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

Chapter Twenty-Three

Isabella

Wrapped in a fleece blanket, curled on a bench in a stuffy interrogation room, I take the coffee cup from the brute detective. I don’t want to drink it as I’m already wired with adrenaline over the last handful of hours and what happened, but it keeps my palms warm. I bring it to my chin and let the steam invade my cold, pallid face.

The detective sits down across from me in the small space, his knees crossed. He’s in a suit with his badge hanging around his neck and swinging like a pendulum as he moves. I can’t help but watch him settle in with his notepad; the cycle of this ongoing interview starting to drain my ability to be friendly.

“I don’t have anything else to say,” I mutter, my throat raw. “I’ve already told you everything. Twice.”

“I know, ma’am. We’re just following up on some routine questions.”

“For what reason, exactly?”

“To line up stories and look for any discrepancies, ma’am.”

“I’m not lying.”

He gives me a curious look, and I settle on sipping my coffee to fill the silent void for now. He glances up at the camera in the middle of the ceiling, the one I’ve been tracking for hours, as I feel them watching me, judging my every word. I can’t help but notice how intently he stares at it, too.

After a long moment, he jots something down on his clipboard, holds up a finger, and leaves the room. Before he goes, he tosses his files on the seat beside me and then shuts the door on his way out. I swallow, wondering what ploy he’s initiating now. Still, I’m surprised to see his notes face-up and turned toward me with specific intent.

I have orders from the mayor to seek Blackthorne’s guilt. I will see what I can do. Tell them you’re hurt, and I can get you out of here and to a hospital. The questioning will be over.

A knot forms in my throat as the detective returns with a cold soda in his hand. He takes the notes and clipboard back into his lap as he sits across the room, and I plot my escape.

Pressing a hand to my shoulder, I readjust my position on the bench. “When will this be over?”

“Just a few more questions, okay?”

I nod but instantly lean forward, trying to stretch my back. It is sore after the officers pinned me to the ground at home, but not enough for me to claim I need to go to the hospital. Then again, if I need to lie to get out of here and this hellish nightmare, then I’ll do it.

I need to know Carter is safe, and given that the cop is trying to help me out, I’m sure he has answers to give when we’re not being watched.

Holding my coffee in one hand, I let my free hand flex and unflex methodically, groaning under my breath between questions and answers. It’s all been asked before, and I won’t change my story at all. There’s no need. Everything I tell them is the truth.

There was an intruder. Carter handled it because we feared for our lives.

The rest I just didn’t get to see.

“I…” I say at last, my head tipping back while I try to adjust my stiff body. “I don’t feel so great right now. My back is in pain, and my arm…”

“You did sustain a pretty big cut there before, correct?”

I nod at the memory—not something I like to recall, though. I made a mess of my hands and arms when I destroyed Jacob Lacey’s wine cellar, but it was worth it. Now, the light pink marks seem to prove helpful as another thing to add to my list.

“I… I don’t feel good,” I whimper, wafting the air toward my face.

The officer tidies up his documents into a single stack before knocking on the door. He mutters a few things to the people on the other side of the doorway, and I struggle to listen, but I fail. He eventually comes back into the room, his hand on my arm while he lifts me from my spot on the bench. He lets me keep the cup of coffee, drops the blanket off my shoulders, and draws me out into the hallway.

My body is numb, my eyes searching through every individual window and pane of glass to look for Carter. The officer notices, waving goodbye to some of his coworkers while bringing me down the hallway that led us inside. His eyes flick to the left, into a narrow window beside a steel door, and my heart sinks.

I almost drop my coffee all over the floor and hit the glass, my hand on the cold, streaked plastic that gives me a clear view of Carter. He’s still handcuffed, fuming, and unkempt. His shirt is torn down the middle, his face sporting a short dribble of blood while a bruise shimmers on his jawline.

Whatever the police did to him isn’t nearly as bad as what he did to them.

I watched his fury at the house as they arrested us all, his eyes glued to me then like they still are at this moment. He’s fuming, his body rigid with every inhale.

“Dove,” he says, his words hard to decipher through the hard plastic window between us. “Dove, are you okay?”

I nod in haste, wishing I could break through and get to his side once more. “I’m fine, Carter. I’m okay. He’s taking me to the hospital. I’ll be okay.”

Carter is alone in the room, so it makes no difference when he stands up and kicks his chair out from behind him. It goes flying, denting the wall, and I hiccup at his anger even though I know he’s not mad at me. He wants to protect me.

He comes to the glass, his chest showing a few stray drops of blood from the rip that exposes his muscles. I want to tame him, to calm his raging nerves, but I know I can’t do that right now.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, blinking back tears. “I’ll be back, okay? I’ll be safe.”

He nods once before looking at the officer beside me. They share a short, secretive look that almost seems trustworthy in some ways. I lean once more on the window before being pulled away from it, Carter’s eyes following me down the hallway until we hit the cool air outside that’s ushering in the sunrise.

I have to blink a few times to adjust. The fluorescent lighting inside is nowhere as bright as the yellow and orange on the horizon. “Where are we—”

“This way,” the detective says, guiding me to a blacked-out SUV in the corner of the lot. He opens my door, and I collapse into the passenger seat, more exhausted now than I was last night before the incident occurred. “Are you hungry? I can stop and get some food. I need to take you to the hospital, though. Just to get checked out and support that I had to end the interview early.”

“So, I won’t have to come back here?”

“No, you’re safe now, Isabella.”

I nod but can’t help but replay those words over and over again in my head. When the weight of those words becomes too much, I have to ask him to clarify them.

“What did you mean by that?”

He perks up, pulling us onto the main road. “Mean by what? Something to eat?”

“No, I’m not hungry,” I lie. “I’m just curious why you’re saying I’m safe now. I was just in a police station. Am I not safe in there?”

His narrow glare comes with a hefty reply. “No, you’re not safe there. Killian Hughes has officially taken office now. Anything Carter does or the people he keeps around him does, everything is tracked.”

“Tracked how?”

“Well, for starters, you’re being watched. Studied. Researched. Everything imaginable that the mayor could get his hands on, he already has. And he doesn’t like Carter Blackthorne. So, you know what that makes you? A fucking easy target.”

I sink into the seat, my stomach cramping with that admission. I know it’s bad, and I don’t want to be put in the firing line anymore, but it just seems to be how it’s going. Anytime I’m tucked into Carter’s side, I’m a target that can be used to take him down.

It makes me weak.

“I don’t like this,” I say, my chest rising and falling rapidly.

I begin to hyperventilate, realizing I’ve just jumped into the car with a cop and didn’t even think about how the mayor—an ex-cop—hates Carter. This detective could be driving me to my death! Why wouldn’t he just call an ambulance? I shouldn’t have gotten in here with him. I need to get out.

“Pull over, please,” I beg, my hands reaching for the door handle.

“No, Isabella. What are you doing? You’re okay. I swear I’m not going to…” He slows down enough to stop at the red light in the intersection. It’s just enough of a stop for me to jump out of the car and bolt down the sidewalk.

I don’t care that he chases after me—I need to get away from him and every other cop in this city!

I turn a few corners, but I can still hear him stomping on the sidewalk after me, nearing my shoulder with his hand so close that I can almost feel him reach for me! I hiccup in shock, my stomach turning while I force myself faster down the city streets.

“Whoa!”

I slam directly into a solid wall, my body tumbling sideways off the sidewalk, where I land with a hard, overwhelming thud. I break into a fit of tears, my back sore as I try to sit up, only to see through blurry vision. A familiar face kneels before me, and I can’t help but throw myself into his arms in exhaustion and gratefulness.

“Thank you, thank you,” I pant between heavy, suffocating gasps for air.

Rich Donahue pulls me upright, his arms taking my weight out of courtesy, but I can tell he’s uncomfortable. “What’s going on, Isabella? Where’s Carter? And who is this guy?”

The detective looks at the hoard of men that surround me and Rich now. I’ve never been so happy to see members of the Lacey family before, but I’m certainly thrilled with it now. The detective gives up, holding his hands up while he backs away and retraces his steps along the sidewalk.

When he’s out of sight and behind the building nearby, Rich pushes my brunette hair back and runs a thumb under my nostrils, coming up with a hint of crimson. I realize now that whoever I ran into was hard enough for my face to slam into their shoulder, my nose bleeding and pained.

How ironic that I really might need to go to the hospital now…

“What is happening, Isabella? Are you okay? Where is Carter?”

I field his questions one by one, trying to catch him up about the intruder, the murder, the arrest, and the cop, who I can’t determine is a good guy or not. When I’m done, he shushes me to stop and slow down, but it’s not possible right now. I wipe my face clean of the blood that stains my shirt, and Rich gives me a pitiful look.

“You need help, Isabella. How can I help?”

I look at him, fighting back tears. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

He nods briefly and helps me stand up, his hands holding mine while I try to steady myself on shaky legs. I wipe my cheeks, needing the tears to disappear. They don’t. I’m too damn freaked out to catch my own breath, and I can hardly make sense of if we were even headed for the hospital.

I just know I can’t trust anyone.

Well, maybe I can trust one person who’s not a Blackthorne.

“Get my car back here,” Rich says, waving to one of his guys.

The man gives him an unsure look. “Boss, we have to get to this meeting, it’s very—”

“I need to make sure she’s safe first. Get me my damn car. We can stop by my place uptown and keep her there. Call Yuri and have him meet us at the penthouse instead, okay? We can just move the meeting there.”

Still, the man hesitates. “It’s not ideal.”

Rich looks annoyed, his hands balled into fists while he stares through his men. “I don’t give a damn. We have a duty to work with the Blackthornes now. They are our allies. I have to protect one of them the same as they would protect one of mine. Understood?”

His team nods.

One of them pulls out his phone, and another offers me an old-style handkerchief pulled from his breast pocket. I thank the man and dab at my cheeks and upper lip, trying to remove the blood and tears that stain my flustered appearance. I wipe my brow and watch as a car pulls up to the curb nearby.

I’m hesitant, but Rich gets in first, and I follow his lead for now. Sinking into the leather seat, I feel a million times safer, even if he is Jacob Lacey’s brother. At least he’s not trying to kill me or pin me to his desk. I have to be thankful for that much.

I bury my face in my hands with Rich and me alone in the backseat while the driver takes off down the road. I miss my car right now, still parked in hiding after the ordeal that resulted from the Lacey war. Carter doesn’t like me leaving alone, and I can’t imagine he would be okay with me just up and driving off into trouble.

“Are you okay, Isabella?”

“I still don’t know how to answer that. I just… I don’t know who to trust anymore.” I press my hands harder against my eyes, waiting until I see bright spots in the darkness behind my shut eyelids. “I feel so out of the loop right now. I don’t know who is on Carter’s side anymore.”

“It’s not about Carter right now. It’s who is on your side, Isabella.”

I shake my head. “It’s the same answer. We’re one and the same.”

“Are you sure about that, Isabella?”

“Of course, I am. Carter is the love of my life, and he loves me, too. If someone is against him, they’re against me. Same either way you look at it.”

I lean back, noticing his stiff posture.

“I don’t believe that for a moment,” he sighs.

“Don’t believe what exactly? I do love him and—”

“No, not that, Isabella. I mean that your enemies are his. You don’t have any enemies. You’re just a side effect of the plague that runs this city. Not to say that the Blackthorne family is a virus.”

“It’s not a virus,” I whisper, mostly to myself. “It’s a poison.”

He doesn’t reply, and I know why he doesn’t. He agrees.

I love Carter, but even I know the truth when it’s staring me in the face. The Blackthorne family and its twisted reality are nothing like a virus. Viruses spread—they infect and multiply. The family that once ran this city unchallenged isn’t something that spreads and defeats.

It works from the inner circle, and it weakens until one day, it’ll be nothing but a limp body.

I love Carter, but I hate the Blackthorne curse.