I don’t need any more.

“Come on,” Ernesto carries on. “Talk to me. I know we had our argument, but it’s over now. We’re family, and I know when you’re conflicted over something.”

I never admit defeat, but I would like some advice. “Bella ended up at his apartment, most likely to talk him into making up with me after I fired him from the family businesses. Next thing I know, she’s in the hospital with stitches in the back of her head.”

“How do you know it was him?”

“She passed out in the lobby of his apartment,” I say simply. “If it wasn’t him, he knows who it was. Hence, the need to just talk to him. Nothing too serious.”

“Got it.” He pulls the car up to the curb of the Magnolia. “Here you go, boss. Play nice.”

“No promises,” I breathe, jumping out to storm my way upstairs.

I have no intent to play nice with Tristan. Not at first. He obviously did something to Isabella after he knowingly sent her to drop off those files to Jacob Lacey. Not only should she have never gone to that worksite, but he also shouldn’t have tried to give Jacob those files.

With it, he could have exposed our entire purpose in working together, which would prove Frances Johnson is a man for the mafia, not a good family man looking out for the average New Yorker.

I knock on Tristan’s door, seeing it open right away, almost without thought, but when my cousin’s eyes go wide, he tries to shut it at once. I kick the handle back, the door popping open so hard that it smacks him in the face.

He stumbles back, holding a hand to his split forehead. Meanwhile, I know that will be the first injury of many, shutting the door slowly behind my entrance.

“I think we have some talking to do, dear cousin.”

“Carter, please. Just relax. I will tell you everything, but…”

My eyes fall, seeing the box of his office things on the floor nearby. It starts to make more sense what happened and why she was here to begin with, but his floor is still tainted with blood on the tiles near his couch, a large, wooden bookend misplaced on the floor by the table.

I know I should probably calm down, but I can’t after seeing the evidence.

“You hit her in the head with a bookend?” I exhale. “Really, Tristan? After all our trials together, you’ve been like a brother to me, and in return, you try to have Isabella raped, and when that falls through, you throw something at her? How is this possible?”

“I got drunk last night,” he mumbles. “I didn’t take it well. This morning, she let herself in, talking about you and shit—we just had our fight, and you fired me, Carter. I wasn’t ready to talk about things.”

“So, you hurt her?” I snarl, grabbing a pistol on my waist but not pulling it free. Not yet. “She hounded me all morning about calling you and making things right, even though you had sent her off to Jacob last night, where he beat the hell out of her!”

He flinches. “I saw the bruises on her face. I didn’t mean for that—”

“Did you see the fear in her eyes?” I snap. “She looked at me this morning like I was losing my mind when she tried to walk away from me, but how could I just let her scamper off unprotected? My own flesh and blood got her hurt, betrayed my trust, and now I have to try to explain that to her. All she was worried about was you and me, not herself. So you hit her in the head over that selflessness.”

He plops down on the couch, shaking his head. “Did she tell you everything that happened this morning?”

I tread lightly, knowing she probably didn’t even know I existed while strung out on painkillers from her IV. She spoke to me a little, but not enough for me to hear about what else was said or done by Tristan.

“Obviously not,” he adds in an exhale. “You would have shot me already.”

“What did you do?” I gripe. “Tell me now. Everything.”

He points to the small device on his wall, a camera system that records everything in his apartment for protection. I am too curious not to check it out, so I navigate the last few hours, clicking on the confrontation in question.

I play the video where she enters the doorway to his bedroom. His voice peeks first through the screen.

“What the hell do you want, Brooke?”

Any semblance of mercy I once held for my cousin is gone with that insult to Isabella’s identity.