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

Chapter Fifty-Six

Isabella

I struggle to sit up, my back damp with a warm, wet rag. I toss the towel to the floor, feeling the sting of cold air bite at my skin. Everything aches, everything is spinning, and I turn over, falling straight to the floor. My body is so stiff that I struggle to stand, trying to replay the day in my mind.

Last I recall, I spotted Carter on the sidewalk, a look of pure panic streaking over his handsome, remorseful features. He was coming after me when one of Jacob’s construction guys threw me into the truck. When I screamed for Carter, banging on the back window, he used the butt of his pistol to hit me.

I feel the scratch on my cheek, clean and bandaged up. My stomach aches, and I look around the room in a panic, struggling to come to my feet while my back seers in heat. I have to cross my arms over my bare breasts, feeling the cool air trickling down my spine.

At least I still have my panties on, which makes me feel a little safer, but being in Jacob’s possession isn’t good. If he hasn’t defiled me yet, he will soon. I look out the window, seeing the sheer drop to the ground below, knowing I would break a rib or a leg on impact.

I swallow hard, aiming for the door, hearing a grumble of voices down the stairs. I keep my arms up, trying my best to cover myself, and I feel so pathetic and vulnerable in doing so. The stairs creak slightly as I make my way downstairs.

Turning the corner, I practically scream, running right into Carter Blackthorne.

At first, I don’t know whether to be frightened or thankful, but before I can decide, he wraps me into his arms and pulls me into a tight, familiar embrace. I sink into his whiskey scent, feeling wonderfully weightless in his arms.

Closing my eyes to enjoy the moment, I see his rage in the back of my memory, feeling him whip me with his belt relentlessly. I go taut, and he notices, pulling back and stripping out of his light jacket. He drapes me through the sleeves, and I smother myself in his scent.

He takes the zipper in his hands, pulling the fabric together over my chest, all while I take a moment to assess his eyes. They’re still dark and cold, but he looks so tired and worn at the same time. I flick a look over my shoulder, seeing a bit of movement.

Tristan is perched on the couch, sipping on his glass of liquor while half his face is bruised and streaked in marks I know came from Carter’s worn fist. I step back cautiously, feeling both men watch me do so.

“Isabella,” Carter whispers, his voice so light and calm. “I need to talk to you about what happened.”

I shake my head, the throbbing on my backside so hot and painful—it’s too soon to discuss this. He must read that on my face, his lips curling as he steps back in rebuttal, giving me enough space to breathe under his towering, tall presence.

“Hey, Bella,” Tristan calls. “I’ll make you a drink. Come sit by the fire. The heater in this house is wired like hell, but the fireplace keeps it pretty warm.”

He motions to a recliner by the lit fireplace, and I take the offer to sit down, Carter handing me a blanket before they both waltz off to the kitchen. I don’t want to talk to either of these men, recalling the times they both hurt me severely.

I eye the front door, tempted to bolt out of there and never come back.

“Dove,” Carter hums, his gaze stuck on me from across the vast, ordinary living room. “Don’t do that, please. You need to heal and rest.”

“I need to heal because of you,” I breathe, practically speaking under my breath.

I know he would scold me on that comment normally, but for now, he points Tristan through the wine fridge, trying to find me a sweet red to sip. Both of their backs are turned, and I don’t have time to consider what else I should do.

Jumping from my chair, I sprint painfully across the living room and throw the door open. My back keeps me from moving faster, but I try my best, rushing through the large, moonlit yard and into the trees. I feel slightly free until large, strong arms are thrown around my midsection to pull me back.

I scream, pressed into Carter’s body, the abrasions on my back making me sob at the mere contact of him pressed behind me. I can’t help but give up, dropping limply into his grasp and panting with every breath when he even grazes my lower back.

“I know, Bella,” he whispers, his voice full of guttural sorrow. “I’m sorry. Come on, let’s go inside. I’m not going to hurt you, and neither is Tristan.”

“You already have,” I groan through my warm, plentiful tears. “Why should I believe you now?”

“Because if I didn’t care about your well-being, I would have let the Lacey family take you away. I can’t let that happen, though, even if you hate me. I need to protect you.”

I sink fully into his arms, watching as he carries me back into the tall, old home with dark accents and a dead, stick-filled yard. This house has obviously been neglected for some time, considering the dust on the floors when he gets us inside.

Tristan maneuvers the door shut when we go inside and hooks a lock over the door frame so high that I won’t be able to reach it. He gives me a pitiful, battered look of apology and follows Carter and me back into the living room.

I sit in my chair while Carter perches up on the fireplace, his hand resting casually on my knee. I stare at his hand in palpable fear, feeling the belt marks slap against my skin relentlessly.

“Can I talk to you, dove?” he hums, speaking low.

Tristan brings a drink from both of us, going back to nursing his crystal glass of dark liquor. I sip on my wine a little, unsure of what else to do while sitting here between these two daunting, powerful men who have hurt me so terribly while saying they just want to protect me.

I stare at the floor to break myself from wanting to cry even more.

“Isabella,” Carter purrs. “I’m sorry for my horrible, terrible mistake. I felt extremely helpless at that moment, and when I tried to regain control, I unleashed my frustrations on you instead. It was the worst I’ve ever been before, and I’ll never be that way again.”

“It hurts,” I whimper, teary eyed and trembling. “It hurt me, Carter. You said you would never… never hurt… hurt me and… but you—”

“I know I did,” Carter groans, leaning forward, so he can caress my cheek and push my hair back behind my ear. “I’m sorry, dove. I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head, not wanting to accept his apology. Carter Blackthorne is still an enigma, an amazing man who I admire, and deep down, I still want him. But if I wasn’t scared of him before, I am now. I wipe my jaw free of cold tears and stand from my chair.

He braces as though I’m going to run off again, but instead, I perch myself into his lap, hissing a breath when his thigh brushes my wounded ass. I curl into his chest and let him bring his arms around my shoulders, his tight hold on my frail body so comforting, no matter how he has hurt me.

“I don’t forgive you,” I mutter.

“That’s okay, dove. I don’t blame you for not forgiving me. I just want you to know I will never do that again. I took it too far, and it wasn’t even about you—it’s about our complicated situation,” he breathes into my scalp. “You’re beautiful and smart, and you deserve better, but I still want you, Bella.”

I can only shake my head at first, still feeling broken. “I don’t know what I want.”

“You don’t have to know yet,” he replies simply. “Tristan, anything to add?”

“Isabella—”

I flinch, holding Carter tighter. Tristan may have made a mark worth getting stitches, but he called me Brooke’s name. Not only did he hurt me physically, but he attacked my entire existence and debased my role in Carter’s life to some damn look-alike.

I bury my face into Carter’s chest, and Tristan leaves, his steps echoing up the stairwell nearby.

“I understand,” Carter hums. “He said some horrible things.”

“Do you think it’s true?”

“What? That spit about Jacob Lacey?”

I shake my head, feeling my heart squirm and fall into my stomach. “The thing he said about me being Brooke. Is that the only reason you like me? Am I her replacement?”

“Of course not,” he groans, though I can tell there’s a fault in his tone that says otherwise. “You’re Isabella Julis. I want to be with you because of you, not because of some offhand coincidence that you look like—”

“You’re lying,” I pant. “Your pulse, Carter. It’s racing.”

He grumbles, pulling me to sit back and lifting my ear off his chest. “Isabella, you and I have already talked about this. Brooke was nothing to me; we never even dated.”

“But if she was alive,” I whisper. “Would you have dated her instead of me?”

There’s a moment of hesitation, of pure and absolute uncertainty, and I feel it between us now that Carter has answered that question without uttering a word. I try to peel myself off his lap, but he gently yanks me back, my legs parting at his knees and his hands pulling me to face him on his lap.

Even in this emotionally harsh moment, I can feel the brim of his erection pressing against the inside hem of his pants. I want so badly to explore that feeling, but I know I can’t give in to him again.

He hurt me, took his anger out on my ass and my back, his belt like a gun, the striking marks like bullet holes littering my skin. Even so, I have to realize he did stop when I called mercy, and he did save me from Jacob Lacey when I was taken.

If he wanted me dead, then I would be.

“Carter, can I ask you to do something for me?”

He nods quickly, happy to avoid my last question. “Of course, dove. Anything at all.”

I blink slowly at his eyes, at his tired and worn exterior. He’s so broken and conflicted, the sight of him so raw and vulnerable that it’s like I’m looking at a whole new man. I still care for him, though, and I can’t picture being with any other man intimately.

Carter might not be sure of what he wants, but I know deep in my broken heart I still want him.

“Make love to me,” I request quietly, “like you would make love to her.”