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

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Carter

Isabella is a gentle creature, like a doe in the woods, frolicking around for the adventure of it, not knowing the hunter that follows her is so enticed he doesn’t know if he should trap her for himself or cut her loose forever. She wouldn’t take that very well.

She forgave me so easily, too easily, in fact, that I feel guilty for her not wanting to punish me more. She could have slapped me, taken a belt in her little fist, and beaten me with it, but instead, she turned in the bathtub and laid on my chest until she fell asleep.

She walks through the woods this morning, picking the tall lavender-looking flowers. She bundles them together, bored out of her precious mind, but this is the calm before the storm. Everything is going to collapse soon, and I just want her to be ready for it.

I want her to know how I feel before our quiet, calm week is over. She plucks another flower, adding it to the bushel as she treks further into the woods. I keep her within arm’s reach, even if she makes it a point to scurry off for another flower every few paces.

She’s more innocent and precious than Brooke ever was. I would never admit it, but she and Brooke have such starkly different personalities. Brooke was rough around the edges and sarcastic at times, never asking for help and never showing her pain.

Meanwhile, I could sit down by the fire and read Isabella like a well-written book. She’s so emotional and terrible at hiding it, which is why I love the fact that she forgave me after my outburst. Without her kindness, I would have died in guilt—and I still might, knowing she would never hold me to the fire and make me pay for what I did to her back and her beautiful, perfect ass.

“Dove, when can we go back to the house?” I ponder, the wind slapping at her long, tangled hair. “It’s getting cold out. We should go back inside.”

She grabs another flower, staggering through the woods while I know her back is killing her. She is trying to distract herself with this innocent task, but it shows in her dimpled frown and her rigid movements that she’s uncomfortable.

I want her to undress, rest, and punish me more for my actions.

“Alright, we can go back,” she sighs at last.

She comes to my side and rests her chin against my arm, her lips pouting. The scratch on her face is healed a little, thanks to the ointment I wiped over it this morning. She acts like it doesn’t exist except when I kiss her, and she winces.

I shake my head in concern. “You’re in pain again.”

“No, I’m not,” she mumbles. “I’m fine, Carter. I promise.”

I try not to roll my eyes, leading her back to the house while her hand finds its way into my palm. I think about having her again in front of the fireplace, seeing her in control for once and not so timid and submissive. She’s beautiful when she’s confident.

She’s also beautiful when she’s broken, but I never want that to happen again.

“Wait,” she hums, stopping us just outside the tree line beside the home. “Do you hear a car?”

I pull focus from her, tuning into the sound of a truck coming up the driveway. I grab for my pistol and motion for her to get down. She kneels behind a fallen tree, her eyes wide and worried, while I peer out the corner of the woods, seeing if I can recognize the truck.

Tristan is in the house, and both of us are firm on the fact that we can’t leave this place unless it’s an emergency, so I know it’s not him. I ready myself for another battle, the start of many to come, but instead, I spot a familiar, tacky pickup and holster my weapon.

Donovan Phillips steps out onto the gravel driveway, and I whistle, catching his attention. He stalks out toward me while I help Isabella to a stand, her body trembling under her own weight. She caves into my side and hides as Donovan comes forward, her hands dropping the flowers she so meticulously picked all morning.

I lean down and pick them up, holding them in my fist, so her hard work hasn’t gone to waste. Donovan sees the bouquet but doesn’t mention it, thankfully. If he were to come here just to make fun of her work, I would have to punch him across the face like I did his brother.

“What’s going on, Donovan?”

“I talked to Tristan a little bit, and he suggested I come out here to talk to you, Carter. I need to discuss a few things with you right away.” He looks briefly at Isabella, something stern coming over his impressionable glare. “She might want to be there for it too.”

I hold her tighter to my side and lead us back to the house. My sweet dove takes the flowers and arranges each of them in a vase on the kitchen island, stepping back once or twice to assess and tweak her work. She has been cleaning the dust out of this house since she woke up, and she has tried to make this place a home.

I don’t have the heart to tell her I’ll probably end up burning this damn place to the ground once we leave.

Tristan comes downstairs, and we all sit at the dining table, Isabella in her own, dainty world where she fiddles with the flowers in the vase. Donovan seems to wait for her to join, but I force his attention back to my cousin and me.

“She doesn’t need any more stress right now. Let her stay over there while we talk,” I demand.

Donovan shakes his head. “It really affects her, Blackthorne. More than you know.”

“Tell me then,” I growl. “Not her. She is still reeling after they got her in the truck last time. If they drove off and Tristan never came by with his car, I would have lost her, and she knows that. I don’t need to bring her back into that world right now.”

He buries his face into his hands. “It’s too late for that. My brother has crossed over to Jacob’s side of things again. He thinks you’re too much of a loose cannon, so he wants to back Frances in the election, but he wants to cut you out as the main source of income.”

I furrow my brow. “Your brother has some pull with the strip clubs in Jersey, but he doesn’t have my funds. Not even close. So how is he planning to cut me out of my own operation?”

Donovan hesitates, obviously not comfortable being the messenger of this bad news. “He has pull with the networks and the press. He’s going to put his money directly behind those things to boost Frances’ image, and the way he is going to do that is by having Frances be the hero mayor of Manhattan, taking down the biggest criminal in the city.”

Tristan looks at me cautiously. “You don’t mean… me?” I gasp with a chuckle. “Not possible. I have warrants that have gotten lost in the file cabinets through the years. He can have pull with the press, but I have pull with politics, and politically, I am untouchable by the law right now. If Frances loses the election, that might change, but I’m trying to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

“Jacob is going to overrun your entire operation,” Donovan sighs.

“How does he plan on doing that?”

I don’t know why, but for some reason, all three of us peer over to Isabella Julis in the kitchen, putting away clean dishes and working to wipe down the counters. She stands on the tips of her toes, reaching for a bottle of wine on the top shelf, and her shirt brushes all the way up to her midsection.

The red, bruising lashes on her back are visible to everyone again. We all look away at the same time.

“Looks like Jacob already got to her once,” Donovan mumbles.

I shoot him a stoic look of silence, and he backs down, tipping his head in surrender.

“He won’t get to her,” Tristan says with a firm nod. “She’s protected here, with us.”

“But not for long,” Donovan insists. “Jacob Lacey wants her alive. He wants to have her just because you took her away from him. At least, that is how he perceives it. I would be more worried about him coming after her just because it would hurt you, Carter.”

I nod, sure of that claim. “I won’t let him take her from me. I’d rather die.”

Donovan shakes his head. “Don’t say that. I don’t want to be put into this position right now, Carter.”

My brow furrows, and he comes to a stand, his pistol already out, tucked into his side, and pointed in my direction. It makes sense now why he wanted to come out here himself, so he could tell us this bullshit we already know.

He keeps the gun out of Isabella’s sight for now and calls back to her in the kitchen, “Come here, Isabella. This talk needs to include you as well.”

I give her a warning of a look, but she’s too far in her own world to notice it outright. She comes up to the table beside Donovan, and he loops a thick arm around her neck, pinning her pained back against his side. She gasps out in fear, and I stand, kicking my chair back in the process.

“Let her go,” I breathe, trying to keep calm, so she knows she is okay.

Tristan has his pistol out under the table, but his aim might falter if he fires at Donovan’s leg. I have to get her away from his side just enough for Tristan to have a semi-clear shot at taking him down for good. I don’t need her to see more death, but I refuse to lose my dove.

“She has to come with me, Carter. Jacob isn’t going to kill her. My brother made sure of that. We don’t want to hurt anyone innocent, but with your choice to burn the bridge with my family, we have to take some kind of collateral. Jacob wants the girl, and we want the power of Manhattan. I’m sorry.”

I hold my hands up in false surrender. “Wait a moment. We can work out a better deal here; I know we can.” I look at Isabella, her fear so fresh and lapsing over her in suffocating waves of agony. “It’s going to be okay, dove. I promised I would protect you, and I will.”

“I don’t want to go to Jacob,” she pants, looking at Donovan in anguish. “Please, don’t do this. It’s not right. I didn’t do anything wrong, and he… he will rape me, Donovan!”

He shakes his head, almost devoid of compassion for her plea. “It’s not my problem anymore. You picked your side, knowing there would be enemies, Isabella. It’s nothing personal.”

I give Tristan a nodding glance and reach out, grabbing her arm while Donovan tries to rip her back over into his possession. Tristan fires his shot, striking Donovan in the leg, his gun going off, and the bullet grazing my shoulder. I hiss but maintain my focus, taking Donovan’s pistol into my possession.

“I really wanted to make a good deal with you. Unfortunately, you’re the one who chose the wrong side,” I hum simply, tucking her face into my chest while I fire a shot into his head. He falls back lifelessly, his body soaked into a puddle of blood at our feet. “Hey, relax, dove.”

I drop the gun, holding her tighter while she unleashes another severe episode of sobbing. Looking at Donovan, a double-crossing dead man, I can see this is the beginning of the end. The war has already come to my doorstep, and it’s coming for the one woman I need to protect at all costs.

That’s what happens when you love someone.