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

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Isabella

In my dreams, I’m in a field of grass with a bright sun overhead. There’s nothing but blue clouds overhead and only an empty stretch of land for miles on end. I’m barefoot, lying on my back and staring up at the sky, with Carter stretched out next to me. When I twist to face him, Carter disappears before my eyes, and I jump to my feet.

I see him standing at the edge of the field, but no matter how fast or how far I run, I can’t reach him.

His hand is still held out, but he won’t move closer… no matter how much I beg him to.

Our fingers are inches away when I’m jolted back and thrown to my knees, the bare fabric of the dress I’m wearing not protecting me from the fall. Pain radiates in my limbs and behind my eyelids, but none of it matters. Not when I’m this close.

I reach for Carter again, and he gives me a sad smile before disappearing. I pound on the ground, call out his name, and cry.

When my eyes fly open, I realize I’m drenched in sweat and shaking. Carter sits across from me, one leg tucked underneath him and the other planted firmly on the ground. He’s got both arms around my shoulders and a panicked expression on his face.

Little by little, my surroundings tilt and sharpen into focus.

I’m still in our bedroom, but Carter is dressed in a pair of dark trousers and a button-down shirt. There are droplets of water in his hair and on the sides of his face. He holds both of my hands in his, and some of the tension on his face melts when I lift tear-stained eyes up to his. Carter squeezes my hand and offers me a grim smile.

“I’m okay,” I whisper unconvincingly. I pause to clear my throat and try again. “It was just a bad dream.”

One I hope never comes to fruition.

Carter says nothing as he draws me to my feet and takes me into the bathroom. There, he helps me out of my nightgown, which clings to my body and is soaked in sweat. He balls it up and tosses it into the hamper. Then he switches on the water and watches me while we wait.

In silence, I shift from one foot to the other.

Once enough steam has filled the bathroom, Carter hoists me up and sets me down under the shower spray. Wordlessly, he adjusts the pressure and the temperature. His lips tip into a ghost of a smile as he leans forward and presses a quick to my lips. When he’s gone, I sag against the wall and try not to replay the dream in my head.

It’s just a dream, after all. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

When I come out, Carter has laid out some clothes for me, and I spot my suitcase from the corner of my eye. On top of the suitcase is a smaller bag with a few toiletries and the music box. I smile and change into my jeans and t-shirt, and I’m in the middle of lacing up my shoes when Carter comes in with a tray of food. He doesn’t say a single word as I eat the omelet, linger over the yogurt cup, and then finish all the orange juice.

“Tristan and Sam are waiting downstairs.”

I swallow and rise to my feet. “Already? I thought Tristan was going to meet us there.”

“Sam is here to say goodbye. She’s going to be staying with her family up north,” Carter replies without looking at me. “Tristan is here to take you to the safe house. It’s not safe for me to be the one to drive you there.”

My stomach drops, and I can’t find the words.

Until Carter leads me downstairs, and the sight of Sam makes me burst into tears. She pulls me in for a hug and strokes my back. When I finally stop, she pulls back and gives me a tight smile. “I got you a burner phone, and it’s got my number on it. Call me anytime, okay?”

My throat closes up, so I nod.

Carter wraps his arms around me from behind. I lean into his touch and press my lips together. I am blinking back tears when I give Sam another hug, and Tristan ushers her outside. Through the glass, I see Sam get into her car and Tristan linger in the window. The two of them embrace, and Sam drives off, turning into a speck on the horizon.

For a long moment, Tristan stands in the middle of the driveway, staring at the space Sam occupied. With a shake of his head, he gets into the car and places both hands on the wheel. I twist to face Carter, but I can’t keep my lower lip from trembling.

“You could still drop me off. There’s time, right?”

Carter’s expression is solemn. “When it’s safe, I’ll come and get you. I promise this will be over soon, dove. Stay close to Tristan. Don’t leave the mansion, and don’t try to contact me. Tristan will give you updates whenever he can.”

I cling to Carter and refuse to let go.

In the end, he has to carry me out of the house, and I spot the note I left by the door out of the corner of my eye. He sets me down in the passenger seat and pulls the seatbelt over, and it clicks into place. Even though Carter doesn’t say anything, his emotions are written all over his face.

But he has to be strong for both of us. Because if he breaks down, I won’t ever be able to leave him.

I bridge the distance between us to kiss him and pull back. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Carter echoes in a strange voice. He steps back, slams the door shut, and raps on the roof of the car. I press my fingers to the glass and keep my eyes fixed on him. With the early morning sun slanted behind him, he looks like the loneliest man in the world.

Especially as we drive away. He gets smaller and smaller, and I twist in my seat and stare at Carter until we round the corner.

Even then, I don’t turn around because I don’t want Tristan to see how hard this is for me. To his credit, he keeps both hands on the wheel and doesn’t say a thing. The entire ride, I curl in on myself and press my face against the glass. When the mansion materializes in the distance, my stomach clenches, and I feel like throwing up.

Already, I feel like this place is a prison, gilded and luxurious but meant to keep me trapped.

And away from all the things I love.

***

Carter

“We can’t go after their business, not directly at least. They’ll see us coming.” I trace the blueprints in front of me and glance up at the slew of familiar faces gathered around Anita’s dining room table. It feels strange not to have her here, the familiar sound of banging and the smell of her cooking lingering in her air.

And I hate that Isabella isn’t somewhere in the house, waiting for me.

But I also know it’s better for them to be far away.

I can’t trust the Philipses or the Natoris not to attack Anita’s house. Already, they’ve proven to be cunning and resourceful, completely disregarding any kind of courtesy between our families. Instead, they’ve doubled down on their efforts to expand their business and take the city by force.

I’m already impatient to show them exactly what I’m made of. What we—the Blackthornes—are made of.

Everyone around the dining room table is committed to seeing this through, and every last one of them has proven themselves loyal and true to the cause. When I look over at Paul and see him straighten his back, I return my attention to the blueprints.

“We’ve got intel about their safe houses and a few places where they conduct their operations,” I continue. “We’re going to split up into groups. We hit them fast, and we hit them hard, leaving no time for them to recover.”

“What about the Donahues? They’re already moving in on the docks.”

“Rich Donahue is a prick, and I’ve underestimated him. I won’t be making that mistake again. He’s going to be my problem, but we need to take care of the Philipses and the Natoris first.”

Because they are the more immediate problem.

Focusing my attention on Rich is personal and won’t get me where I need to be.

Eliminating the Philipses and the Natoris, however, remains my priority.

Once I’m done with them, I’m going to make sure Rich and his men bathe in their blood. Throughout the day, more and more Blackthorne men show up, many of them arriving from out of the country. Considering the number of people we’re meant to fight and the severity of the threat, I’ve called in all reinforcements.

Even the Blackthornes who’ve expressed their doubts are here.

Despite our issues, we are all united under a common banner, a common enemy.

And we won’t rest until our enemy’s legs are cut off and thrown to the wolves. In the afternoon, I send out the first group to target one of the Philipses’ warehouses. Since it’s one of the lesser-known ones, my men are able to break in easily and set the whole place on fire. In the distance, I watch as black smoke forms and rises to the sky. Then I take a few pictures and tuck my phone away.

Next, we target another one of their warehouses, a bigger one with more security out front.

I take most of the guards out without breaking a sweat, and as I step over the trail of dead bodies, I’m filled with a grim sense of satisfaction. Inside, it’s all too easy to lay claim to the merchandise: bags and bags of unattended drugs and guns. Once we’re done loading up the vans, I give the signal, and the whole place goes up in flames.

By nightfall, we’ve received more than our fair share of threats from the Philipses and the Natoris.

War is finally on our doorstep, and I welcome it with open arms.

I know how to navigate this terrain; it’s as familiar to me as the back of my hand, and it’s not the first time I’ve had to fight for my family.

But it is the first time I’ve had something precious on the line.

Each person I kill, each name I cross off the list, is one less threat, and I tell myself that I’m making the world a safer and better place for Isabella.

During my first night without her, I sleep on the couch at Anita’s, and my monster lies awake while I toss and turn, the smell of blood still lingering in my nostrils. I ache for Isabella’s touch, for the sound of her voice in my ear, and her even breathing reverberating inside my head.

She’s the only one who can calm my demons—the only one I’ll let close enough to try.

But I can’t have her anywhere near this, not when I know the bodies are just going to pile up. In the morning, when the early morning sun pours in through the open curtain, I’m already awake. I am pouring myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen when Paul bursts in, his hair in tufts on top of his head and a wild look in his eyes.

I eye him over the rim. “This better be important.”

“I looked into that thing you told me about.” Paul drifts closer and runs a hand through his hair. “It took me a while to be able to find out the truth because Rich isn’t his birth name. Our guy on the inside was more than willing to help after Rich had his girlfriend killed.”

I take a long sip of my freshly brewed coffee, and it’s suddenly cold and flavorless. “Having someone from within the Philips ranks is useful. Did he say anything else?”

Paul pulls a folder from behind his back and tosses it onto the counter. “They’re keeping a close eye on him, so he’s gone radio silent for now.”

I frown. “Fuck. We need to keep him happy. Find a way to get him what he needs, and what the fuck do you mean Rich isn’t his birth name?”

“It’s his middle name,” Paul explains, with a vague hand gesture to indicate the folder. “That’s why it took a while to find out. This folder has some of the plans Rich has in mind when he takes over.”

“And his sister?” I set the mug down on the counter, some of the liquid sloshing over. Pulling the folder closer, I flip it open, and the ringing in my ears grows louder. “Have you found anything about her?”

“There’s no sister,” Paul replies, with a shake of his head. “I pulled in a few favors, and I had them check. There’s no record of Nathan Rich Donahue having a sister.”

I clench my hands into fists. “Not even a half-sister?”

“Only Jacob,” Paul confirms, pausing to run a hand over his face. “There’s something else too. The guy’s mom isn’t sick. She never was. She works for some mobster in Vegas.”

“Fuck.” I swing my fist, and it connects with the nearest wall. A sharp pain shoots up my arm, but I ignore it and punch the wall again, needing to let my frustration out on something. “That lying motherfucking piece of shit. Is there anything he said that’s true?”

How in the hell did I not look into any of this? How had I let myself be blinded by my need for an ally?

I’m usually a lot better at digging into people’s pasts and dragging out skeletons they left buried in the most obscure of places.

Rich fucking Donahue shouldn’t have been an exception. I’m going to rip his head off with my bare hands when I get a hold of him.

“He and Jacob didn’t get along. That much is true. There was some kind of bitter rivalry, and their father encouraged it, thinking it would make the boys tougher.”

“Put out some feelers.” I stop punching the wall and spin around to face Paul, letting my bloody hand fall limply to my side. “Offer a reward for anyone who knows anything about the whereabouts of Rich Donahue. God only knows what that son of a bitch is planning.”

Or how long he’s been waiting in the wings to swoop in. Jacob’s death gave him the excuse he needed to step out of the shadows and into the limelight. And like an idiot, I’ve been paving the way and clearing all obstacles for him.

Goddamn Donahues.

I give Paul a pointed look, and he scurries out of the kitchen. Through the window, I watch him stagger and stumble down the driveway before getting into the car. Once he’s gone, I call Tristan and tap my feet impatiently. I’m debating whether or not to drive over to the safehouse myself when Tristan picks up, sounding disoriented and confused.

“It can’t be over already.”

“You need to keep a close eye out. Fucking Rich lied about everything. This means he’s going to gun for Isabella.”

Tristan’s exhale is sharp. “How much bullshit are we talking about?”

“I don’t have proof yet, but I’m guessing he was behind the kidnapping at the hospital and everything else. I’m going to fucking bury him myself.”

Already, I’m imagining how to do it. Because I want it to be slow and painful.

I want Rich to beg and plead for his life, and I want to watch as he comes undone in front of me, completely and utterly at my mercy.

“Shit.” Tristan’s voice is softer when he speaks. “She needs to know, Carter. She likes and trusts the guy. I can’t believe you still haven’t told her.”

“Isabella has been betrayed by enough people in her life. I’m not going to tell her one more person wants to use her.”

“Carter—”

“When this is over, I’ll decide when and if I tell her,” I snap, my breath coming out in short, shallow gasps. “Your job is to fucking keep her safe, not play shrink. You got that?”

A long moment passes.

“Got it.”

As soon as Tristan hangs up, I hurl the phone across the room and watch as it misses the wall and bounces onto the floor. I storm to where it sits, pick it up, and debate crushing it in my hand, but I know it won’t do me any good.

Not when I’ll be picturing Rich the whole time.

An hour later, I’m in the front seat of the SUV, with Ernesto sitting next to me and a tense Paul in the backseat. Although he spent the last hour trying to gather more information, all his contacts have nothing else to add, and I can’t spare him because of the war we’re waging.

Fucking Rich is going to have to wait till I’m ready for him.

With that in mind, the car screeches to a halt a few blocks away from another warehouse. The Philips men are already waiting for us, and both sides of the street are empty. Almost abandoned.

I duck behind the SUV, take out my gun, and fire blindly.

Smoke fills the air, and the sound of gunshots rings in my ear when I step out. I fire off a few more rounds, the blood pounding steadily against my ears. We take out a few more men, only pausing to drag the bodies back inside. Once we’re done, Paul and I snap a few pictures, and I keep them on file.

I can’t seek out Mayor Hughes yet, but the file I’m preparing for him should be enough. Any man with a lick of common sense would run in the opposite direction.

Despite his ambition and greed, the mayor doesn’t strike me as the self-sacrificing type. On the contrary, I fully expect him to flee in the opposite direction, leaving his new allies to fend for himself. Little by little, I’m going to cut off all his options until he’s left to stand on his own two feet.

Then and only then will I go after him myself.

On the fourth day, Paul has found an in with the press, and the article has been taken down. We barely have a chance to rejoice when we get the news that our businesses are being attacked. I run out the door, with Ernesto and Paul following close behind. Under the cover of night, another battle breaks out, leaving a slew of dead bodies on both sides.

I taste blood on my tongue, and my ears are ringing when the gunshots stop.

That night, I’m suddenly glad that I sent Isabella away.

War is a messy business, and I can tell it’s going to take a lot more than a few planned strikes and the threat of blackmail to stop my enemies.

While I was distracted, they’ve gotten bolder and bigger. But I’m not the kind of man who makes the same mistakes twice.