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

Chapter Forty-Two

Isabella

“You need to stay off the internet,” Tristan warns. “There’s a lot of shit out there right now.”

I untuck my legs, pull my phone away, and look over at him. “Is there something I need to worry about?”

“Carter is fine, but he has to lay low for a few days.”

Fear settles in the center of my stomach and claws through me. “What happened?”

Tristan grimaces. “The less you know, the better. He’s fine, Isabella. He just won’t be reaching out until the next phase of his plan is in motion.”

I swallow. “Please tell me it’s going to be the last phase.”

Tristan exhales. “It should be.”

I cross over to Tristan and link my fingers together. “I need you to tell me what’s going on, please. I can’t live like this.”

Floating from one room to the next, trapped in this too-large house, with my innermost fears and insecurities chipping away at me. I’m going to go crazy if I don’t find out what’s happening.

I need to know more than the fact that Carter is safe. I want to hear it from his own lips, but I know I’m out of luck.

Tristan has spent the past few days muttering into the phone and staying awake. On the few occasions I’ve seen him asleep, he is on the couch or at the kitchen counter, his head at an awkward angle, and several guns near him. I know that being here with me is hard for him, but I also know that he’s not going to let Carter down.

Not again.

Tristan and I have a strange sort of understanding between us now. And we are bound together by our desire to survive the silence and being kept on the outside.

“It shouldn’t be much longer, Isabella,” Tristan tells me without meeting my gaze. “Why don’t you give Sam a call? I know she’d love to hear from you.”

I give Tristan one last pleading look, but he is unmoved.

Huffing, I go down to the basement and flick the lights on. Unable to think of anything else to do with my time, I spent hours last night cleaning every surface till it sparkled and gleamed. Without the dust and dirt, I’m able to appreciate the space better, and I can almost see why Carter included it in the design.

In the morning, the entire place is flooded in sunlight, and it’s got a generous view of the backyard, with its lush green lawn and large sycamore trees. With a sigh, I take my burner out of my pocket and dial Sam’s number. It rings for so long that I think she isn’t going to answer.

On the last ring, she picks up, though she sounds breathless. “Hey.”

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to answer.”

“No, sorry. I’ve been spending a lot of time with my family. I haven’t seen them in years, so I thought it would be a good chance for me to catch up.”

I sit down on the last step and fix my gaze on a random spot on the wall. “I thought you had a good relationship with them.”

“Most of them,” Sam replies, and then I hear a door clicking shut behind her. “Some shit went down between us when my dad left us, and my mom died. For a while there, it seemed like a lot of them thought that I did it.”

I frown. “Why would they think you killed your mom?”

“They thought my mom had money,” Sam replies in a strange voice. “It took them a long time to figure out that I didn’t steal it, and that I didn’t kill her. Too long, if I’m being honest.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Sam.”

“I’m better off,” Sam responds in a quieter voice. “But I have kept my distance because I didn’t want to get hurt again.”

I twirl a lock of hair between my fingers. “I get that. It’s their loss.”

“Damn right. So, have you thought of baby names yet?”

I drape an arm over my stomach, and in spite of my situation, I smile. “Yeah, I was thinking of—”

Suddenly, I’m interrupted by the sound of muffled voices and a loud popping sound. Then I hear a heavy thud and a frantic voice calling out to me. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I jump to my feet. I reach for the gun tucked into my pocket, and my hand grows sweaty as I hold it.

Shit. Have we been compromised?

“I think someone broke in,” I whisper, barely able to hear anything over the pounding of my ears. “Do you have a way to reach Carter?”

“I can reach Anita. She’ll figure out how to get a message to Carter. Isabella, don’t do anything stupid.”

“I have to help Tristan. Get a message to Carter and stay safe.” Without waiting for a response, I hang up and shove my phone into my other pocket. I’m trembling when I come out of the basement and see the spatters of blood on the floor.

The blood roars in my ears as I follow the trail and find Tristan on his stomach, his breathing shallow and uneven. Leaving the gun in my pocket, I drop to my knees beside him and press two fingers to his neck. “I’m going to call for help.”

Tristan says something, but it’s garbled and indistinguishable.

I lower my head and struggle to make out what he’s saying. “You should conserve your strength.”

“I’ve already called for help.” I’m on my feet and wheeling around before I know what’s happening. Rich steps out of the shadows, his hair sticking up on top of his head and a few bruises already forming on his face. He holds his hands up on either side of him and gives me a grim look.

“It’s okay, Isabella. Carter sent me. He suspected that security had been breached, and since I was nearby, I knew I could get to you first.”

Bile rises in the back of my throat. “What happened?”

Rich gestures to Tristan’s outside man, lying in a crumpled heap on the kitchen floor, his blood forming a puddle around him. “He betrayed you for money.”

I blow out a ragged breath. “We need to call Carter.” I grab Tristan’s phone from his pocket and rush to dial Carter’s number.

Rich bridges the distance between us and takes the phone out of my hand before I even press the first number. “You’re not going to be able to reach him. He has to go underground. That’s why he sent me. We need to get out of here, Isabella. How fast can you pack your things?”

“I’m just going to need a few minutes.” I move toward the stairs and pause to glance at Rich over my shoulders. “How will Carter know where we are?”

“I’ll leave him a note,” Rich replies, pausing to take a few steps back. He kneels down beside Tristan and says something into his ear.

“We need to move quickly. The sooner we leave, the sooner Tristan can get the help he needs,” he says, gesturing for me to hurry.

I hesitate on the landing. “We shouldn’t leave him behind.”

Rich stands up. “I’m sorry, Isabella, but we can’t take him. He’s been seriously injured. It’s a good thing I came along when I did; otherwise, you’d be hurt, too.”

I am panting when I reach the top of the stairs.

All I can think about is Tristan bleeding out downstairs. I can’t stop myself from shaking as I pack up the few items I have with me into the suitcase. Once I’m done, I cast a quick glance around the room, and my eyes linger on the music box. Hastily, I stuff it into the bag before darting into the en-suite bathroom and splashing some cold water on my face. Quietly, I pull my phone out of my pocket. It takes me a few tries to be able to send a message to Sam. I wait till I’m sure it’s gone through before returning to the bedroom.

I walk toward the bed and am zipping up my bag when Rich appears in the doorway.

It’s then that I notice the cut over his right eye. His clothes are rumpled, and he’s got a strange gleam in his eyes, but I’m still thankful to see him.

And I’m relieved Carter was able to reach out to him before going dark.

Rich grabs my bag and picks up my phone, which I left lying on the bed. Stupid. I should have put it back in my pocket.

Holding my sweater out, he smirks and tucks my phone away. “Let’s go. We’ve already stayed too long.”

“Are you sure it’s safe for us to go on the run?” I follow Rich down the stairs and spot Tristan lying on the couch, his face almost completely devoid of color, clutching his wound. In the doorway, I dart back to Tristan and give his hand a firm squeeze. “You’re going to be okay. We’ll see each other soon.”

Tristan’s eyes widen, and he looks distressed. He struggles to speak, but I don’t understand what he’s saying.

But before I can ask him to repeat his words, Rich ushers me outside and toward his car, hidden behind a row of bushes. He pauses in front of the car, tosses my bag into the back, and gestures to me to get in.

I pause and glance up at Rich’s face.

“What did you say happened again?”

Rich gives me an annoyed look. “I was nearby, checking on something for Carter, when he called me because he got a tip. As soon as I found out, I rushed over. The guy who’s been helping you with food and supplies wouldn’t let me pass, and that’s when I realized he was working with the enemy.”

Ice settles in my veins. “So, you killed him?”

Rich glances down both sides of the empty street and back at me. “We really don’t have time for this. We should already be driving away. Let’s discuss this later.”

“I want to know why you killed him.”

Rich runs a hand over his face. “Are you being serious right now? Just get in the damn car before you get us both killed.”

My earlier unease returns tenfold, and I realize why. I have a sinking feeling that Rich is lying to me, but I can’t prove it.

And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.

“What I’m trying to understand is why Carter would call you and not Tristan. It doesn’t make sense.” Why would Carter trust Rich over his own cousin?

Carter and Tristan have had their differences, but when push comes to shove, I know those two have each other’s backs. And after the weeks we’ve spent together, I know that Tristan and I have come to an understanding of sorts. None of this makes sense.

Rich steps forward and holds his hands out in an obviously calming gesture. “You’re exhausted, and you’re paranoid. Let’s get in the car and talk about it at the safehouse.”

I shake my head. “I want to talk to Carter. Right now.”

Rich frowns. “Isabella,” he growls, his impatience clearly on the rise.

I pull my gun from the pocket of my sweater and point it at Rich with trembling hands. “Was I not being clear?”

Rich glances between the gun and my face. “Put the gun down, Isabella. We both know you’re not going to shoot me.”

I remove the safety and ignore the sweat forming on the back of my neck and sliding down the side of my face. “You have no idea what I would do to protect the people I love.”

Rich raises an eyebrow. “You’re bluffing. You know how I know? Because you’re not like him, Isabella, and that’s why the two of you are never going to have a future together. You know that as well as I do.”

“Stop talking.”

“You know that if you stay with him, you’re going to have to become like him, and you don’t want that.”

“Call Carter. Now.”

Because I am definitely not getting into a car with Rich. I have a sinking feeling that Rich is the “bad press” Carter has been dealing with for weeks, and I hate not knowing for sure.

Rich reaches into the pocket of his jacket, adopting a placating expression. “Why don’t you just calm down, okay? There’s no reason you and I can’t reach an agreement.”

Before the words completely leave his lips, he launches himself at me. Startled, I drop the gun and fall backward with a thud. Pain blossoms behind my eyelids as I struggle to push Rich off. He has a crazed look in his eyes as he tries to yank me to my feet.

I struggle and squirm. “Get off of me, you asshole.”

“I just need to get you away from him, and you’ll be able to see the truth.” Rich hoists me up and pins my arms behind my back. I writhe and scream, biting him when he covers my mouth. Panicked, I throw my head back, forcing him to loosen his grip. He grunts as I scramble away from him and fumble for the gun.

Before I know what’s happening, Rich launches himself at me again.

We both struggle for control of the gun. He turns it around and points it at me. My eyes widen as I work to push it away. Then, a shot rings out, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

When I don’t feel any pain, my eyes fly open, and I glance down at myself. Then, I look at Rich.

Rich’s eyes are wide open as he glances down at the stain on his shirt. With a wheeze, he falls backward, blood quickly pooling around him. I drop the gun and scramble away, unable to control my shaking. Without stopping to check if he’s still breathing, I pat Rich’s pockets for the car keys and fish them out.

In a daze, I get into the car and start the ignition.

When I’m far enough away, I realize I’m crying and shaking.

I pull over to the side of the road, stumble out of the car, and empty the contents of my stomach. Over and over, I relieve the scene in my head while my stomach continues to recoil. When I have nothing else to retch, I lean against the car and squeeze my eyes shut.

My heart is racing, and a headache is quickly forming in the back of my skull.

Horror and fear rise within me as my eyes fly open, and I see the blood on my shirt and hands. Using all my energy, I stagger to my feet and open the trunk of the car. After changing out of my stained shirt, I scrub my fingers raw.

It isn’t until I’m back behind the wheel of the car that I realize what I’ve done. Carter’s life has finally caught up to me. I’ve become the thing I fear the most. I’m just like the rest of them.

A murderer.

And I have no one to blame but myself for not getting out sooner. I drape an arm over my stomach and use the other to grip the steering wheel.

What the hell am I going to do now?

***

Carter

Before the car comes to a complete halt, I push the door open and run up to the front gate. I’m growling and cursing while I wait for the security system to complete the biometric scan. As soon as it’s done, I’m racing up the front steps, Isabella’s note burning a hole in my back pocket.

I still can’t believe I almost missed the note she left me at home before she went to the manor with Tristan. I’m angry that she didn’t tell me about it, but I’ll deal with that later.

I kick the door open before I come to a complete stop.

It slams backward with a loud cracking sound. I step in, my gun already in my hands, and glance around. When I see the pool of blood on the floor, my heart misses a beat. “Isabella! It’s me.”

When I don’t hear anything, my stomach forms tight knots, and I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

I find a body in the kitchen, his gaze wide and unseeing. Pausing to check his pulse, I step over him and call out again, louder this time. Then I hear a gurgling sound and something like a wheeze. My heart races as I make a beeline for the living room and come to a complete halt.

Tristan is lying on the couch, one hand on his side and the other dangling lifelessly on the floor. When he recognizes me, his eyes widen, but nothing comes out of his mouth. I’m on my hands and knees and gently cradling him by the back of the head. He wheezes something and coughs.

I place my ear next to his mouth and pause. The next words out of Tristan’s lips don’t surprise me.

If anything, they make the red-hot anger pulsing through me burn hotter. Quickly, I dash into the kitchen and grab the linen tablecloth, tearing it into strips.

“How the hell did Rich get in here?”

Tristan tilts his head in the direction of the body and sways a little.

Ernesto helps me tie the fabric around his waist to staunch the bleeding, but it quickly turns red. “Does he know who took her?”

I make a low noise in the back of my throat, and the vase on the table nearby goes crashing to the ground as I rear back in anger. “Who else would it fucking be? Of course, Rich would go after her.”

It makes sense that Rich thought it would be safe to take Isabella.

But I still can’t quite believe he has her, so I leave Ernesto and race up the stairs. I kick down every door in the house until I’m standing in the room she stays in. It still smells like her, like flowers and honey, making my stomach dip. I pull out every single drawer and punch the mirror above the dresser repeatedly.

She can’t be gone. I refuse to believe it. Not when the contents of her letter are still weighing heavily on me.

I’ve spent the two-hour drive here reading and re-reading Isabella’s note, scarcely able to believe that she didn’t tell me the news herself.

Why didn’t she tell me in person? Why did I have to wait till I got home to find her note next to the front door?

And if it hadn’t been for the fact that I needed more ammunition, I wouldn’t have seen the note at all. With a growl, I kick a few more drawers aside and step over the shards of glass on the floor. Ernesto doesn’t look surprised when he finds me standing in the middle of a room that looks like a tornado ripped through it.

He motions to me and then follows me downstairs.

“He can’t have gotten far. I want that fucking bastard on his hands and knees in front of me.”

“Without knowing where his safe house is, he could be anywhere.”

When I reach the landing, I swivel to face Ernesto. “I don’t fucking care if he’s in Antarctica. I want Rich fucking Donahue, and I don’t want excuses.”

Knowing Rich, he wouldn’t have gotten far, not when he wanted to gloat. And lord it over me.

It’s only a matter of time before I hear from him, or at least that’s what I’m hoping. Because a man like Rich doesn’t strike me as the type to relish a quiet victory.

I never should’ve kept his betrayal a secret.

Tristan says something while Ernesto is tending to his wounds. I spin around to face him and study his face intently. Finally, Ernesto hands him a pen and paper. When I read the words he’s written down, the sick feeling in the center of my stomach intensifies.

I’m going to find Rich Donahue and kill him with my bare hands.

Then I’m going to bring Isabella and our baby home if it’s the last thing I do.

* * *