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

Chapter Twenty-Five

Isabella

Rich’s penthouse is quiet, brightly lit, and has a wonderful view of the harbor. He’s offered me one of the extra rooms to freshen up in. The bed sits near the window, and the shower runs hot water like rain in a thunderstorm. I know I’m bruised from the collision on the sidewalk, and Carter won’t be pleased with that, but otherwise, I’m unharmed.

I’m just utterly and entirely exhausted.

I curl into the bed, tracing the lines of the sun that reflect and bounce off the windows of the buildings in the city. It’s like a prism of sorts, and I can’t watch it enough. The knock on the door does steal my focus, though, and I turn over to see Rich holding a bowl of fruit and something to drink.

“Here, I figured you’d need this,” he sighs.

I down the water almost instantly, tasting the fizzy, seltzer-like texture of the liquid. It’s a bit bitter, but it’s cold, so I ignore the taste long enough to pick at the fruit he’s offered.

“Thank you,” I reply.

“You’re welcome, Isabella. Do you feel better after your shower and everything?”

“Yeah, I do. Thank you for offering me this room until Carter gets here. I appreciate it a lot, Rich.”

“Oh, don’t mention it. I actually just spoke to Carter.”

My back straightens with his claim. “Really? Is he okay? Did they release him, or is she getting booked?”

He shakes his head, sitting on the edge of the bed where I can almost make out the green of his eyes. He looks just like Jacob Lacey but softer around the edges. Maybe a bit heavier, but definitely with more muscle. Jacob was scrawnier, and while Rich Donahue isn’t exactly a muscleman, he’s lean and built well enough to protect himself.

After seeing his men on the sidewalk earlier, I doubt he needs to protect himself that often.

“I wanted to talk to you about something, Isabella.”

My eyes nearly cross, sweat building on the back of my neck. “What is it?”

And why didn’t he answer anything about Carter?

“It’s about Lilian. You know about her, right?”

“The journalist,” I sigh, shaking my head in disgust. “It’s a sore subject in our house still. He doesn’t tell me much, but I have a hunch. Why? What do you know about her?”

“I know she’s got dirt on Carter.”

“Well, that’s not important. He’s not running against Killian, Rich. He lost the election. Who cares what she digs up on, Carter? She doesn’t seem to want to hurt his reputation. She was just at the hospital trying to get a story on his contributions to the city. The only disparaging thing she’s written is probably that article about you and me.”

He bows his head slightly. “Yeah, that’s right, Isabella. She’s not going after Carter, exactly. She’s going after you.”

I hold back a snicker, the task in itself a little tiring, while my eyelids feel like bricks. I fight to keep them open, though, knowing my exhaustion is due to the events last night.

“She’s trying to hurt me. Over what, then?”

“She wants Carter.”

I should be jealous, but I tamp any sign of jealousy down. “Yeah, who doesn’t? He’s rich and handsome. I know he’s had his past and all, but it’s nothing he can’t get over. He wants me, and he has made that explicitly clear.”

He shakes his head, handing me a small tablet with the screen dimmed. I wonder how I didn’t notice this in his pocket before, the screen a little bigger than a phone but still capable of being stowed away in a pocket. Still, the screen brightens to display a photo of sorts.

It’s grainy and taken from a distance, but I can make out three very explicit silhouettes in the picture.

Carter. His hands are in his pockets as he stands in our room at the lifestyle club.

A woman. She’s wearing my lingerie, but I know my body, and that one in the photo isn’t mine.

A stripper pole. The one I’ve danced on for Carter in the sanctity of our room.

My breath hitches, and I push the tablet away, fighting back an uncontrollable shudder down my spine. “That could be an old photo, Rich. He… he’s had a sordid past, okay? I don’t need a reminder.”

“It’s time-stamped, Isabella,” he whispers, pushing the photo back into my lap.

My breath is hitched now as I weep, reading the photo almost as clear as day. It’s not like this was taken a week ago or two.

It was yesterday.

“Wait… what? I don’t understand this. He was… he was with me last night and… When he got home, he was… I don’t… Rich, I don’t understand.”

He gives me a pitying look that I know reads like I’m some poor, hapless woman being cheated on. But I’m not. Carter wouldn’t cheat on me! I don’t understand why he would even watch a woman dance on the pole I’ve been on before, but my thoughts are running too fast for me to make sense of them.

The timestamp is correct because he came home right after this, and he fucked me until I couldn’t take it anymore. Is this why? Did he just go see a stripper and get horny to take it out on me? Or is Rich trying to say that he was turned on by some woman and had a piece of us both?

I lurch forward slightly, feeling sick.

Suddenly, though, my mind clicks on something. The woman looks like me. It couldn’t be, could it? I grab the tablet from Rich’s hand and stare closely at the picture.

“It’s… oh God, it’s her, isn’t it? It’s that journalist?”

Rich pushes my shoulders down into the soft, white bedding. “Relax, Isabella. I’m going to handle this.”

I shake my head, not sure what the hell he’s talking about. But I can’t argue. I can’t even if I want to because my wet, leaking eyelids begin to shut softly. I hiss an inhale, choke on the exhale, and cry myself into the deepest sleep imaginable.

Part of me wants to stay here forever just so I don’t have to go back home with the man who’s been lying to me. The man who has been hurting me.

And why? For what purpose? He could let me go and find another lookalike in an hour.

He’s done it before.

***

Carter

I pound on the door so hard I think I may send my fist through it.

It flies open at last, and Rich Donahue stands before me with a scolding frown and furrow on his Jacob-like face. I barge in, uncaring, and Tristan follows. I have Ernesto taking Lorenzo home to Anita’s for now just so he can update everyone on our new policy.

We have to behave ourselves, or the dirty cops that once shielded us from shit are going to arrest us. I have the mayor to thank for that, but I’ll deal with him later.

Right now, I need two things. Isabella is the first, and the second is an explanation from Donahue.

He ushers me to a table, but I keep walking, even at the behest of his guys, who try and stop me. There are a few bedroom doors open, a long den area near the end of the hall, and a door that’s shut and locked when I try to jiggle the handle.

“Carter, we should talk first,” Rich barks.

“What’s behind this door?”

“It’s a bedroom, alright? Just come talk to me first, and we can—”

I ignore him, sending my boot through the door and watching the thing splinter as it flies open. My eyes find the bed against the large window that overlooks Manhattan, and the outline of a body in the sheets makes my heart pound into my ears.

“Dove.”

Walking to her slowly, I watch her little inhales and exhales through her nap. She’s tired; that’s proved by how she looked a few hours ago when she pressed herself to the window to say goodbye to me. I wanted to headbutt the glass and get her attention, but I couldn’t get to her fast enough.

She was gone, and now she’s here, sleeping soundly in clothes that I know aren’t hers. It’s a T-shirt—a man’s shirt, specifically—and I don’t pull down the covers to see what she has on underneath. I don’t need to know that yet because if it’s nothing, I’ll have a lot of Donahues to murder.

And I’d be slow with my work, too.

I brush my hand over her hair, taking in her pouting, frowning lips. She looks so peaceful, but the light yellow bruise that forms under her right nostril gives me the opposite emotion. I know it wasn’t there before, and the idea that someone laid their hands on her in such a disrespectful manner makes my mind wander further on how I’ll dismember the Donahues one by one.

I’ll make their last moments hell and remind them once more before they find the merciless release of death that they should have never touched a hair on her head.

Before I can sate my temper, Rich comes up beside the bed, his filthy eyes on my precious dove.

“Relax, Carter. She ran into one of my guys as she was running from the detective. She got a few painkillers for the bruising.”

I try to relax with that explanation. “How long has she been sleeping?”

“About an hour. Ever since you called, really.”

It’s impossible to miss the red, puffy swells of her eyes. Tears have dried on her flawless skin, while some are still trying to trickle off the bridge of her nose. “What happened?”

“She was crying, Carter. She got ahold of my phone and saw a news article. It’s not looking good, either. She started freaking out and panicking, then fell asleep in the middle of her sobs.”

I grab his arm and push him from the room. When we’re in the hall, and I have the broken door somewhat shut between us, I ask, “What fucking article is it now?”

My fear is it’s the article.

Lilian wants to expose every single sexual encounter I’ve ever had in this city, and I can’t let that taint the way Isabella would see me. She would be devastated to know the circumstances of my healing over Brooke but also to see how, at first, she wasn’t special.

She was another conquest. But that changed when I spoke to her, got to be around her, and especially fucked her. She was everything to me from that moment on, and I haven’t glanced at another woman the same way ever since.

Rich pulls out his phone, a large screen with a dim overcast that shows an article and a photo attached. I scroll past the words to find the pathetic image at the bottom of the rambling article. It’s a horrible shot, taken from the ground in a dark room, but I recognize it right away.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… She saw this?”

“Yeah, I tried to get it away, but it was too late. She saw the picture.”

I hand his phone back, liable to crack the damn thing in half. I swipe my hands over my face, Tristan coming to my aid, but it’s not going to help. She will never forgive me after this shit has spread. I can just hope she knows I didn’t touch that witch.

I don’t want Lilian. I want Bella, but this pesky journalist doesn’t care about anything except ruining my life. I won’t stand for it. Maybe it’s time I upped the ante against taking her down, but I can’t focus on that right now.

“What do you want me to do, boss?”

“Nothing, Tristan. We will handle Lilian later. I just need to get things in my head cleared. I have to get Isabella home.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about,” Rich interjects.

“You aren’t taking my girl.”

“I didn’t say I’d take her. I just want to protect her.”

I fight against every instinct to beat this man until he’s limp, but I can’t worry about kicking his teeth in right now. I need to prioritize Isabella and this Killian matter. It seems Rich has ideas for both, and I may as well listen to them. She’s asleep right now, too tired and worn to be moved. I’ll get her home later. Right now, it is time for business.

And for plotting how to get away with killing a journalist and not looking like a suspect to the mayor.

We all move down the hall to the main room, a white room with tile floors and tall, vaulted ceilings. The table is near the window, and I face it head-on while I sit down, not sure if I can contain myself much longer if I have to sit and stare at Jacob Lacey’s lookalike.

“Carter, I wanted to talk about Killian because I had a meeting today with his second-in-command, Yuri.”

“Yuri Natori,” I mutter. “I know the bastard. He works with the Russians downtown. They’re a little group, nothing like ours, and they’re not very friendly. He likes to branch out, though. Can’t say I’m surprised he is looking in unlikely places for help.”

“He wanted me to join them and bring the Donahue name over to his jurisdiction of power. They’re coming for you, especially. The Phillips family, too. You know them?”

I can’t help but laugh at Rich’s question. “Yeah, I know the Phillips family. Why?”

“They have a few stragglers from the motherland. They sent a few men over to restart production and ship out guns. They aren’t anywhere near where they used to be, but they’re recruiting outsiders. They want to come after you. Made them perfect for Killian’s work.”

“So, what’s new? I gain another enemy every day.”

“I can see why,” Rich sighs. “But these little groups are going to be a big problem, eventually. I want to help keep the main names intact.”

I look away from the city, surprised he thinks the Donahue name has any weight in this town. “Really now? And who is going to help do that? You have no power in New York.”

“I agree, Carter. But if we cut through the weeds and worked together to do that, we could come out victorious against the mayor.”

“He’s going to pin everything and anything on my back.”

“Yes, he will try. But he’s not coming after me and my family.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I’m working with him as of today.”

My fists ball on the table, and he holds his hands up in surrender like there’s a gun pointed at him under the tabletop. He’s wise to do so, too. I may be empty-handed with my gun strapped behind me, but Tristan always wears his pistol in the front.

If he tries anything funny, I trust my righthand man enough to take care of it, even though we aren’t on the best terms either.

“So, you want to double-cross the mayor, is that right?”

He nods vehemently. “I think we can, Carter.”

“And do what?”

“Same shit he’s trying to pin on us. We need to catch him in the act. That journalist of yours is doing a good job undercutting Isabella and your relations with her. I don’t see why we can’t do the same to the mayor’s political face. He would look like a bad leader if we managed to get some dirt on him.”

I relax, finally seeing where this is going. “Okay, so you’re going to work on the inside and gather dirt. I’ll throw it in his face, and we can discredit him when he tries to come after me.”

“Precisely.”

But still, one thing haunts me. “So, what does any of this have to do with Isabella?”

He inhales slowly, his voice quiet as he replies, “It has everything to do with her. She’s the key to this operation, Carter. The only thing I ask of you is to trust me.”

“You’re not taking her.”

“No, but we should get her somewhere safe. Somewhere better to watch her.”

My brows furrow. “Safe from what? A rogue journalist trying to ruin my life?”

“She’s going to publish something much worse one day, Carter. Something you can’t come back from, and I don’t just mean with Isabella. I mean with everyone. You need to heed this warning. That woman is dirty as they come, and this vendetta against you isn’t reserved for just her. She’s working with Killian. She’s not a good example of the press, but she gets the word around.”

I bury my face in my hands for a minute, knowing that Isabella is going to hate me when she wakes up. “Yeah, yeah. She’s going to be dealt with somehow. I have my family already on it. I just need some time. Some place where we can rest and recoup from this. Somewhere that Killian can’t fuck with us for a few nights.”

He nods. “I have a safehouse upstate if you’re interested.”

Swallowing hard, I shake my head. “No. I have just the place. We can continue discussions there. Tristan, call Ernesto.”

“Back to the old Blackthorne estate, boss?”

I can only nod.

Isabella and I mended our problems there once before. Maybe we can do that again.

If there’s anything left to mend, of course.