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

Chapter Sixty-Two

Carter

It’s seamless having Isabella in my arms. She fits so perfectly in my arms, lightly whimpering through her sleep while she hums in and out of every dream that overtakes her. She’s beautiful and calm and everything I could have asked for in a woman.

My only real criticism is her proximity to peril, but I know that’s my doing—not hers.

My bedroom door inches open, and I peer over my shoulder, seeing my cousin Matteo poke his head into the bedroom. I wave him over, making sure she’s covered by the comforter all the way up to her neck. She’s still naked, and I want to keep her that way, but for my eyes only. I must protect her, especially with another man in the room.

I push a decorative pillow into my lap and swing my legs over, exhausted from the nap we naturally fell into after having sex. She earned it, after all, and I didn’t mind getting the closeness and pleasure of getting to hold her after that terrifying evening.

Matteo falls into a chair nearby, rubbing his tired eyes like he needs a nap as well. “Are you going to the event tonight or not?”

I stare through him, waiting for more of an explanation of what the fuck he’s talking about.

“Frances’ event,” he adds, displaying some variety of shock. “The pre-election party is tonight, Carter. You skipped the last two, including the one where you were supposed to pay him. I am assuming you didn’t do that.”

I thought of running after Isabella when she fled from my apartment. Ernesto said I would miss the event, and after the Lacey rats had taken her, it led to a domino effect of reasons I couldn’t make the event. He hasn’t reached out, though, and frankly, Frances Johnson is a mouse on a wheel.

If I’m not turning the gears, he isn’t going anywhere, so I’m not cornered.

“Fuck,” I growl, wiping my weary, sleepy face. “I forgot about that. He’s going to be pissed that I missed that last one. I didn’t have Jacob Lacey to funnel the cash flow through, so I was going to take the risk of a check, but desperate times just keep getting more desperate.”

“You need to figure out something, or we’re going to be undercut by someone else.”

I lean back slightly, sensing a hint of a power struggle from my dear cousin. “If you know what you’re doing so damn well, I invite you to do better than me.”

He rests his elbows on his knees, his eyes dark and unwavering from mine. “Don’t tempt me. You’re in a weak spot, Carter. The last thing you need is an inside rebellion.”

I can’t help but laugh, reaching down for a pair of jeans tucked under the side of my bed. I pull them up my legs and then stand to settle them over my waist. I take a lasting look at Isabella, seeing her so calmly asleep.

“If you wake her up, I’ll cut your fucking tongue out,” I whisper.

My traitorous cousin stands. “What are you even talking ab—”

My fist connects with his cheekbone. He hits the floor, enough to rattle the walls. He palms the blood trickling out of a cut above his eyes, catching it from hitting my floor—which is a very smart move on his part. Ernesto barges into the room, and Matteo’s brother Lorenzo follows.

They’re practically twins with crusty, gelled hair pulled back in the deepest shades of black, their eyes in a similar realm of hue. Ernesto opens his mouth to speak while Lorenzo goes to help his brother, only to be shoved away in his own downfall of humiliation.

I press my index finger to my lips, eyeing each of these men very, very closely. “She is not to wake up before she’s ready,” I growl. “That goes for everyone in this room.”

“Then why the hell did you punch my brother?” Lorenzo snarls in his thick, mainland accent.

I tuck my thumbs into my belt loops and watch as the younger, reckless brother wobbles to a stand. “He thought it was wise to threaten me,” I breathe, remaining calm for Isabella’s sake. “He paid the price for his threat to overthrow my authority.”

“You’re not focusing on the problem at hand, Carter,” Matteo says through his grit teeth, a hint of rusted-red blood leaking from his gums. It fulfills my anger for now without bedding it down totally. “Frances is going to turn his back on this family and cut us out of a deal that could get you thrown in prison. If that happens, the entire organization falls. Over what? Some fucking nap with your prostitute?”

Ernesto grumbles, shaking his head while he brings a hand over his eyes. It takes one firm look for Lorenzo to know it’s time to choose sides here, and I’m pleased that he stands back, retreating to my driver in solidarity.

“Don’t do it, Carter,” Ernesto mumbles. “He doesn’t know any better.”

“He’s going to learn, then. I’ll be more than happy to teach him that lesson.”

I stalk closer to Matteo, flexing my knuckles in and out—testing their durability of regeneration after striking his cheek moments ago.

“Don’t hit me again,” Matteo huffs in a pleading tone. “I wasn’t trying to threaten you; I just—”

There’s a shifting of the sheets behind me, Isabella groaning and adjusting the blanket, pulling it down while I hold my breath. Everyone is watching her now, the blanket falling enough to see her bandages and gauze tape, with just a hint of her bare back toward us all.

She stops moving, but I know it won’t last if I let this idiot continue to ramble on.

My knuckles cut through the air just like a bullet would, penetrating his temple and knocking him out cold. His back slams into the wall, and his deadweight collapse shudders through the penthouse.

Isabella sits up swiftly, thankfully clinging to the blanket and pinning it to her chest. She gasps, seeing the others in the room while Matteo is knocked out of consciousness on the floor nearby.

“Dove,” I purr, hiding my swollen, bleeding knuckles behind my back. “I apologize on behalf of my cousin. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

She yawns, still half-asleep but not appearing upset over the abrupt waking up. She’s too forgiving of me at times, and I see her nodding like she heard what I said, but it never processed. Instead, she lays back down, pulling the blanket up and over her head.

“Get some rest, Bella. I’ll be back in bed with you soon.”

Turning back to Matteo, he’s fashioning a new shiny pink mark on the edge of his forehead, blinking back to the world around him, perhaps with a new concussed lens.

“What happened?” he grumbles.

I snap upright, watching him take in the room once again. “You were trying to overthrow my title as head of this organization, and then you disparaged Isabella in the process.”

He shakes his head like a dog fresh out of a bath. “I don’t… I don’t remember that.”

“Good.” I grin. “Now you know better than to do that in the future, I assume.”

Lorenzo covers his face with his hand, shaking in disproving shame. I won’t hold him accountable for his brother’s fuck-up, but he will learn, as well as the rest of them, that defying me isn’t smart. Neither is dragging my innocent dove into this either.

“We will attend the event tonight,” I say, mostly to Lorenzo and Ernesto. “Frances is probably going to throw a fit, so let’s keep things light on guards inside the venue hall. I want him to get the impression that everything is fine.”

My cousin, unmarked by my fist, staggers to reply before blurting out, “But everything is not okay. We haven’t heard a thing about Jacob Lacey, and the Phillips clan is hiding in the shadows as well. What are we supposed to do about that?”

“They won’t do it at the event. Jacob’s goals have shifted. At first, it was about wounding me personally. That’s why he shot at the press conference. But now that he wants to fill my shoes, he’s going to have to play nice with the politics in Manhattan. He won’t make a scene.”

“I’ll let everyone know,” Ernesto volunteers. “I finally got a hold of the Germans upstate. They’re happy to help and guard Luce and Paul.”

“Good, that’s one less issue to face. What about Tristan?”

“He’s with Anita, and she texted that he woke up. A little dazed, but he’s alive.”

I crack a surprised smile. “He’s resilient; I’ll give him that.” Peering down at Matteo, it’s obvious he isn’t built for anything more strenuous tonight. “Lorenzo, take your brother home. He’s done with the family affairs for a while. When he has the balls to apologize, he can return.”

“Got it, boss.” He moves into the room, collecting his brother and forcing him to stand, a heavy arm slung over his shoulders. “I’ll be at the venue tonight. It’s at the ballroom on Second Street, right?”

I nod in confirmation and watch the room clear out. The clock shows half an hour past five, and the event doesn’t start until eight, so I save that time to spend in bed with Isabella. When I pull back the blanket, she has her arms hiked over her chest, her eyes wide and awake.

“Ah, so you were eavesdropping.”

She collects her lips to one side of her face, chewing on a reply worthy of getting her out of such treason. “Not the whole time, just the part after you hit him.”

“Which time?” Her little eyes squint, and I hiss a breath. “You only heard it once, obviously. That’s good to know.”

“Why did you punch him? What did he say about me?”

I groan in defeat, sliding into the bed behind her. My jeans rub against her ass, and she trembles slightly from it before ignoring the sting of contact. “It isn’t worth repeating, dove. Let’s leave it at that. Can we just lay here for a minute? We have so much to deal with later concerning that damn event.”

She pretends to settle at that, but I can feel she’s not done yet.

“Is that true about Jacob Lacey? Is he trying to take over your position?”

I kick myself out of bed, unnecessarily exhausted from the stressors in my life that just don’t quit. I retreat for the closet to get dressed early for the gala, and her little steps follow shortly after. She leans on the bathroom door hinges, wrapped in a quilt that does little to cover her body up entirely.

“I want a rest from the Jacob Lacey drama right now, please,” I beg. “He’s not a threat. Hell, I’ve kept him around for so long purely for the joy and amusement it brings me, dove. Try to relax for now. He’s a little kid with dreams so big that they will just end up crushing him.”

She shakes her head and stares at the floor, watching her toes wiggle out from under the puddle of blanket that piles at her ankles. “I wish that soothed me, but it doesn’t, Carter.”

“I know that.” I surrender in a dense murmur. “But there is truly nothing to worry about. We’re fine.”

She turns, heading back to bed. “I hope you mean that. I can’t take any more pain.”

I sneak a look at her approaching the bed, dropping the blanket on the corner of the footboard before climbing in. She has too many bruises, too many old scars, and the wounds of her struggles are written like a map on her skin.

I’m ashamed to be part of that journey, but it’s all written into the fibers of her soul, so I know it will be impossible for her to ever be tempted to leave me. She cares for me deeply. Otherwise, she would have begged that Lacey prick to push her off the roof just to save her the stress of dealing with me.

I’ve never seen her closer to death in the months I’ve come to know and love her.

I only wish I shot him somewhere nonvital just so I could really make him suffer prior to his earned death. Even then, she would forgive the world for its wrongdoings against her. It’s Isabella Julis’ nature to forgive and forget.

I run on a different system.

If Jacob Lacey does show his ugly mug of a face tonight, there’s going to be one less kid in William Lacey’s will. And no matter who is watching or what mayor wins the election—there will be hell in Manhattan, and it will have my rose cufflinks and cruel grin.