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

Chapter Two

Carter

A day later, I’m pacing in the cafeteria when Paul finds me. He leads me down a dimly lit hallway and stops in front of a door. He knocks, and when the door creaks open, I’m relieved to find Tristan sitting up, looking haggard and sunken and more than a little perturbed. He sits up straighter when he sees us and adjusts the covers around his legs. When he shifts, I catch the wince on his face, and it sends another wave of regret through me.

In spite of our differences, I hate seeing Tristan like this.

He’s been my right-hand man for as long as I can remember, and in the past few months alone, he’s had to fight for his life more times than I’d care to admit. Through it all, he’s been a willing and loyal ally, refusing to leave my side even when he disagreed.

“Wipe that look off your face,” Tristan says, with a lift of his chin. “I’m going to be fine.”

I clear my throat. “You sure as shit are.”

“We’re not the sentimental type,” Tristan adds with a pointed look. He glances between Paul and me, his gaze eventually switching back to mine. “What the fuck are you two doing here anyway? Don’t you have a war to win?”

Paul pulls a chair out, and I kick the door shut behind me. “It’s being handled. Don’t worry about it.”

Tristan raises an eyebrow. “So, you go through all of that trouble to fake a shooting, and you’re not even going to see it through?”

I frown. “Don’t make me come over there and kick your ass.”

Stab wound or otherwise, I won’t hesitate to put Tristan in his place. He and I both know it.

Tristan leans back against the bed, more of the color returning to his face. “You should. I don’t know how he got past the security system or how he figured out where we were. Fuck, Carter. If anything happens to Isabella—”

I hold a hand up. “She’s in the hospital.”

Tristan pales, a flicker of fear moving over his face. “What the fuck did that prick do?”

I shrug. “He wasn’t in the car with her. I checked with the police officers, but they said Isabella was the only person in the car. The rat is probably hiding somewhere.”

Tristan’s brows furrow together. “That doesn’t make any sense. I saw her leave with him. She didn’t even want to leave me, but he told her that he called for help and that staying with me would slow them down. Why wouldn’t he try to force Isabella to go into hiding with him?”

I take a step in Tristan’s direction, doing my best to push back the anger and fear rising within me. “How the fuck did he overpower you anyway?”

“He killed Michael,” Tristan replied with a grimace. “Michael was doing a routine delivery, and when I opened up the door, Rich was behind him. He forced his way in. We fought, but he gained the upper hand.”

I clench my hands into fists. “Why didn’t you call me?”

I should’ve been there. I could’ve protected Isabella from all of this.

“He crushed my phone,” Tristan responded after a lengthy pause. “I saw him take Isabella’s phone, too. She wanted to talk to you, but he was very persuasive, and I couldn’t tell her what happened.”

I cross over to Tristan and grab him by the scruff of his neck. “Did you betray me again?”

Tristan’s eyes widen. “Fuck, Carter. How can you even think that? I learned my lesson, okay? And I actually care about Isabella now. I wouldn’t—”

My grip tightens, the low thrumming in my ears growing louder. “You wouldn’t what?”

Tristan’s eyes dart over to Paul, and he swallows when he looks back at me. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt the baby.”

With a low noise of disgust, I shove Tristan away. Then I pick up the nearest item and throw it at the wall, sending shards of glass in every direction. Paul jumps to his feet, rips off a piece of his shirt, and begins to pick up the glass. When a blonde-haired nurse comes in, she freezes in the doorway, glancing from my face to Tristan’s and lingering on Paul, who is on his hands and knees on the floor.

“There’s nothing to see here,” I tell her in a clipped and measured tone. “Everything’s fine.”

The nurse looks back at Tristan, who nods. When she leaves the room, she yanks the door shut behind her, and it closes with a click. I wait for a while longer before I wheel around to face Tristan, the anger still burning through me.

I need something to blame. Someone I can pummel for answers. Unfortunately, with Rich nowhere to be found, I’m left with my family. The same family who is losing faith in me and keeping secrets from me.

Is this how things are going to unfold?

Am I going to be pushed from the top by my own family?

“I know you’re pissed I didn’t tell you,” Tristan begins, his voice rising toward the end. “You and I have our issues, Carter, but it wasn’t my place to tell you. Isabella wanted to wait, and I wanted to respect her decision.”

I scowl. “You’re my cousin, not hers.”

Tristan stiffens. “You asked me to protect her, and I knew that if I told you, you’d come rushing over, and we’d lose the war.”

“You’re damn right I would’ve.” I bridge the distance between us then, every inch of me trembling with rage and the inability to reach between us and exact my revenge on Tristan. “I am the head of this family, and I have the right to know everything that happens. You should’ve known better, and if you weren’t in the hospital right now, I’d have you put in one myself.”

Of all people, he isn’t the one I expect this from.

Then again, I know Anita is right. I’m not angry at Tristan or Sam or even Isabella. I’m furious at myself for not picking up on the signs sooner.

Isabella had been feeling unwell for weeks, and I chalked it up to grief and the shock of losing her father. In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have imagined this turn of events. When Tristan doesn’t respond and instead hangs his head, I lean away from him and make another low noise in the back of my throat. Paul walks over to me, but I push past him and spill out into the hallway.

I am pacing when a doctor with wisps of silver and a colorful scrub cap on his head comes over to me. I shove both hands into my pockets and wait for him to stop.

“Mr. Blackthorne, your fiancée is out of surgery.”

I glance at his name tag and back up at his face. “When can I see her?”

“She’s in recovery,” Dr. Masterson explains with a vague hand gesture. He smells like sweat and blood, and I wonder if he’s come straight here to placate me. News travels fast inside hospital walls, and I’m sure the entire staff is on edge because of me.

But I can’t bring myself to care.

“It’s going to be another hour or two before you can see her,” Dr. Masterson continues in a clearer voice. “She hasn’t woken up yet.”

I frown. “Is she stable?”

“For now, but the car accident was pretty serious, Mr. Blackthorne,” the doctor replies with a frown. “She’s lucky the damage wasn’t any worse.”

“How the fuck is that lucky? She’s lying in a hospital bed!” I bite off the last syllable and give the doctor a menacing look. He takes an uncertain step back and glances down both sides of the hallway. “Shouldn’t you have better news? You’re a fucking doctor. Do your job.”

Dr. Masterson stiffens. “There’s no need to take that tone with me, Mr. Blackthorne. I can assure you that everyone is doing the best they can to make sure Ms. Julis is comfortable—”

“I don’t want her to be comfortable,” I snap, my voice climbing higher and higher with each word. “I want her out of this goddamn place and back home with me where she belongs. Am I making myself clear?”

Sam materializes next to us and steps in between the doctor and me. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Masterson. As you can imagine, Carter is pretty distressed right now because of everything that happened.”

“Don’t tell me how I fucking feel,” I snap, leveling Sam with a withering look. “And get out of my way.”

Sam folds her arms over her chest and holds my gaze. “So, is this your plan? Are you just going to take down anyone who gets in your way? Then what? It’s not going to make Isabella wake up, and it certainly won’t change anything that happened.”

I punch the nearest wall, and Sam flinches. “Why the fuck are you still here?”

Sam straightens her back. “Because Isabella is like my sister, and I care about Tristan. If you want me to leave, you’ll have to throw me out yourself.”

A long and tense moment passes while a muscle works in my jaw. Finally, I spin around and turn my back on Sam.

“What about the baby?” Sam’s voice is barely above a whisper as she talks to the doctor. “Are they okay?”

“The baby is fine,” Dr. Masterson murmurs. “We’ll need to keep a close eye on them both over the next few days, but we do expect them to make a full recovery.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

I hear footsteps walking away, and I count backward from ten.

Slowly, I turn back around to face Sam, who is giving me an incredulous look. “You’re supposed to be out there, making the world a safer and better place for Isabella and the baby.”

“Excuse me?”

Sam points a finger at me and bristles. “I’ve had to deal with weeks of Isabella trying to decide what to do with no help from you. All you do is push her away and hurt her.”

“Stop talking.”

Sam lifts her gaze up to mine. “I will not. Someone has to speak up for Isabella since she isn’t awake to advocate for herself or that poor baby—”

I cross over to Sam in two strides, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to lash out. Whatever pain I inflict, it’s never been on a woman. Not outside of the bedroom and not someone who my cousin cares about.

“I would watch what I say next,” I say in a deceptively soft voice. “Do you really want to fucking push me right now?”

Sam’s mouth hangs open.

For a long moment, I wonder if she’s going to push me. And I’m almost nervous to see how far she’s going to take it.

Abruptly, Sam snaps her mouth shut and takes a few steps back. She doesn’t say anything as she brushes past me and makes a beeline for Tristan’s room. After a brief pause, I hurry after her, keeping a wide berth of space between us. At the end of the hallway, Sam pauses to toss her hair over her shoulders. She straightens her back and pushes the door open.

Through the slit in the door, I barely manage to make out Tristan’s face as he sits up.

His smile isn’t one I’ve seen before, and it only grows when Sam leans over the bed and throws her arms around him. He pulls her to him, and she stumbles forward. After an awkward pause, the three of them burst into laughter, with Paul draping his arm over his brother’s shoulders. Together, the three of them make quite the sight.

It makes something low and tight unfurl in the center of my stomach. A part of me can’t bear to see them so happy when my Isabella is still in danger.

But the other part of me knows that if anyone deserves happiness, it’s Tristan. And I’m glad he’s found it with Sam.

With a slight shake of my head, I spin on my heel and walk away, taking a series of twists and turns till I reach the double doors of the emergency room. They swing open, and a blast of cold air hits me directly in the face. I inhale and pause on the sidewalk, trying to think past the tightness in my chest.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a flicker of movement and turn toward it.

A vague silhouette stands in the distance, a cigarette dangling from his lips. I cross over to him, my footsteps light and soundless. When I reach him, the dark-haired stranger stares at me for a little longer than I’d like. I hold my hand out, and he pats his pocket. He holds out the cigarette pack and waits for me to take one. Wordlessly, he hands me the lighter, and when it flickers to life, his features come to life, revealing a long-crooked nose, moss-green eyes, and thinning hair.

He doesn’t say anything when I lean against the wall next to him and exhale.

Smoke fills my lungs, easing some of the knots in my stomach. I take a few more puffs, and the voice in the back of my head recedes into the background.

When Ernesto finds me, I’m halfway through the cigarette, and although the headache is mostly gone, the bile in the back of my throat is still there. Ernesto hurries over, gives my companion a pointed look, and waits until he’s far enough away. Then he steps forward and gives me a confused look.

“I thought you quit.”

“Now’s a good time as any to take up any bad habits,” I say between puffs of smoke. “I’ll probably have to give it up again soon.”

Ernesto blows out a breath. “I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad.”

My stomach tightens. “Me either.”

As hard as I try to picture it, I can’t. Each time I think of a baby, I can picture Isabella, clear as day, rocking him to sleep or playing with him. But whenever I try to imagine the three of us as a family, my mind goes blank. While a part of me is excited about being a father, the other part of me is scared shitless.

What the fuck do I know about being a dad?

Granted, I had a great dad who instilled a lot of good qualities into me, but he’s been gone longer than I had him.

“Have you heard from Lorenzo or any of the others?”

I shake my head and stand up straighter. “No, why?”

Ernesto takes out his phone and scrolls through it. His breath is harsh and uneven as he holds the screen out to me and waits for me to take it. I take a few more puffs of my cigarette and then let it fall to the ground. After stomping it out with the heel of my shoe, I stare at Ernesto through the thin mist. With a frown, I snatch the phone out of his hand and peer at it.

A local news channel is running the story of my shooting, but rather than showing footage of the hospital where my bodyguard is doubling as me, there’s footage of the Blackthorne manor and a grainy image of my face in the distance. Cursing, I zoom in on the picture, the dull pounding in the back of my head returning at full force.

Fuck. How the hell did they find out so quickly? It’s only been a few hours since I found Tristan teering on the edge of consciousness.

Already, several local news channels are running the story, bringing an end to my earlier good mood. With a scowl, I hand Ernesto his phone back and pat my pockets for my own. When I fish it out of my pocket, I dial Lorenzo first, and he answers on the fifth ring, sounding breathless and impatient.

“What the fuck happened to making sure no one knew I wasn’t shot?”

Lorenzo exhales. “I don’t know what you want me to do, boss. You ran out of the safe house, and you knew the risks.”

“I don’t want excuses,” I snap, my voice rising in anger. “I want solutions, or I’m going to know whose head has to be on a platter.”

“But I—”

“Take care of it, or there will be one less Blackthorne in the ranks. Am I fucking clear?”

Without waiting for a response, I hang up and resist the urge to throw the phone across the parking lot. I want it to shatter and burn into a thousand pieces, but I know none of that is going to make me feel better or fix the immediate problem at hand. After sliding my phone back into my pocket, I stand up straighter and stride back in the direction of the hospital.

Once we step through the double doors, the smell of disinfectant hits me first, followed quickly by the sound of beeping monitors. There is a loud cacophony of voices on one side of the room, and a few of the staff seated behind the rectangular-shaped desk looking concerned. Others are on their feet and exchanging worried looks with each other.

When I walk past, a few of them stiffen. A security guard brushes past us and lingers.

Ernesto gives him a slight nod and inches closer to me. I make it to Tristan’s room and linger outside the door. I’m making a few more phone calls when I spot Dr. Masterson. He looks uncomfortable when he sees me and stops to run a hand through his hair. Then he motions to me, and I end the call. I follow him down the hallway, down a series of twists and turns. At the end of the hallway, he stops outside of a room with a glass window, with the blinds pulled halfway down.

Through the glass, I see a red-haired nurse tucking a blanket around Isabella’s frail and unconscious form. She adjusts something in the IV drip and then peers at the monitor. Slowly, she makes her way out of the room while Isabella stays exactly as she is. I glance over at the nurse on the way past, but she doesn’t pay any attention to me.

In the room, a low monitor beeps in the background, and Isabella looks small against the much larger hospital bed. Impossibly small and fragile.

My chest tightens as I cross over to her, climb onto the bed, and hold her to me. Isabella shifts and murmurs something in her sleep. “I’m here, dove, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Isabella whispers something else, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. I continue to hold her to me and ignore the pounding in the back of my skull.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this from happening,” I continue in a low voice. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve called Tristan. I would’ve stopped that asshole from going after you.”

And I wouldn’t have endangered her life.

My free hand drifts down to her stomach and stays there. “I’m going to make sure everything is fucking right before you’re here. You can count on me.”

Isabella stirs. “Carter?”

My heart misses a beat. “I’m here, dove. What do you need?”

I twist to face her, and her eyes flutter open. She blinks once, twice, a frown hovering on the edge of her lips. Slowly, comprehension dawns on her face, and her eyes widen. She throws her arms around me and buries her face in the crook of my neck. Then she bursts into tears, loud, nerve-wracking ones that send wave after wave of anger through me.

Fucking Rich Donahue is going to pay. He’s been a pest in our lives for too long, a problem I should’ve taken care of a long time ago. There’s no excuse for why he’s still running around, clinging to the shadows to take care of business.

I try to hold myself still while Isabella cries in my arms. Every sniff and every hiccup makes me angrier, the kind where I want to race out of the room, find the nearest wall, and punch it repeatedly. Instead, I resist, pushing back against the bile and anger that threaten to pull me under. By the time Isabella composes herself, my headache has returned, and I’m still seeing red.

Isabella’s eyes are bloodshot and unfocused. “Where are we? Where’s Tristan?”

“Tristan is in a room of his own. He’s recovering,” I reply, pausing to run my fingers through her hair. “The two of you have been through a lot.”

Isabella releases a deep, shaky breath. “How did—I thought you were underground?”

I frown. “Did Rich tell you that?”

Isabella pauses and nods, her expression falling. “He did. I shouldn’t have listened to him. I knew something was wrong when he stepped out of the shadows and started trying to force me to go with him.”

My hands move to her shoulders. “What happened?”

Isabella lowers her gaze and won’t look at me. “There was blood. It was so much blood, Carter, and I—it’s my fault. I didn’t know what to do.”

“It is not your fault, dove. None of this is. Fucking Rich is the reason any of this happened. And when I find him, I’m going to make sure he pays. I fucking swear.”

Isabella looks up at me and bursts into a fresh wave of tears. Her shoulders begin to shake, and she’s hyperventilating, sending the monitor into a frenzy. The door bursts open, and the red-haired nurse hurries into the room and glances at the monitor. She takes a vial out of her pocket and uses a syringe. Wordlessly, she injects Isabella with something, and it takes a few seconds for it to work.

As soon as it does, Isabella goes limp and sinks back against the mattress.

Gingerly, I draw myself away and stand up. “What the fuck did you give her?”

“It’s just something to help her calm down and sleep. She doesn’t need any more stress, especially with the baby.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “You need to be careful what you give her.”

“I know how to do my job, sir.”

“You fucking better,” I mutter, mostly to myself. The nurse gives me a dark look on her way out, and I feel her eyes on me through the glass. When I spin around to face her, she holds my gaze for a while longer without looking away. Then Ernesto appears, his shoulders squared and holding himself as stiff as a rod. I step out of the room, let the door click shut behind me, and exhale.

“Who else knows?”

“We’re still trying to find out,” Ernesto whispers, with a quick look around. “Neither Tristan nor Isabella are in any condition to be moved right now.”

I dig my nails into my palms. “I am not fucking leaving them. Not a chance.”

Especially if this hospital is about to be another battlefield.

While I don’t want to start anything in a place like this, if my enemies show up, I might not have a choice. Still, the thought of leaving Isabella behind, helpless and defenseless while they turn her into a pin cushion, doesn’t sit well with me.

I know how these people operate. And I know all too well what they’d do if they got their hands on her.

“I wasn’t going to suggest that, but you do need to lie low,” Ernesto replies, pausing to inch closer to me. “Paul is out buying a disguise as we speak.”

“A fucking disguise? Are you joking?”

Ernesto shakes his head. “Do you have a better idea, boss?”

I snap my mouth shut and narrow my eyes at him.

Ernesto takes me to the chapel on the top floor and leaves me there. A short while later, he comes back in with a plastic bag, and I’m pacing. There’s a cheap white wig inside, a scarf, and a large pair of sunglasses. Reluctantly, I put them all on and flick my gaze up to Ernesto’s.

He is eyeing me critically. “You’d better stay out of sight.”

“Not fucking happening. If I’m going to wear this ridiculous getup, I’m going to be close to Isabella.”

Ernesto exhales. “At least don’t be in the same room with her. That’ll tip people off.”

I give him a curt nod and follow him outside.

Ernesto takes a cane from Paul, who won’t look at me. “Here, this should help, too.”

I lean half of my weight onto the cane and give an exaggerated hobble. “You two are fucking enjoying this.”

Paul’s lips lift into the ghost of a smile. He spots something over my shoulders, and his smile vanishes. Then he stands up straighter and clears his throat. “I’m sorry I can’t help you. I don’t know if there’s another chapel here.”

Ernesto loops his arm through mine. “Why don’t I help you find someone else who can help you?”

“Thank you,” I murmur, narrowing my gaze behind the sunglasses. “You’re so kind.”

On our way to the elevator, more and more tall and muscled men began to creep out. Even though none of them are doing anything overt to give themselves away, I can tell they are Natori and Philips men. They are all dressed in suits, sporting buzzcuts, and they have an unhinged twinkle in their eyes. One of them steps onto the elevator with us, and I see the outline of a gun underneath his shirt.

“I can’t wait to get Ernestine out of here,” I say in a low, gravelly voice. “Why are you here, sonny?”

Ernesto offers me a distracted smile. “My wife. She’s gone into early labor.”

I nod in the direction of the man’s gun. “Don’t you just love surprises?”

Ernesto stands up straighter and studies the man, who stands with his back erect, studying the screen on the wall and shifting from one number to the other. I tuck my hands into the pockets of my large coat, my fingers running over smooth and slick metal.

All I need is one good shot. Then Isabella and I have one less problem to worry about.

My fingers close around the gun, and I shift to take it out when the elevator shudders to a stop. The man frowns and takes a step forward. He squints at the panel and presses a button. Then he lifts his gaze to Ernesto, and a flicker of comprehension moves across his face. Ernesto takes a step back and curls his hands into fists.

I take my gun out and hit the man on the back of his head.

When I hit him again, he crumples into a heap on the floor with a groan. Then I kick him hard, and he lets out a low wheezing sound. I wait until the man is unconscious before I look over at Ernesto, who is still pale and uneasy.

“That was a little too close,” Ernesto murmurs, checking both sides of the hallway when the doors ping open. Together, we step off the elevator, with Ernesto matching his stride to mine. A group of men is headed in our direction, and I tense. Doctors and nurses rush past in either direction, wheeling patients on gurneys.

I don’t want this to turn into a massacre. Violence is necessary, but not in a hospital.

But clearly, Mayor Hughes doesn’t share my reservations. He’s an even worse prick than Frances, and I can’t believe he’s willing to sacrifice the lives of innocent people to stay ahead of the game.

I’m surrounded by snakes and foxes.

Ernesto lowers his head and digs his nails into my hand. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

I teeter nervously and pat his hand. “You’re such a dear for agreeing to help me.”

The men walk right past us in the direction of the elevator. I twist to watch them leave, my heart thudding painfully as we round the corner and break into a bolt. Hastily, Ernesto and I take the stairs, descending further and further into the bowels of the hospital. When we reach the basement, he pushes the double doors open, and we find ourselves in the middle of a morgue.

The smell of death and decay makes my stomach recoil.

Ernesto draws a sheet back and gestures to the empty slab of metal. “Come on. They’re not going to think of looking under a body.”

I scowl and cross over to him. “You better make fucking sure of that. I am not going to be killed in the middle of a morgue of all places.”

Ernesto waits until I’m on the slab. He helps me adjust the wig and the buttons on my coat, and I notice the slight tremor in his hands. With a frown, he pulls the sheet up over my body, giving me a grim look when he reaches my face. I give him a tight nod, and the world goes dark.

My hand darts out, and I grip Ernesto’s wrist. “Protect Isabella and the baby. No matter what it takes.”

“I will,” Ernesto says, his mouth near my ear. “Try and stay still.”

When Ernesto disappears, it takes everything in me not to throw the sheet off and race after him. A part of me imagines taking off my ridiculous disguise and revealing my gun to the mayor’s men. I picture their surprise and the light as it leaves their eyes, and it makes me feel better.

Until I imagine a stray bullet hitting Isabella. Or our baby.

I grow uncomfortable at the thought and hold my arms out on either side of me. A cacophony of voices rises, and I hear the door creak open. I’m holding my breath when footsteps approach. They walk past me, but I can hear them in the room. My fingers twitch to reach for the gun in my pocket. Then the door creaks open again, and a new voice joins them.

“What are you doing here? This a morgue.”

“We were checking for our friend. He came in earlier—”

“You’re supposed to have a form. You can’t just come in here and start looking at the bodies.”

“But—”

“Get out before I call the cops.” Her voice is loud but clear, and it holds a lot of authority and conviction. Footsteps shuffle out of the room, their shoes squeaking the entire time. I wait for a while longer before I throw the sheet off and sit up.

“Jesus.” The blonde-haired woman who drove them out has a hand on her chest, and her pupils are dilated. “How did you end up here?”

I yawn and swing my legs over the side. “I wanted to take a nap. I’m sorry if I disturbed you. These hospitals can be so big.”

The pathologist gives me a confused look. “Are you lost?”

“Yes.” I stand up and adjust the straps of my coat. “My wife, Clarissa, is in the hospital, but I kept getting turned around. Can you show me where the elevator is?”

The pathologist sighs and sets her clipboard down. She pats down the flaps of her white coat and then fastens two buttons. Wordlessly, she leads me outside, muttering to herself the entire time. Next to the double doors, the elevator glistens and shines. After pushing the call button, she twists to face me and peers intently.

“You look familiar.”

“I must have one of those faces,” I reply quickly. “Thank you for all your help, dear.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but I get on the elevator and offer her a wave.

Her brows furrow together, and I see her conflicted look before the doors ping shut. Then I lean against the wall and run a hand over my face. On the fourth floor, the door opens to reveal a limping Ernesto, who has a swollen eye and a bloody lip. He doesn’t say anything as he gets into the elevator and waits for the doors to shut.

“They recognized me,” Ernesto mumbles without looking at me. “Paul is hiding in the women’s bathroom, and Sam went to the cafeteria. There’s a lot of people there.”

“Good. How many men?”

“I counted at least six, but there might be more outside,” Ernesto replies, with a lift of his chin. “How do you want to handle this?”

“Lorenzo is leading the cavalry,” I respond stiffly. “We just need to keep everything in check until then.”

Otherwise, who knows when it will end? I don’t want things to spiral any further.

The doors slide open, and I get off first, making a beeline for the chapel I saw at the end of the hallway. Ernesto follows close behind and ducks into a hallway when we’re closer. Inside the chapel, there is a stained-glass window, rows and rows of empty pews on either side of me, and a set of stairs leading up to a podium.

Reluctantly, I select a seat near the front of the room and place the cane next to me. Then I bow my head and listen. My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. I link my fingers together and resist the urge to glance up. Or over my shoulders.

I don’t know where they are, and I don’t like being at a disadvantage, but what other choice do I have? Even though they’re closing in, I know I can’t let them have the upper hand.

My phone rings again, louder this time. I fish it out of my pocket and glance over my shoulders. “What?”

“There was a delay. Some kind of accident on the highway. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“We might not be here in a few minutes,” I snap, with another look over my shoulders. “Get here faster. I don’t want this hospital to turn into another massacre.”

I hear tires screeching against the asphalt. “How many men did you bring with you?”

“Four. It’s all I could spare given the circumstances.”

I curse and run a hand over my face. “There’s six of them. I knocked one out, but the rest are still alive and kicking. Think you can handle that?”

“Don’t worry about it, boss.”

“Don’t tell me not to worry,” I warn with a shake of my head. “I want results.”

Lorenzo mutters something under his breath, and I choose to ignore him.

I end the call and push the phone back into my pocket. After what feels like an eternity, Ernesto’s heavy breathing fills the room. He shuffles over to where I’m sitting and kneels down. Then he says something in a low voice and waits.

“What the fuck are you doing? Now isn’t the time to be religious.”

Ernesto stands up and twists to face me. “Lorenzo and the others took care of it. Hughes’ men have been taken care of.”

“Discreetly?”

“As discreetly as possible,” Ernesto replies with a grimace. “Some of the hospital staff might be suspicious, but we did our best to contain it.”

I rip off the wig and sunglasses. “I want those fucking discharge papers to be signed. Now.”

“Boss, neither of them is in any shape to be moved.”

“Are you suggesting we let them become sitting ducks?”

Ernesto takes a step back and shakes his head. “No, of course not.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” I stuff the wig, glasses, and coat into the empty plastic bag Ernesto has. Then I hand it to him and brush past him at a brusque pace, with my head held high. In the hallway, I feel several pairs of eyes on me, but I ignore them all and go straight to Tristan’s room. Through the glass, I see Paul pacing while Sam sits on the couch, hands fluttering nervously at her sides.

The door bangs open, and Paul wheels around with a flinch. “Carter, what are you doing?”

Tristan pushes himself up so he’s propped against the pillow. “How’s Isabella?”

“Agitated but stable,” I respond through gritted teeth. “We need to come up with a fucking plan. When can you move?”

“I don’t know, Carter. I’ve been stabbed.”

I wave his comment away. “You’ve been stabbed, shot, and beaten before. How is this any different?”

“Rich was trying to kill me,” Tristan responds after a lengthy pause. “He dug the knife in, and he tried to leave it there, too.”

Silence settles over the room.

Sam jumps to her feet. “Whatever you’re planning, keep Tristan out of it. He’s done enough.”

“It’ll be enough when I fucking say it is,” I bite without looking at her. “Tristan knows what we do, and he knows the risks in our line of work.”

Sam steps into my field of vision. “I’m not going to let you take him. If you want him, you’re going to have to go through me.”

I look at Tristan over her shoulder, who looks amused, and then I glance back at her. “We’ve done this song and dance already. Now, I suggest you stay out of my way.”

Sam lifts her chin up and squares her shoulders. “Or what?”

Paul pulls her away and steps in front of her. “She has no idea what she’s talking about. We’re all tired and stressed, Carter. Let’s not do anything reckless.”

I draw myself up to my full height. “I want less fucking suggestions and more solutions.”

My voice echoes back to me, and it causes the two brothers to flinch. Even Sam grows slightly smaller at my tone, and I’m ashamed to admit it makes me feel better. Although I know she means well, I don’t need one more obstacle in my way.

There are too many already. And the longer we stay in this hospital, the worse it’s going to be for everyone.

With one last look around the room, I storm out and pause at the nurse’s station. Most of them have dark circles under their eyes, and their shoulders are squared tight with tension, but they don’t look away from me or flinch. Instead, they pick up the phone and page the doctor in charge of Isabella’s case.

He materializes a short while later, with one hand shoved into his pocket and the other holding a protein bar. Dr. Masterson frowns when he sees me. “Mr. Blackthorne, I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist you stop, or I will call security and the police. This is a hospital. Whatever issues you have, you need to take them outside.”

“I’m trying,” I tell him angrily. “But I can’t do that if my fiancée and cousin are stuck here.”

Dr. Masterson tucks the protein bar away and stands up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“My fiancée’s family is abusive, and they know she’s here,” I say in a calmer voice. “She’s been trying to get away from them for years, but being here is putting a target on her back, and they are very powerful people. The kind who won’t take no for an answer.”

A shadow settles over the doctor’s face. “I see.”

I take a step in his direction. “I’m just trying to protect her, but it’s very hard to do that when I have no idea how long I need to protect her for.”

Dr. Masterson studies me. “She’ll need to stay here for a few days until we can properly assess the damage of the crash on her and the baby.”

Ice settles in my veins. “What the fuck do you mean by damage? She’s stable. She woke up, and we talked.”

“That doesn’t mean there wasn’t any damage,” Dr. Masterson points out with a frown. “I’m sorry about Ms. Julis’ personal life, but I suggest you get in touch with the police. They’ll be able to help you better.”

Anger burns through me. “You can’t keep her here against her will.”

Dr. Masterson tilts his head back to look up at me. “I’m a doctor, Mr. Blackthorne. Don’t tell me how to do my job. I can have you removed if I need to.”

“You have no idea who you’re messing with, doc. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Is that a threat?”

I shrug and take a step back. “It’s more like a suggestion. Think about it. You better have a different answer when I find you later.”