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

Shattered Wings

Isabella

I have no idea how long I’ve been parked on the side of the road, hyperventilating through my tears as the cars race past me, a blur of shapes and colors. My chest is tight, and I can’t think past the pounding in my skull. When I blink and look down at my hands, still holding the steering wheel in a vice-like grip, I see the dried blood caked underneath my fingernails.

And it sends a fresh wave of anguish through me.

I ease my grip on the steering wheel and slowly release a deep and shaky breath. Then I count backward from ten, my voice cracking on the last number. Heaving, I hold my hands up in front of me, some of the blood glistening underneath the harsh glow of the early morning sun set against a backdrop of clear blue skies.

As I rummage through the glove compartment, my fingers close around a box of tissues. I lick a tissue and rub my fingers, slowly at first, then faster and faster until they are a bright shade of red. With a strangled cry, I throw the box of tissues over my shoulder, and it lands in the middle of the backseat without a sound. My heart pounds when I bring it to rest against the steering wheel.

I still have no idea what I’m supposed to do.

I lower the glass on my side and exhale; a blast of cold air slapping me across the face. With trembling hands, I start the engine and ease out of my spot. I drive slowly, with both hands on the wheel and a pit in the center of my stomach. The further away from the safehouse I get, the worse I feel.

Over and over, I relieve the image of Rich lunging at me with that crazed look in his eyes. And each time I see myself wrestling him for the gun, it sends another wave of fear through me. I blink back the tears and square my shoulders. Another wave of nausea rises through me, forcing me to slam down on the brakes and put the car in park. With no other cars behind me, I let my head fall forward and try to remember how to breathe.

Why is the world around me spinning? Why is my chest burning?

And why can’t I tell myself that I did the right thing?

A part of me knows that if I hadn’t taken care of Rich, he would’ve taken care of me. But I’m also starting to realize how, in small and imperceptible ways, Rich has been playing me all along. This entire time, I’ve been feeling sorry for him and defending him to Carter while being a strong advocate for his more redeeming qualities. Knowing that I played right into his hands makes me feel like the idiot I am.

How could I not have seen it? How had I let him move my strings like some kind of puppet?

And what does it say about me that I took his word over Carter’s?

“I’m sorry, bean,” I whisper, pausing to drape an arm over my stomach. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with a mother like me.”

Because I should’ve known better. I should’ve done better.

As my mind races to come up with a solution, a plan for what to do next, I realize two things at once that make me gasp. The first is that I need to go back and make sure Tristan gets the help he needs. The second is that after making sure Tristan is okay, I have to leave.

Carter can’t find out what I’ve done. No one can.

Because then they’ll realize that all their sacrifices and all the blood on their hands were for nothing. I’m not their precious and pure little Isabella anymore.

And I will never be again.

After scrubbing a hand over my face and pushing my hair out of my eyes, I put the car in drive again. I twist to check both sides of the empty street and swallow past the lump in my throat. Easing my foot off the brakes, I turn the wheel and merge onto the lane, grateful there are no other cars. My hands are sweaty, and I have to stop to wipe them against my shirt. In the background, I hear a loud beeping sound, followed by a screech.

Suddenly, the car lurches forward, and I can’t stop it.

I don’t realize that I’m the one who’s screaming and crying until my throat closes up—right before the car swerves off the road and spins in a few circles.

And I don’t stop sniffing until I lurch forward, the seatbelt digging into my chest as I collide with a tree. Smoke billows out of the car and rises into the air. My ears are ringing, and spots dance in and out of my field of vision. I cradle my stomach and fumble with the seatbelt. My hands are still slippery, and I’m trying to make out my surroundings when a sharp jab of pain bursts through me.

Gasping, I double over and squeeze my eyes shut.

The last thing I hear before I go under is a large cacophony of voices drawing closer. A warm hand touches my shoulder, and I succumb to the darkness.

I’m sorry, Carter. I’m sorry I couldn’t get to Tristan in time, and I’m sorry I couldn’t protect our bean.

A short while later, I come to and can hear more voices around me. My vision dances in and out of focus, but I’m too tired to make out anything concrete. Suddenly, I’m being hoisted up, and cold air whips through my hair. When I’m pushed back, I don’t resist, and I don’t say anything as the pounding in the back of my skull grows. Someone lifts my arm up, but I’m too weak to fight them off.

Another hand touches my shoulder, but it’s cool and steady.

“Isabella, I’m here, okay? You’re not alone.”

I pry one eye open and spot Carter sitting opposite me in the middle of an ambulance. He’s got blood on his collar, and his hands are cold and covered with dirt. I open my mouth to speak and end up sputtering instead. There’s a loud beeping sound somewhere to my left, and two pairs of hands start poking and prodding. Then there’s a loud ripping sound, and I hear Carter’s familiar growl.

His grip on my hands tightens. Then, Carter presses his mouth to my ear, but I can’t make out anything.

Am I dreaming? Have I somehow ended up in heaven rather than hell, where I belong?

Carter touches his lips to my forehead, and I inhale sharply. When I release my breath, he’s leaning back, but I can still feel his hands entangled with mine. I cling to them as the darkness beckons, promising oblivion in its sweet embrace. Something sharp pinches my skin, and I cry out, my body jerking in response. Carter says something else, but even though my lips are moving, I can’t hear anything.

Little by little, my body grows heavy.

My eyes fly open, and I focus on Carter’s handsome face, the last thing I see before I lose consciousness again.

***

Carter

“I don’t give a shit how you make the logistics work,” I growl into the phone. “As long as you do your fucking jobs.”

Without waiting for a response, I hang up and clench my hands into fists. My heart thuds painfully against my chest, and I’m all too aware of the smell of disinfectant and the sound of monitors beeping in the distance, but none of it matters.

Nothing matters when it’s been an hour since Isabella was wheeled in.

An hour of me pacing and taking my anger out on a wall in the middle of an empty floor in the midst of renovations. Although several of the hospital staff tried to deter me from coming up here, one look at my face told them everything they needed to know about me. And why getting in my way right now wasn’t a good idea.

I’m so wound up that I feel like I’m going to combust.

If I don’t do something, anything to release the anger, the unsuspecting hospital staff is going to feel the full brunt of my anger. Still, as I continue to stand in the middle of the empty floor, with a tarp covering one half and tools scattered all over, I take several deep breaths.

And I try to remind myself of what Isabella would want me to do.

Somehow, miraculously, she’s still here, and I know she wouldn’t want me giving into my baser and more irrational impulses. Not when it comes to people who have done nothing wrong. As far as logic goes, I know she’s right.

All the hospital staff has done wrong is being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But it’s not their fault I was helping to load Tristan into the back of an SUV when I heard the ambulance, and it’s not their fault that I recognized Rich’s car as Ernesto raced past in the opposite direction. Having Ernesto pull to the side of the road while I stumbled out wasn’t the smartest choice, in retrospect, but I’d recognize the color anywhere.

I’d been filled with so much rage and white-hot vengeance that it took me a while to realize the car was wrapped around a tree and even longer to recognize Isabella’s petite frame being wheeled away on a gurney. After that, my heart stopped for a full minute as I scrambled over to where Isabella was, panic and fear clawing their way through me.

I don’t remember anything else after that. Everything is a blur of shapes and colors that I don’t want to analyze.

I don’t realize I’m pacing until I stop in front of a large window overlooking the crowded parking lot. Even from where I stand, I can make out Anita’s tall frame, wisps of hair billowing behind her. Ernesto, Sam, and Paul follow in her wake, wearing identical shell-shocked expressions. I wheel around, cross over to the door, and take the stairs two at a time.

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

On the third floor, I run right into Paul, whose hands dart out to steady me. When I blink, Anita pulls me into a hug and buries her face in the crook of my neck. I freeze, and for the longest moment, I have no idea how to react.

Or if anything is even real.

I snap back to reality when Anita draws back and looks at me with bloodshot eyes. “We came as soon as we could. How is Isabella?”

“She’s in surgery,” I say in a strange voice. I pause to clear my throat and look over at Paul. “Tristan is still in surgery, too. I haven’t been able to find out much about either of them.”

And it’s not for a lack of trying, either. No amount of threats or pleading have yielded any results.

At least not the ones I want. And I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.

Two of the most important people in the world to me are lying on operating tables because I let my guard down. Because I told myself that I was smarter than Rich.

How could I have let myself believe he’d play fair?

Especially when everything he’d done up until this point had been to undermine me, to drive a wedge between Isabella and me, and to take down everything the Blackthornes have worked so hard to build. The more I think about it, the angrier I get until Anita takes my hand in hers and leads me out of the stairwell and into the main part of the hospital. In silence, Ernesto, Paul, and Sam follow us down the blue-colored hallway, our shoes squeaking against the linoleum floors. At the end of the hallway, we take a series of twists and turns until we reach the cafeteria.

With its glass, high arched ceilings, and empty tables on either side, it is not the sight I’m expecting. Anita guides me to the nearest empty booth and pushes me down. To my surprise and hers, I don’t say anything. Ernesto sits down next to me and links his fingers together, exchanging a quick look with Paul, who looks haggard and has his shirt on backward. After exchanging another look, Sam sits down next to Paul and brings her forehead to rest against the table.

I don’t want to meet her gaze. I don’t want to meet any of their gazes.

None of them want to say it, but we all know it’s my fault we’re here.

“Fuck,” I say suddenly and a little too loudly, earning a few curious looks from others in the cafeteria. “Isabella doesn’t even know that I know about the baby.”

Sam’s head snaps up, and she gives me a surprised look. “You saw the note?”

I nod and dig my nails into my palms. “How long have you known?”

“A couple of weeks,” Sam admits before tucking her hair behind her ears. “She hadn’t been feeling well, so I insisted that she go to the hospital. She was incredibly reluctant, and she did try to go with you…”

My ears are ringing now. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

Sam swallows. “She was afraid, Carter. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to keep the baby, and until she decided, she didn’t think there was a point in telling you about it.”

“And you encouraged her to keep this from me, didn’t you?” My voice is like ice, but I don’t care because it has the intended effect. Sam sits up straighter, winces, and avoids my gaze. “I know you don’t like me much, but don’t you think I have the right to know about my own baby? For fuck’s sake, I am the father.”

Sam mumbles something unintelligible.

“Who gave you the right to interfere anyway?” I stand up and glower at her. “I tolerate you because I know how much you mean to Isabella, and I know you and Tristan are hooking up, but if you think for one second that I’m going to allow you to poison my family against me, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Paul is on his feet in an instant. “Carter, you need to calm down—”

I wheel on Paul and give him my most menacing look. “Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down. You have no right.”

On shaky legs, Sam rises to her feet, and I see her hide her trembling hands behind her back. “Carter, I know you and I don’t see eye to eye, but it wasn’t my place to tell you. And I actually did try and convince her to come clean, but she wasn’t ready—”

“Bullshit,” I interrupt, my voice dripping with venom and acid. “You saw the perfect opportunity to drive the wedge further between us, and you took it.”

“I didn’t—”

“Stop lying to me,” I yell, drawing more and more attention to myself. A part of me knows I need to calm down and keep myself in check lest anyone points a camera at me, but the other part of me doesn’t give a shit if the mayor knows about my ruse.

I don’t care if the whole fucking world finds out about the fake death stunt I pulled at the press conference.

I point a finger at Sam and bristle. “You’re always there, whispering in Bella’s air and telling her about all the ways I’m wrong for her. This is no different. She’s been keeping this to herself for weeks because you didn’t have the balls to go after me yourself.”

Paul steps in between us and gives me a resolute look. “That’s enough, Carter. This isn’t Sam’s fault.”

I shove Paul, and he staggers back. “Like hell, it isn’t. Tristan and Isabella are upstairs right now, and we don’t even fucking know what happened or if they’re going to survive any of this, and I have to deal with this shit.”

Paul straightens his back and folds his arms over his chest. “It doesn’t mean you can take it out on Sam. You’re not the only one who’s worried, for fuck’s sake. That’s my brother on the operating table, and he got hurt because you asked him to keep an eye on Isabella in the middle of fucking nowhere with no backup.”

I have Paul pinned to the nearest wall before the words finish leaving his lips. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Paul doesn’t squirm and instead holds my gaze. “You heard me.”

I punch Paul in the stomach, but other than a slight flinch, he doesn’t react. Heart pumping angrily now, I take a step back and punch Paul again, but it does nothing to quell the rage and desperation I feel. Each punch and each strike makes me feel worse.

Because I keep seeing Rich’s smug face looming over Tristan’s inert body. And I see him dragging Isabella off, kicking and screaming.

All I see is red as Paul and I spin in a circle, with him trying to get away from me. But I have the upper hand, and it feels good to do something, to hear the satisfying sound of crunching bone. Adrenaline is still bursting through me when a pair of arms come up around my waist and drag me back. Anita wedges herself between Paul and me and gives us both a long and measured look.

I’m panting heavily now. “Let me go, Ernesto, or you’re going to be next.”

Ernesto doesn’t loosen his grip. “No.”

I thrash and buck, but Ernesto is a lot stronger than I give him credit for. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

Ernesto’s breath is hot against my skin. “This is for your own good, Carter. You’re going to thank me for this later.”

Something in me snaps, and I manage to break free of Ernesto’s grasp. I launch myself at Paul, who has his head tilted back, a few crumpled-up tissues in his hand. Sam and Anita both step in front of him and fold their arms over their chests. I glance from one woman to the other, my heart still racing unevenly.

“Get out of my way,” I say in a voice I don’t recognize. “I don’t want to hurt either of you.”

Anita draws herself up to her full height, and her eyes blaze with heartbreaking emotion. “This is not how Blackthornes treat each other, Carter. You and I both know you’re not angry at your cousin, and you’re not even angry with Sam. The real reason you’re pissed is because you think this is your fault.”

A low pounding bounces through the back of my skull, and I’m dimly aware of the silence around us. Hushed conversation rises and falls in little bursts.

Anita looks directly at me. “You’re angry because you feel like this is your fault, but you couldn’t have known Rich was going to go after them. You had a war to worry about, and it’s not over yet. None of us are safe until we broker a deal with the Philipses and the Natoris.”

I exhale sharply. “I am not brokering a deal with fucking Donahue. I am going to rip him apart with my bare hands, and if any of you try to stop me, you’re not going to like what I do.”

It’s the only thing I can think of… and the only thought that gives me any kind of comfort. I imagine myself wrapping my arms around Rich’s throat and squeezing the life out of him.

Anita takes a step forward, and her expression softens. “Nobody is going to try and stop you, Carter. Not when it comes to Donahue. We’re not the enemy here.”

I make a low noise in the back of my throat and say nothing.

Anita places a hand on my arm and drags me off.

On our way out of the cafeteria, I see the uniformed security guards descend on Ernesto and Paul. Sam stands off to the side while the two of them make a vague hand gesture. Ernesto looks up at me and reaches into his pocket as I step onto the elevator, and the doors ping shut behind us. Two floors later, Anita shifts and pulls on the emergency stop button.

The elevator lurches, but I plant both feet firmly on the floor and brace myself.

“We are not at full strength,” Anita says, the words tumbling out of her in a rush. “You can’t afford to alienate any more people, Carter, and you sure as shit can’t beat the fuck out of them because they’re pointing out the obvious.”

“Paul shouldn’t be questioning me.” I stiffen and let my hands hang limply at my side. “He needs to fall in line like everyone else.”

Anita makes a low choking noise. “You’re smarter than this, Carter. You know that beating the shit out of everyone isn’t going to get you anywhere, especially not at a time like this. We’re in the middle of a war, for fuck’s sake, and the last thing we need is for the Natoris and Philipses to realize and start circling closer.”

I run a hand over my face. “Don’t you think I know that?”

Anita studies my face. “I think that you’re too blinded by your worry for Isabella and Tristan to see the bigger picture.”

I look away from her. “What bigger picture?”

“You’re losing control of the family,” Anita continues in a softer voice. “I know you don’t want to admit it, but I’ve known you most of your life, Carter, and I know how you react when you feel like your back is against the wall.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you start acting like a caged animal, lashing out at anyone and everyone who comes too close,” Anita adds, her eyes never leaving my face. “I love Isabella too, but what you’re doing isn’t helpful. We need to keep up a united front, especially once our enemies find out that you’re not the one in that hospital bed.”

I open my mouth and snap it shut.

As much as I hate to admit it, Anita is right.

My aunt has been around a lot longer, and I’m not arrogant enough to think I could’ve gotten us here without her unwavering support. She’s been a constant by my side through thick and thin, and dismissing her isn’t an option. Not when she can see the bigger picture.

The one I’m too blinded to acknowledge.

“More and more people are talking about having you replaced as the head of the Blackthorne family,” Anita tells me after a long pause. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but you have the right to know, and I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else.”

I stand up straighter. “Who do I have to worry about?”

“Naming names isn’t going to help anyone, Carter.” Anita takes a few steps back and runs her hands through her hair. “You and I both know that. You need to get your head out of your ass and show them all why they made the right decision in choosing you.”

I press my lips together and say nothing.

As usual, Anita has my back, and I know she means well. But when the elevator starts back up again, and we’re both knocked sideways, I can’t help but feel like my aunt is wrong. Having spent most of my adult life expanding the Blackthorne empire, I know firsthand how important it is to maintain an iron-clad grip.

But for the first time in my life, the thought of being replaced doesn’t make me angry. Or even concerned. Not when I have bigger things to worry about.

Like the love of my life fighting for her life and that of our child on an operating table.

Once the doors ping open, Anita steps out first and twists to face me. “Has there been any news about the baby?”

My chest tightens at her words. “None.”

Anita’s expression falls, and she hangs her head. “They’ll both be okay. Isabella is a fighter.”

Without waiting for a response, my aunt walks away, and I let her. When I step off the elevator, I lean against the nearest wall and squeeze my eyes shut. I hear people rushing past me in both directions, the rise and fall of conversation doing nothing to lull my senses. Paul comes to find me, limping slightly, and a quick look passes between us.

I offer him a grim smile, and he nods.

In silence, I follow him down the hall, past rows and rows of rooms on either side of me. On the bottom floor, he looks over at Anita, who is sitting on an uncomfortable-looking metal chair with her legs stretched out in front of her. People are sitting on either side of her, but it’s no one I recognize. With the war still going on, I know the rest of the Blackthornes are covering for me.

For us.

Too many people are in this hospital already, but I don’t give a shit.