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

Chapter Thirty-Two

Carter

I land another punch to the guy’s stomach, and he wheezes. “This would go a lot faster and a lot easier if you just tell me what you know.”

The man, who is bleeding profusely now, lifts his head up and gives me a cold look. With a frown, I punch him again, choosing the spots that I know are going to hurt the most. The metallic smell of blood wafts up my nostrils, and his heavy, uneasy breathing echoes inside my head, but I don’t care.

All I care about is finding a direct link to the Natoris and the Philipses.

And I know this guy is the key because he is manning one of their soon-to-be stores.

I have half a mind to drag his ass back inside and put two bullets in his head just to make a point. But I know that the satisfaction from that will be short-lived, and it won’t solve my more immediate problem. Given how bold and audacious both families are becoming, I know the only way to resolve this is to deal with them personally.

The Natoris and the Philipses need to get the message from me directly.

Otherwise, they are never going to understand who they are dealing with.

Mayor Hughes has probably given them nothing but a bunch of pretty words and empty promises. As soon as I find them, I have every intention of making sure they know exactly what they’ve started. With a shake of my head, I pause, my knuckles throbbing, and give the guy another menacing look. Then I grab him by the scruff of his neck and hoist him off the ground.

He kicks his legs out, and his pitiful whimpers fill the dark, empty alley, but they have no effect on me.

Because when I look at him, I see everything I love, including Isabella, being threatened.

I wrap my fingers around his throat and squeeze. “I’m going to give you one more chance unless you want to die a slow and painful death.”

The guy makes a gurgling sound and says nothing.

I shrug and press harder. “Just remember that when your blood and brains are scattered everywhere.”

Abruptly, I release the guy, and he falls into a heap. He claws at his throat and gasps for breath when I take the gun out of the waistband of my pants and point it directly at him. His eyes widen, and he scrambles backward, fear plainly streaking across his face. Hastily, he throws both hands up in the air and backs up so his back is pressed against the wall.

“I’m not an unreasonable man,” I tell him calmly. “You’ve got twenty seconds to pray to whatever God you believe in.”

The man starts to cry, the tears falling freely down his face. I roll my shoulders and start counting backward. When I reach five, he throws himself at my feet and links his fingers together.

“I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“Talk faster.”

He straightens up and uses the back of his hand to wipe away the snot and blood. “They have a safe house not too far from here. I can send you the address.”

I keep one hand on the gun, and the other reaches into my pocket. When I hand him the phone, I press my weapon to the side of his head. “Type it into the map, and if you try anything funny, I’m going after your family next.”

His fingers tremble as he types in the address. After he hands it back to me, I send the address to Ernesto. Then I wait for the man to stop shaking before I pull him up to his feet. “At least try to die with some dignity.”

Before he can respond, I aim the gun at the center of his forehead and pull the trigger. His mouth forms a surprised “O”. Seconds later, he crumples into a heap on the ground, blood already pooling underneath him. I take a step back and let out a low whistle. Out of the shadows, a few members of my family emerge and begin to drag his body away.

That’s one less loose end for me to take care of.

Outside Ernesto’s SUV, I pause to wipe my bloodied knuckles. “Did you get the address?”

“It’s nearby,” Ernesto replies before holding the door open. “A few more Blackthornes are going to meet us there.”

I nod. “Good.”

In the car, I unscrew the cap from a bottle of water with my teeth and spit it out. Then I guzzle down the entire bottle, but my throat still feels dry.

I need something stronger, but I also want to stay focused for what’s about to come next.

I can’t afford to give them a single inch if I want my message to be clear.

I’m halfway through my second bottle when I fish my phone out of my pocket and call Tristan. He doesn’t answer until the last ring, sounding breathless and a little irritated. “How’s it going?”

“I’ve got an address. Going to check on it now. How are things on your end?”

“Fine.”

“Tell Isabella I’ll be home soon,” I reply before switching the phone to my other ear. “In the meantime, she and Sam can order whatever they want and indulge however they want, my treat.”

Tristan pauses, and his voice sounds strange. “Okay, sure. I’ll let them know.”

I see the building in the distance, and I hang up. Ernesto screeches to a halt, but I’m out of the car before he’s come to a complete stop. I adjust the jacket around me and shove both hands into my pockets. Out of the corner of my eye, I see more and more of my men appear, emerging from the shadows and out of similar SUVs. All of them fall into step behind me as we climb the stairs.

We take down the two uniformed security guards before they realize what’s happening.

Once we’re inside the building, I take down two more men and catch one before he hits the floor. As soon as I make sure none of them have sounded the alarm, I exchange a grim look with the rest of the Blackthorne men. Blood pools underneath our feet and stains the carpets and the hardwood floors. Overhead, the chandeliers glisten and sparkle, casting tiny particles of light on the walls.

We pile into the elevator, and I tap my foot impatiently.

On the second floor, we exit and head straight for the Philipses’ men. They barely have time to take out their guns before we’ve gunned down two more. One of them dives behind a table, and I do the same, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The Blackthorne men have taken out a few more when I roll out from behind the table and reach for my knife.

It sails through the air and pierces a man’s chest.

His hands fly to the wound, and he falls backward with a thud. Behind the closed door, I hear a crash and a loud cacophony of voices. Grimly, I pull my knife from the bleeding man’s chest and give him a dismissive look. Then I wipe the blood on the carpet beneath his feet and squint at the flickering lights overhead. Suddenly, the lights flicker off, and I hear one of my men curse.

I dive behind the nearest table and flatten my back, heart hammering uneasily inside my chest.

Moments later, the door to the apartment bangs open, and more of the Philipses’ and the Natoris’ men pour out, all of them armed and thirsty for blood. I hear a clash of bodies and grunts. Then, a few more gunshots go off, and I struggle to make out anything in the darkness. Unfortunately, I can barely see more than two feet in front of me when I roll myself into a ball, away from the noise of the fighting.

When I jump to my feet, I realize, by the dim light of the moon, that I’m in the apartment.

A bullet goes sailing past my ear and nicks it.

I touch two fingers to my skin, and they come up wet and sticky. I fire a few shots into the dark and hear the familiar thumps. Half-blinded, I creep forward with my back pressed against the wall. I hear the heavy breathing seconds before I’m knocked to the ground. Spots dance in my field of vision as I jump back onto my feet and growl.

I can hear his despair, his desperation.

I close my fingers around my knife, and my hand darts out. I feel it sliding into his skin, and I grunt. Before the body hits the ground, the lights flicker back on. Little by little, my vision returns, and I recognize the men around me as my own. Still, there is a group of armed men forming a half-circle around the head of the Philips family.

His white skin glistens with sweat, and he looks a little green around the edges.

My hand itches with the urge to put a bullet between his eyes. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

“Because it’s only going to make things worse,” Floyd Philips responds before straightening his back. “You’re a smart man, Carter. I know you’re going to make the right decision.”

I point my gun at him and raise an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware we were on a first-name basis, Floyd. How does your wife, Janine, feel about that?”

Floyd’s eyes tighten around the edges. “The same way I imagine Isabella feels.”

“Keep her fucking name out of your mouth,” I snap, taking a step closer. I don’t care that I have several guns pointed directly at me. All of them would be a little too happy to turn me into their pin cushion, but I’m not going to give them the satisfaction.

Even though I’ve never dealt with Floyd personally, I know he’s not stupid.

Killing me is as good as announcing an all-out war on the Blackthornes.

They are, however, trying to take over our territory, not make an enemy of us.

“It seems we’re at an impasse,” Floyd continues, in the same annoying tone of voice. He gestures to his men, and a few of them step back, allowing him to move forward and giving me my first real glimpse of the man. He’s a lot shorter than I expected, and his hair is almost completely gone. Still, there’s no mistaking the tightness around his mouth or the powerful build underneath his custom-made suit.

Floyd Philips doesn’t look like much.

But I’ll be damned if I underestimate a man of his power and influence.

“You could let us walk out of here,” Floyd suggests, leaving a wide berth of space between us. “You’ve made your point, Carter. Haven’t you killed enough men for that?”

“This doesn’t end until you crawl back into whatever fucking cave you crawled out of,” I tell him with a frown. “If you know anything about the Blackthornes, it’s that we don’t kindly to threats or invaders.”

Or being made fools of. And Floyd is treading on very thin and dangerous ice.

Not that I care.

I’d sooner put a bullet through his head than let him walk out of here, but I know I have to be smart—for my family and the sake of the Blackthorne empire.

And for Isabella above all else.

The shrill ringing of a phone interrupts whatever Floyd is about to say next. He takes his cell out of the pocket of his trousers and presses it to his ear. “This better be good.”

A long moment passes, and Floyd’s entire expression changes. “Visting her father at the hospital? So, you’ve got eyes on Isabella Julus right now, do you?”

Ice settles in my veins.

Goddamn it, Isabella. What have you done now?

Floyd ends the call and shoves his phone back into his pocket. He stands up straighter and gives me a pointed look. “You’re going to let us go now; otherwise, you can kiss your little whore goodbye.”

I clench my free hand into a fist. “Don’t you fucking touch her.”

“You’re not in a position to call the shots around here.”

“Or I can just shoot you right now. Then go after your men,” I suggest, barely keeping myself from lunging at him and ripping him apart with my bare hands. “I like my plan better.”

A flicker of fear moves over Floyd’s face. “You could, but something tells me you won’t. For the sake of your precious Isabella.”

I cross over to him in a few strides, and before his men have any chance of reacting, I have my knife pressed to his throat. “One wrong move, and I’ll end him.”

All of them exchange panicked looks.

“You don’t threaten me,” I say into Floyd’s ear. “Or my family. You got that, you piece of shit?”

Floyd swallows and says nothing. “My men have instructions to go after the girl if they don’t hear back from me in ten minutes.”

I spin Floyd around so he’s looking at me directly. “I want you to look at me and see the murder in my eyes. If you ever come near my empire or anyone I love again, I’ll make you beg for mercy.”

Floyd’s face pales, but he says nothing.

Slowly, I release Floyd, and he scurries away from me. When I hear him mutter something unflattering about Isabella underneath his breath, I tap his shoulder. He spins around, his eyebrows knitted together, and his head snaps back from the impact of my punch. My knuckles are sore, and blood drips down his nose and onto the hardwood floors beneath our feet, but I don’t care.

I take a few steps back and give the other men a pointed look. “This isn’t over.”

Reluctantly, we back out of the room, keeping our eyes on them the entire time. We walk backward, guns still aimed at them, until we reach the elevator. In the elevator, I try dialing Tristan, but I can’t get through to him. Cursing, I barely keep from throwing my phone against the wall. Instead, I nearly punch a hole in the elevator wall because I can only see red.

I can’t tell if I’m madder at Floyd Philips or Isabella.

I’m dimly aware of getting back into Ernesto’s SUV and the car speeding through traffic. It screeches and swerves, but I don’t look up from my screen. I send Tristan one angry message after the other, but he’s still not answering. Eventually, I hurl my phone at the window closest to me, and it bounces back and lands unharmed on the leather seat next to me.

After pouring myself a generous amount of whiskey, I press my face into the cool glass.

During the ride to the hospital, I picture all the ways I’m going to punish Isabella.

And it immediately sends red-hot desire racing through me. I grip my glass a little tighter than necessary and watch the world outside, a blur of shapes and colors that rush past the SUV. When the hospital looms in the distance, the large metal building bathed in the pale glow of the moon, my stomach clenches.

It lurches and dips when Ernesto screeches to a halt, and I hurry out of the car.

I push my way through the double doors and past the main desk, filled with men and women in uniform and a slew of phones that won’t stop ringing. In the elevator, I have to dig my nails into my palms to keep from doing something stupid. When the doors ping open on the floor where Isabella’s dad is being kept, I race out.

I shove my way past doctors and nurses in scrubs who give me angry looks on the way past.

None of it stops me until I reach the room. There, I find Isabella on the bed, with the cover drawn up to her chin and an IV drip in her vein. As soon as I register what I’m seeing, some of the anger leaves my body, and I duck my head outside, my eyes darting up and down the hallway. I gesture to a nurse in pink scrubs, and she hurries over, her ponytail swishing back and forth.

“What the fuck happened to my girlfriend? Why is she in a hospital bed, and why wasn’t I informed?”

“Mr. Blackthorne, I have no idea why they didn’t call you,” she stutters as she takes a few steps back. “Ms. Julis came in, and she was really agitated and looking for her father. When she couldn’t find him, the doctor was paged.”

I take a menacing step toward the nurse, who shrinks back and presses against the wall. “Where the fuck is Alan Julis? Why was he moved without our knowledge?”

It’s no wonder Isabella has lost consciousness.

He’s the only family she has left, and not knowing where he is must’ve taken a toll on her. I soften toward Isabella as I drift closer to her side, and she stirs awake. When she sees me, her eyes widen and sharpen into focus. Then she bursts into tears and presses her forehead against my chest.

“What happened, dove? Give me a name, and I’ll make them pay.”

Isabella only cries harder. “You can’t fix this, Carter. I know you want to, but you can’t. No one can.”

I draw back and frame her face in my hands. “You won’t know unless you tell me. I take care of you, don’t I? Tell me what happened, and I’ll make it better.”

Isabella’s expression is crestfallen when she licks her dry lips. “I thought they moved him, then I thought maybe the Natoris or the Philipses got to him, but he… my father is…”

I grip her shoulders tighter. “Tell me.”

“He’s dead,” Isabella says, her voice barely above a whisper. “He died this morning, and they couldn’t get a hold of me because of my stupid cell service. He died alone, surrounded by strangers, and I wasn’t there for him because of my goddamn phone.”

I hold her tighter and run my fingers down the length of her back. “It’s not your fault, dove. It’s not like you knew this was going to happen.”

Isabella shudders and pulls back to look at me. “I should’ve known. He’s my father. After everything he’s done for me… I just left him all alone in this hospital.”

My chest gives an odd little twinge as I place my hand on either side of her shoulders. “You can’t blame yourself—”

“Yes, I can fucking can.” Isabella shoves my hands away and rips the IV out of her arm. Little droplets of blood spray the bed, and some of it lands on her nose. But she doesn’t seem to care. Even with a hospital gown thrown over her clothes and her hair a wild mess on top of her head, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Like some kind of fierce avenging angel, ready to swoop down and teach the mortals a lesson.

I’ve never loved her more than in that moment. Nor have I ever been more worried about her.

Over the past few months, I’ve seen all kinds of sides to her, everything from hungry and frustrated to frightened and determined and wildly horny, but I’ve never seen Isabella like this. It’s almost as if she’s on the verge of combusting, intent on destroying everything in her path, and there’s nothing I can do to help her.

Not a damn fucking thing.

I wish I could take away her pain.

But cancer isn’t an enemy I can hunt down or bring to justice. No matter how much I want to.

“Do you have any idea how any of this feels?” She runs her fingers through her hair and lets out a low, wounded sound. “I dropped out of school to take care of him. He was my whole world, and without him, I… Now, he’s gone, and I wasn’t here. I should’ve been here.”

“Dove—”

“I should’ve been here,” Isabella repeats a little more forcefully. She runs a hand down her face, the top right corner of her eyes twitching. “I have no excuse for not being here, and his last memory of me is going to be me looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

I step out from behind the bed and approach Isabella slowly and carefully as if she’s some kind of wounded animal. I have no idea how she will react to my proximity, or if she even wants it, but since I can’t give her what she really craves, I know this is the next best thing.

Abruptly, she reaches for the nearest item, an empty vase, and hurls it at the wall. Isabella winces when it shatters on impact, sending shards of glass everywhere. She doesn’t even seem to mind that some of it has nicked her, and now she’s bleeding in several areas. With a frown, I cover the rest of the distance between us and place my arms around her.

She struggles and beats against my chest. “Let me go! I don’t deserve to be comforted.”

“I don’t care if you think you don’t because the truth is you do. After everything you’ve been through and everything you did to take care of your father. Do you have any idea how fucking lucky he was?”

Isabella shudders and goes limp against me. “No, he wasn’t. I could’ve done better. Instead, I put him in danger, and I couldn’t even be there to check on him.”

I grip her shoulders tighter and pull back to look at her. “Listen to me, Isabella. None of this is your fault. Lacey was a piece of shit, and he’s the one who used your father against you. Everyone else just took a page out of his book, and that’s shitty, but that’s hardly your fault. You were trying to make the best out of a bad situation.”

Isabella searches my face, and her lower lip trembles. “He died alone, Carter.”

“He wasn’t alone,” I maintain in a softer voice. “He knew you loved him. He felt it every time you were here, and I’m sure that he never once thought that you were doing a bad job.”

Isabella sniffs, and hot tears slide down her cheeks, each one sending a twinge of pain straight through my core. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now, Carter. He was the onlyfamily I had left, and I… I don’t know what I’m meant to be doing.”

“You’re meant to grieve, dove,” I tell her as gently as possible. “You’re not supposed to have all the answers right now. You’ve barely even had a chance to process any of this.”

Isabella’s eyes widen. “I haven’t told the hospital what I want to do… and the funeral arrangements. Am I even allowed to have a funeral?”

“What do you mean are you allowed? Of course, you’re fucking allowed. We’re going to give a funeral fit for a fucking king, and anyone who doesn’t like that can go screw themselves.”

Isabella uses the back of her hand to brush the tears away. “You said we’re supposed to be hunkering down, not drawing attention to ourselves.”

I pull her into my arms and bury my face in her hair. “There’s certain protocol that needs to be followed, dove. When there’s a death in warring families, a temporary cease-fire is called. It doesn’t last long, but it’ll be enough for your father.”

She swallows. “But he… he wasn’t family—”

“He was your family,” I interrupt, with a little more force than necessary. “Which means he was my family, too. That’s all that matters.”

Isabella stirs and pulls back to look at me. “I’m sorry.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What for?”

“For yelling at you and shoving you away earlier. I didn’t mean to, I—”

I press a finger to her lips. “I’m not going to punish you for that, dove. You just lost your father. You’re allowed a little leeway.”

A flicker of surprise moves across Isabella’s face. “Really?”

“Don’t get too used to it. If the circumstances were different, I’d have you on my knee and that tight and sweet little ass of yours at my mercy.”

She hiccups and swallows. “Thank you.”

“Sit down. I’m going to go get us some food, and when I get back, you and I are going to have a serious talk about your habit of sneaking out.”

Without waiting for a response, I spin on my heels and leave the room. In the cafeteria, I run into a few of my cousins, and they all nod in my general direction. After grabbing two sandwiches, a plastic container of salad, and a couple of sodas, I stuff them into a plastic bag. On my way back upstairs, I pass a floral shop, the sickly sweet smell of flowers making my stomach churn.

Exhaling, I step into the shop and make a vague hand gesture. “My girlfriend’s father just died. I don’t know what’s appropriate for a case like this.”

The red-haired woman behind the counter glances up and does a double take. She draws her bottom lip between her teeth and chews on it. A thoughtful expression crosses her face as she pushes her stool back and stands up. In silence, she prepares a bouquet of somber, darker-colored flowers and hands it to me. After paying, I step outside and catch the confused looks on my cousins’ faces.

I don’t blame them.

I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing either or how to help Isabella mourn her father properly.

Hell, I’m not even sure how much longer we can stay in the hospital without becoming prime targets for the Philipses and Natoris. But I know that I don’t want to rush her through this.

Not after everything she’s been through.

When I make it back to Isabella’s room, she’s washed her face and is perched on the edge of the bed. She is startled when she sees the flowers and keeps glancing from my face to the bouquet.

“Who are they for?”

“For you,” I reply, thrusting them out in front of me. “You did tell me that you like flowers.”

“I didn’t think you were listening.” Isabella buries her face and inhales, looking far more vulnerable and youthful than I’ve ever seen her. “You’ve never brought me flowers before.”

“You deserve whatever the fuck your heart desires, dove,” I tell her before taking a few steps back. I set the food down on the table and shove one hand into my pocket. Using my free hand, I make a vague hand gesture. “Look, I’m not good at the hearts and flowers thing. Even before the family business, it’s just not the kind of person I am, but I want you to know you’re not alone.”

Isabella blinks and gives me a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t bring your father back, dove,” I continue in a whisper-soft voice. “And it’s not because I don’t want to. Believe me, if there was anything I could do, it would be done.”

And I wouldn’t hesitate either.

Isabella is worth everything I own and everything I’ll ever own.

Isabella lowers the flowers and gives me a teary smile. “Thank you.”

She slips her hand through mine and leads me out of the room. I drape an arm around her waist and use my other hand to hold the bag of food. In the elevator, she tucks herself into my side, and I press a kiss to the side of her head. Through the glass doors, I see Ernesto pacing, the SUV parked dangerously close to the curb, and lines of worry written all over his face.

His expression turns relieved when he sees us. “I was about to call in the cavalry.”

“Take us to Anita’s,” I say without looking at him. In the car, Isabella snuggles up to me and promptly falls asleep. Ernesto holds my gaze in the rearview mirror and gives the flowers a pointed look. I shift so Isabella’s head is in my lap, and she stretches her legs out on the rest of the seat.

“Her father passed away this morning,” I whisper, pausing to brush her hair out of her face. “It’s a good thing we got here when we did. If the Philipses or the Natoris had gotten a hold of her in this condition…”

“Poor thing.” Ernest lets out a deep and heavy sigh. “May his soul rest in peace.”

The rest of the car ride is spent in silence.

When we pull up outside Anita’s house, Tristan is already waiting for me outside. He jumps to his feet when I come out, cradling Isabella against my chest. I give him a meaningful look on my way past, and he hangs his head in shame. Voices follow me up the stairs to my room, but I ignore them all. Once I set Isabella down on the mattress, I rummage through a dresser drawer and pull out the box.

Isabella stirs awake after I’ve slid the ring onto her finger. She gasps and scrambles to sit up. “What is this?”

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I didn’t plan on asking you like this, dove, but I figured this is as good a moment as any.”

Isabella’s mouth moves, but no words come. Finally, she clears her throat and lifts her gaze up to mine. “Is this what I think it is?”

“You’re not alone, dove.” I take her hands in mine and look into her eyes. “I’m here, and I want to be your family.”

And I never want her to feel alone again.

Not so long as I was alive.

Isabella’s eyes fill with tears. “Carter, I… I love you. Of course, I want to marry you, but you know you don’t have to ask me because of what I said earlier.”

I shake my head. “That’s not why I’m asking you. I want you to be my wife, Isabella Julis.”

Isabella throws her arms around me and presses her forehead to mine. “In that case, I can’t wait to be married to you, Carter Blackthorne.”