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

Chapter Four

Carter

I slam my fists against the table hard enough to make it rattle. “There’s got to be another fucking way.”

Lorenzo links his fingers together and frowns. “These are the terms of the treaty, boss.”

I glance down at the contract, unable to shake away the rage still boiling inside of me. “Where the fuck do they get off demanding that I shut down some of my business?”

The Philipses and Natoris are testing me, goading me into a reaction, and I’m in danger of walking right into their trap.

With news spreading about the stunt I pulled at the press conference, more and more of my enemies are growing bolder and louder. Like they’re trying to see how far I’m willing to go.

Those fucking bastards are going to keep baiting me till I give them something to gawk at.

Being cooped up in the hospital over the past week hasn’t helped either, but with Isabella and Tristan still on the mend, there’s nowhere else I can go. Nowhere else I’d rather be.

My cousin, thankfully, is looking more and more like himself and has even convinced us to bring him into the fold. Even lying in a hospital bed hasn’t stopped him from making a few phone calls and strategizing, much to the chagrin of his brother and Sam.

Isabella, on the other hand, is fading away a little more each day.

It’s killing me to watch what this is doing to her, and it’s even worse knowing there’s nothing I can do to help. I have rarely left her side since she’s been admitted, but other than our argument the day after she woke up, Isabella won’t even look me in the eye.

And she refuses to let me take care of her.

“You’re going to have to give them something,” Tristan says after a lengthy pause. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but that’s the price of a treaty.”

In exchange for shutting down some of the business and divvying up parts of the docks, my enemies are willing to call a ceasefire.

Considering we’re spread thin and unable to hold our ground for much longer, I know we’re at a disadvantage. The Natoris and Philipses suffered significant causalities in the war, but we aren’t doing much better.

We just barely have the upper hand, and I know everyone is counting on me to make the right decision. But my focus keeps being pulled elsewhere. And each time I see Sam with Isabella, I want to pummel the nearest wall.

I hate that Sam is the one Isabella is confiding in.

I’ve spent days by her bedside, sleeping on an uncomfortable chair and bargaining to get her to eat, and it’s Sam she turns to. A part of me wonders if Isabella is trying to punish me for bringing this on her. Apparently, my sweet and darling dove does have a fire in her, after all.

I push my chair back with a screech and stand up. “I need the fucking numbers.”

Lorenzo glances over at Tristan and then back at me. “What?”

I run a hand through my hair. “Are you deaf? I said I need the fucking numbers. I want to know how much of a loss we’d suffer if we give them what they want.”

“That’s impossible—”

I spin around to face Lorenzo and give him a deadly look. “If I wanted excuses, I’d go find that sorry and shitty excuse of a man called Donahue. I want answers. Now.”

Lorenzo stands up, and his fingers fumble with the buttons on his jacket. “It’s going to take some time—”

I pin Lorenzo against the nearest wall and bring my mouth up to his face. “More excuses. It’s like you want to be made a fucking example of. Is that what you want?”

Lorenzo shakes his head, sweat forming on his forehead and underneath his arms. “No.”

I give him another shake, making his teeth rattle. “Then why in the hell are we still talking? Get the hell out of my sight, and don’t come back until you have those numbers.”

With a small noise of disgust, I release Lorenzo, and he scrambles away from me. Without looking back, he hurries out of the room, and I watch him through the glass. I wait until he rounds the corner before I turn to Tristan, who has his arms folded over his chest and a strange glint in his eyes.

“You’re going to be insufferable as a dad.”

I scowl. “Fuck you.”

Tristan’s eyes don’t leave my face. “Anita told me about what’s been happening with the others—”

“We have a war to think about it, so we don’t have the time to sit around the goddamn fire and share our feelings.”

Tristan raises an eyebrow. “It really doesn’t bother you, does it?”

I give Tristan a pointed look. “What doesn’t?”

Tristan unfolds his arms and makes a vague hand gesture. “The fact that you’re losing control over the family. It’s like you’re going through the motions without any real conviction.”

“Unless you want to be in the hospital for a few more weeks, I’d suggest you shut your fucking mouth. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Except Tristan and I both know that isn’t true. He knows me better than most of the family, and he can see right through me. I’m fighting for control, but I’m not even sure why.

Because the minute Isabella was wheeled into the hospital, everything changed for me.

And things haven’t been the same for a long, long time.

Tristan exhales. “I get it. Everything is different now. It’s not just Isabella you’re thinking of. You have to think about the baby too. They can’t grow up around all this.”

I take a step toward Tristan and give him a meaningful look. “Is this your way of letting me know you’re gunning for my job? I can arrange for a warm fucking welcome.”

Tristan is still studying me. “It’s just us, Carter, and I can see it all over your face.”

I point a finger at Tristan and bristle. “You don’t know a fucking thing.”

Without waiting for a response, I step out of the room and slam the door shut hard enough to make the walls rattle. Then, I stride down the hallway with no particular direction in mind. In front of Isabella’s room, I stop and spot Sam through the glass. She’s pulled up a chair and is sitting next to Isabella’s bed. Isabella is on her side, her eyes wide and listless and still as vulnerable as ever.

I’m tempted to burst into the room, sweep her into my arms, and carry her away. But no matter where we go, I know we can’t outrun any of this.

Isabella gives Sam the barest hint of a smile, and something stirs within me.

I stiffen and walk in the opposite direction, barely breaking a sweat until I realize I’m a few floors down, lingering outside of the chapel. It isn’t until I’m inside, sitting on a pew in the back, that I recognize the feeling burning through my veins.

Self-loathing is familiar to me. As familiar to me as the back of my hand, and the last time I was this consumed by it was when Brooke was alive. I still remember how it felt to realize she was in danger. And I haven’t been able to shake off the realization that I could’ve done more.

Am I forever doomed to repeat my history with Brooke?

I ball my hands into fists and stare straight ahead, wave after wave of frustration and impatience rising within me. Am I going to lose someone else I love to this fight? To this life?

What is the point of being one of the most powerful men in the city if I can’t protect the people I love?

The doors creak open, and an elderly couple come in, wearing black and hobbling on their canes. They don’t stop until they reach the front pews of the chapel. Slowly, the man helps the woman sit down and takes a seat next to her. From where I’m sitting, I see him take both of her frail and weathered hands in his and pause.

In silence, they both bow their heads and murmur in soft voices. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I don’t care.

What good has religion done me? What good is God when I know he’s turned his back on me?

I have scraped, toiled, cheated, killed, and bled my way to the top, and I’m not going to let anyone take that away from me. Not even enemies who fight with no honor and no moral code.

Still, as I sit there, watching the older couple continue to pray in spite of the tremor in their voices and the frailty of their bodies, I can’t help but wonder if I could’ve done something differently. With Brooke, I was consumed and obsessed with carving out a name for myself. Working my way to the top meant so much more back then.

And a part of me hadn’t believed I’d be worthy of her until I was something.

Brooke never asked it of me, but I did it anyway—as much for myself as I did for her. But I can’t change the fact I’ve failed Isabella just like I failed Brooke.

And the fact that my feelings for Brooke are a drop in the ocean compared to what I feel for Isabella doesn’t matter since the end result is the same. Over and over, history will keep repeating itself, punishing me for flying too close to the sun. A part of me wonders if I’ve brought this on myself, but the other part of me recognizes that this is the price to pay for getting to the top.

For being Carter fucking Blackthorne.

Every man in my position has had to make sacrifices, willingly or otherwise, and I’m no different.

With a slight shake of my head, I stand up, and I feel the couple’s eyes on me. I ignore them as I step out of the chapel and into the hallway. Everything is a blur of shapes and colors until I find myself on Isabella’s floor again, blinking underneath fluorescent lighting. Isabella is sitting up in bed, her arm held out in front of her, and a small red-haired nurse uses a pressure cuff.

I step into the room, lean against the wall, and watch them. Isabella doesn’t say anything to acknowledge my presence.

The red-haired nurse offers me a distracted smile. “Everything is fine here, Mr. Blackthorne. Mom and baby are doing so well.”

I give the nurse a curt nod but don’t respond.

Isabella licks her dry and chapped lips. “Is… do we know the sex of the baby?”

The nurse unwraps the pressure cuff and picks up a tablet. She scrolls through it, a slight furrow appearing between her brows. “It’s still a week or two away before the doctor is able to determine the sex for sure. I can have a gynecologist come in if you’d like.”

Isabella shakes her head, slowly at first, then more emphatically. “As long as the baby is okay, that’s all that matters.”

The nurse pats Isabella on the arm and gives her a bright smile. Then she brushes past, giving her one last look over her shoulders before she steps out.

A few moments later, I push myself off the wall and walk over to Isabella. “We should be getting out of here soon. The doctor said it should be a couple more days at most.”

Isabella sinks against the mattress and twists onto her side. “Okay.”

I cross over to the side of the bed and kneel in front of her. “I’m not going anywhere, dove. I told you that already. We’re in this together through thick and thin. So you do whatever the fuck you need to do.”

Isabella presses her lips together and doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll be here when you’re ready,” I add in a quieter voice.

When she doesn’t respond, I stand up and lower myself into the chair. Although a part of me hurts, knowing that I can’t reach out to Isabella, I refuse to believe everything I’m doing is in vain.

It is enough.

It has to be.