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

Chapter Fifty-Five

Carter

I stand back, stunned like she shot me in the face, and I can feel every tunneled hole of pain it creates through my brain. She is sobbing on the floor before me, even pushing herself back under the bed, needing to get away from me.

This had nothing to do with her, but I certainly took it out on her all the same.

“Isabella, I…”

She whimpers and gasps, trembling so hard under my bed that I’d think she’s having a medical emergency, but I know better. This is an emergency of my doing, a mistake I made in taking things further than they’ve ever gone.

The anger and the power I put into those slaps with my belt were unmatched by any strength I’ve applied to her in the past. But it was my stupid blind rage that took me to that place where I couldn’t get back from.

I wanted her to tell me that I could protect her because the one moment when I hadn’t done so, it got her hurt. She already doubted my ability to look after her, and she had every right to feel that way, but it made me feel like a failure.

I never fail—except for right now.

I throw my belt across the room, seeing her flinch when it hits the wall and falls to the floor. Instead of trying to sit here and convince her of my compassion, I’ve already ruined it all and shown her how evil I truly am.

I adjust my sleeves, turn to leave, and head downstairs alone through the lobby. Ernesto cocks his brow at me when I climb into the front seat, burying my face into my burning-hot palms.

“No date tonight?”

I only shake my head, feeling sick to my stomach. “Park around the corner where I can see the front doors. I need to see something.”

He only nods, not bothering to ask any questions. When the car finally parks, I lean back, eyeing the doormen and the sidewalk with fierce intensity. Maybe my inclination is wrong. Maybe she doesn’t absolutely hate me.

Maybe I didn’t just fuck everything up.

The doors open, and a petite brunette throws herself into the Manhattan foot traffic. My head hurts worse now than before, and Ernesto leans forward to watch the same scene unfold.

“Follow her.”

“We’re going to be late to the event, Carter.”

“Fuck the event,” I bite. “Follow her. Don’t get too close but keep her within range in case something happens and she needs me.”

“If she needed you, why would she be leaving your place? What did you do?”

I only shake my head, feeling rotten with guilt and knowing I ruined more than I can fix right now. She even walks with a tired, wounded limp, and Ernesto sees it as well as I do; she’s sobbing as she races back home.

Her car is at my penthouse, she could have taken that, but I know if she is leaving for good, she won’t take that car with her. It would only remind her of me, the man who unfairly whipped her ass with his belt until she was left cowering weakly.

Right now, I’m no better than Jacob-fucking-Lacey.

“What about the fundraiser? You have to deposit that money tonight; Frances was pissed when you didn’t show up to the last event. He’s going to start shopping elsewhere if you don’t seal this deal once and for all,” Ernesto explains.

Too much cash donated brings attention to the influx of money being shared at an event. If I send it electronically, the government gets a little alert from my account tethered to a political alley. If I do a check, he can cash it himself elsewhere and burn the remainder of the bad check left over.

But I won’t leave my girl like this. Jacob will just have to wait. I just need to make sure my precious dove is safe.

“Drop me off here, then leave,” I breathe, pointing to the sidewalk. “I don’t want her to see us.”

“You got it, boss. Good luck.”

I hop out onto the sidewalk and hurry to keep Isabella’s fast pace. She weaves through the crowd like a salmon swimming upstream. Everyone seems more than eager to get out of my way. Even when walking through this bleeding heart of a city, the differences between her and I are clear.

She aims to stay out of the way, ducking and dodging as people attempt to mow her down. Meanwhile, I have no issue standing my ground, being the firm man that no one wants to bump into— not even accidentally.

I need to be by her side and protect her, but I know she needs space from me and my temper for now. It was a stupid mistake, a furious streak I allowed to go on for too long, but I never wanted to hurt her like I did. I just wanted her to know I was capable of protecting her.

Instead, she needs protection from me.

I keep my distance with my eyes on her no matter what, even while a large truck comes barreling down the street. It jumps the curb, blocking her path specifically, and my body wants to shatter into a million pieces.

Taking off running, I try to slam my way through the panicked crowd, watching Isabella turn to run toward me, our eyes locking as a Lacey rat picks her up around the hips and throws her into the open door of the backseat.

I run harder, uncaring of the pedestrians I push out of the way, hearing her scream as the door shuts. The truck takes off almost instantly. The man who snatched her is still halfway out of the front seat by the time the truck gets back on the road. I spy her wide, tear-welled eyes from the back window.

The sight of a fist crossing her temple is all I see of her before her worried glare is gone from me.

“Dammit!” I bark, my body pulsing hot and furious.

I look around for a taxi, for a damn car I could at least steal, my eyes deceiving me as I spot a familiar sports car coming into view. Tristan pulls up beside the curb and waves me inside. As much as I don’t want to see his wounded face, I also couldn’t be happier.

“Follow that fucking truck.”

“Already on it, boss.”

He zips through the city, easily catching up to the dark, tall truck that whips in and out of traffic without care of the damage. It bumps into taxis and clips the side of the sidewalk, knocking into a traffic light pole and denting the backend.

I feel helpless, with Tristan steering his car until we’re directly behind the truck. I peek into his backseat, seeing one of his pistols sticking out of his bag.

“Is that thing loaded?”

“Always,” he hums with a firm nod.

I yank the pistol free and lean sideways out of the window, aiming for the back tire, where I fire three deafening shots. The tire explodes, and the truck leans back, dragging a trail of sparks in its wake before it spins uncontrollably across all the lanes of traffic.

When it stops, I stomp a path over to the backseat and throw the door open. Isabella is slumped over already on the floorboard, her bruised face freshly marked in a gash with blood drooling down her chin.

Looking past her, I can see the other guys who tried this stupid attack have also gone cold. I should put a bullet in all their necks, but because of the dramatic way their truck came to a spinning, screeching halt, there’s too much of a crowd.

Isabella sinks back into my arms, her head bent over my arm while I rush her back toward Tristan’s car. I duck into the backseat with her splayed over my lap, and Tristan doesn’t need to be told what to do next. We escape the scene as fast as possible, disappearing over a bridge and leaving this city at last.

“Bronx?” Tristan asks once he’s caught his breath and the adrenaline of the situation has worn off.

I shake my head, cleaning her cut cheek with the suit jacket I’ve already stripped out of. “We need to get to the upstate property. It’s the only safe house we have right now.”

“I’ll get us there.”

No matter my devoted concern over Isabella, I’d be an idiot not to realize that without Tristan’s help, I wouldn’t have made it back to her precious, wounded side.

“Thank you, Tristan.”

“Anything for you, brother. Just wanted to make things right. When I saw you get out of Ernesto’s car, I knew something was wrong. I’m thankful I was there at that moment, or she would have been hurt even worse.”

I brush her hair back off her forehead and nod solemnly. “I think I’ve hurt her enough. I don’t need the Lacey family stepping in to help.”

As the hours drift by, we finally greet the woods and rolling hills of upstate New York. Tristan gets out, unhooks the gate, and then pulls us through it, locking it securely behind us before he drives up the long, bumpy driveway cutting through evergreen trees.

I hold my breath, praying Isabella doesn’t wake up from the rough drive. She whimpers a little in her unconsciousness, but the mark on her cheek is too overpowering to allow her to come to. She turns over slightly in my arms while I get out of the backseat, looking up at the old mansion that used to be my childhood home.

I never wanted to come back here before, but it’s necessary now. Tristan finds the hideaway key and lets himself into the large foyer while I hang back for a moment, looking over the old Victorian-style home with black shutters and tan shingles.

Every memory I have of Brooke is in this home. I can’t let Isabella know that, not after how Tristan treated her as a replica for my first love. Even knowing that is a sore spot for Isabella, I have to protect her, and this is the only house I know is safe enough for us to huddle down in.

It isn’t in my name, and I haven’t been here since I was a teenager, leaving abruptly to lead the new Blackthorne family businesses I built and to avenge the loss of Brooke.

I clear my throat, inhale slowly, and walk Isabella and me both into the home. I remember this place instantly, ascending the first set of stairs to the master bedroom upstairs. Everything is covered in plastic, but I manage to rip away the cover with one hand before laying her down on the soft, aged mattress and bedding.

This place hasn’t changed since my parents’ passing. On the afternoon after the funeral, everything was covered up, the electricity was cut, and the house died with the last remnants of my adoptive family.

“How is she holding up?” Tristan asks from the doorway.

I look over her crooked, tired body and shake my head. “She’s alive. When she wakes up, she might try to make a run for it.”

“Property is still lined with fences, Carter. I’m sure it will be okay. Why do you think she would run?”

I push her forward a little, lifting up her shirt and pulling down the hem of her shorts just enough to see the harsh, red welts that streak across her ass and her lower back. I hold my wrist over my lips, worried I’ll throw up from the sight of the marks I made on her.

There are small pores filled with blood against some of the more wounded areas of the tops of her legs where my rage really took over. I wanted to be in control of a situation that I had no control over at all, and I took that frustration out on my poor dove.

“You went too far,” Tristan whispers, standing beside me now with the same look of horror on his face. “You ruined the last adult relationship you had, like I said you would, Carter.”

I can only nod, knowing that he’s right.

I’ve ruined my connection to Brooke. I ruined the bond I built with Isabella.

I ruined her perfect, innocent body because I was selfish, careless, and manic in my ego. Every ounce of control I had left was gone for good because I couldn’t just admit to Isabella that I wanted to protect her but that I wasn’t sure if I was capable of it anymore.

I lost all control, all mercy, and ruined the best thing that has ever happened to me.