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

Chapter Seventeen

Carter

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

There’s a dull pounding in my ears, and I taste blood and bile on the tip of my tongue. Across from me, Daniel Blackthorne, my long-lost uncle, shoves both hands into his pockets and gives me a meaningful look. Then he glances over at a few of the other members of the family, all of whom avoid his gaze.

They know better than to cross me, especially when I’m like this. But I’ve been in a rut for weeks. Ever since I packed up my bag and left Isabella and the baby.

A part of me knows that prowling the streets and looking for excuses to get into fights isn’t the way to go, but I can’t seem to help myself. How else am I supposed to deal with the rage burning inside of me?

If I don’t feed the monster, he’s going to swallow me whole, and I’m not ready to give up yet.

Daniel exhales and holds a hand up. “I wasn’t trying to offend you, Carter. I was just pointing out facts. Your grip on the docks isn’t as strong as it was.”

“Facts?” I repeat, my voice rising toward the end. “You want to talk about fucking facts? How about the fact that you’ve only been here for a few weeks? Who the fuck gave you the right to comment on any of this? You don’t know shit.”

Daniel frowns. “I am head of the Blackthornes in Hong Kong. I know a thing or two.”

I draw my lips back and bare my teeth at him. “You don’t know shit. The way you run things there isn’t how we do business here.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow. “So, making an enemy out of everyone is how you’re going to expand the empire?”

I make a low noise in the back of my throat and cross over to him.

Tristan steps forward and gives me a slight shake of his head. I give him an angry look in response, but he doesn’t fall in line.

Everyone else in the room has their shoulders squared, looking ready to break out into a fight. Even in my enraged state, I know I can’t take all of them on, not by a long shot.

I’m not even going to do enough damage for it to matter, but a part of me still wants to try. If only to escape the vicious voice in my head reminding me of all the ways I’ve fucked up. First with Isabella and now with the rest of my family.

“Out of respect for Anita, I’m not going to make you eat your own words,” I tell Daniel with a cold lift of my chin. “Even if it weren’t for the fact that you’re related to her, I’d show you what a real Blackthorne behaves like.”

Tristan shoots me a warning look, but I ignore him. More and more of the men in the room are growing uncomfortable.

I know that my comment has struck a chord with a few of them because when it comes right down to it, Daniel Blackthorne is more of a Blackthorne than I am. He has my grandfather’s blood running through his veins, and I hate him all the more for it.

Are they already thinking of him as their savior? Do they think he is the rightful heir to the Blackthorne empire?

Fuck.

I pick up my half-empty whiskey glass and eye everyone over the rim. “Unless someone else has something to say, I suggest we stop wasting everyone’s fucking time and get back to business.”

“Carter—”

I set my glass down with a little more force than necessary, the thud reverberating inside across Tristan’s empty living room. “I didn’t tell you that you can speak.”

Daniel takes a step forward and lifts his head up. “I came down here to help you. I’m not going to be able to do that unless you let me.”

“I didn’t ask for your fucking help,” I snap, with an angry look in his direction.

And I’m not sure why Anita reached out to him in the first place. We were doing fine without Daniel, and we’ll be fine long after he loses interest and scurries back to whatever hole he crawled out of.

Daniel is only here because, like my enemies, he can smell the blood and is circling me.

As far as I’m concerned, the only difference between him, the Natoris, and the Philipses is that he’s trying to befriend me first.

I have no idea why he’s offering me sympathy and guidance, but I’m not about to let him stick a knife in my back and play the victim.

Daniel throws both hands up on either side of him. “Look, if we work together, we can figure out a solution to the Natoris and Philipses, and I’m sure we can figure out a way to make back some of the money we’ve lost—”

I cover the distance between us and punch Daniel squarely in the face. “I told you to shut the fuck up.”

Daniel covers his nose with both hands, bright red blood staining his fingers and the carpet beneath his feet. A few stunned looks are exchanged, but no one says anything.

Daniel reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of tissues. His hands and face are a bloody mess, but it doesn’t give me the satisfaction I thought it would.

If anything, I feel worse, like I’m some kind of crazed animal who needs more blood to vindicate itself.

“Carter—”

I punch Daniel again, this time in his stomach. A slight wince moves over his face, but his hands remain limply at his side. He opens his mouth again, and I shove him as hard as I can, causing him to stumble back. When his back hits the wall, I throw myself at Daniel, fully aware that there’s no pleasing the monster tonight.

After a night spent tossing and turning and trying but failing to sleep, he needs this. I need this.

Each punch and each drink helps me sink further and further into the man I’ve become. The kind who can’t stomach the thought of facing Isabella.

On the fourth punch, Daniel places both of his hands on my shoulders and pushes me back. Startled, I stumble and lose my footing. Tristan catches me before I hit the ground, but I’m too far gone to care. After shoving him away, I swing my gaze back to Daniel, who already has bruises on his face and dried blood on the collar of his shirt and the side of his face.

But he has a different gleam in his eyes now. It’s not the same determined look I saw when he walked in a few hours ago.

No one says anything as Daniel and I lunge at each other.

I throw one punch after the next, but I only land a few. In spite of his age and his stature, Daniel is quick on his feet and able to intercept half of the blows. We spin around in a circle, knocking furniture down and scattering the Blackthorne men to various parts of the living room. In the background, I’m dimly aware of Tristan, Ernesto, and Lorenzo calling out, but I don’t care.

I want to make my uncle bleed. I want him to feel a fraction of the pain and suffering I feel.

I lose my footing on an area rug and sprawl backward, landing with a startling wheezing sound on my ass. Before I can jump back up to my feet, Daniel is the one hitting me, throwing blow after blow, as if his life depends on it. It isn’t long before pain radiates throughout every inch of my body. Staggering to my feet, I ignore my aching muscles and throw myself at his middle.

Together, we land against a glass table, shattering it into a million pieces. A few of the men jump out of the way, and others exchange disgruntled looks.

Daniel and I roll onto the floor, but I don’t care that there are little pinpricks of pain racing up and down my arms. I don’t even care that little droplets of blood have begun to well and stain the hardwood floors beneath our feet. As long as Daniel and I are fighting each other, I don’t have to think about what happens when we stop.

Or the kind of damage that’s always trailing after me, waiting whenever my guard is down.

I manage to knock Daniel back down onto his feet, and I straddle him with a bloody smile. “Not so tough now, are you? You don’t know shit about what I’ve done to get here.”

Or the pieces of my soul that I’ve sold to keep the Blackthornes on top. No one here understands. And the fact that none of them appreciate it only makes me angrier.

Ungrateful bastards.

Daniel bucks and thrashes until he throws me off. “I’m not the enemy here, Carter.”

I spit out a mouthful of blood and stagger to my full height. “You want to bet?”

I try to punch him again, but Daniel sidesteps and kicks me in the ribs. A startled gasp leaves my lips as I wheel around to face him, my bloodlust showing no sign of stopping. He throws himself at me, and we spin in another circle. Suddenly, Daniel has me in a headlock while I try to get a punch in.

But it’s no use. In all the ways that count, Daniel is superior to me.

When we spin in another circle, and I catch a glimpse of my men, the men I’ve fought and killed alongside, it’s like ice-cold water jolts through my veins. I see Tristan, Ernesto, and Lorenzo exchange a quick look before they fold their arms over their chests. Then Daniel releases me, and I stumble away, my back hitting the wall hard enough to send a sharp jolt of pain racing up my spine.

Daniel uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. “Enough. You’re Nico’s son. I don’t want to fight you anymore.”

Using my sleeve, I wipe away the blood and give Daniel a slow and cruel smile. “We’re not done until I say we’re done.”

Daniel’s eyes tighten as he straightens his back. “Carter, you need to be smart about this.”

I don’t want to listen to him or anyone else in this room. Because no one else gets it. My inner-most demon rages and thrashes against the restraints I can barely hold onto now.

I take a step forward, drawing to a halt when Tristan intercepts me. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

Tristan glances over at Daniel and then back at me. “No.”

I grab Tristan by the scruff of his neck and bring his face up to mine. “What the hell did you just say?”

Lorenzo and Ernesto materialize on either side of him. Paul steps out of line and doesn’t stop until he has an arm between me and his brother.

I glance between the two of them, and my eyes narrow. “So, is this how it’s going to go? After everything we’ve been through together? I should’ve known you two would only be loyal to each other.”

Tristan pushes me away and scrubs a hand over his face. “Jesus fuck, Carter. This isn’t about loyalty. This is about what’s best for the family and the empire.”

My stomach drops as I glance around the room, a growing sense of unease rising within me. “So, that’s it, huh? You all want to have me replaced by someone new? Fuck all of you.”

How can they all stand there and do nothing? After everything I’ve done and everything I’ve sacrificed?

I’ve poured my blood, sweat, and tears into this empire, into this family, to make it what it is. And all these ungrateful fuckers can’t even look me in the eye. The ridiculousness of it all almost makes me want to laugh out loud.

Daniel steps out from behind Tristan and Paul, a determined look on his face. He exchanges a quick look with the men, who, after a brief hesitation, fall back.

Fuck me.

They already feel indebted to him and are acting like he’s the one on top. The realization makes red-hot anger burn through me, and my fingers itch with the desire to push Daniel up against the nearest wall and pummel him into a pulp.

I’m tempted not to stop until no one questions me ever again.

But when Tristan wheels around to face me, something about the look in his eyes makes me stop. With a disgusted snort, I take a step back and shove my trembling hands into my pockets. In silence, I follow Daniel and Tristan out onto the terrace.

Through the glass door, I see Lorenzo and Ernesto stand guard, their arms folded over their chests. Paul is the only one they let through, and he immediately flattens himself against the wall and avoids my gaze. A brusque wind rushes past as Daniel and I stand and face each other.

I take my hands out of my pocket and level my uncle with a pointed look. “You don’t get to come here and act like it’s already a done deal.”

A muscle ticks in Daniel’s jaw. “Fine.”

I cover the distance between us and hold his gaze. “When and if there’s a transition of power, it’ll be after we deal with our enemies. Now is not the time to put ourselves in a compromising position.”

After a brief pause, Daniel gives me a curt nod. “Agreed.”

I give Daniel another disgusted look and look over at Tristan. “Inform the rest of the men. I have somewhere else to be.”

Without waiting for a response, I storm past Paul and push the double doors of the terrace open. When I spill inside, the men straighten their backs, but none of them want to meet my gaze. I ignore them all, wrench the door open, and take the stairs two at a time. I have no idea where I’m going as I wander through the empty, low-lit streets of the city until I reach a bar with pulsing music and a neon sign out front.

Inside, it smells like wine and perfume, and many of the people are standing at the high bar tables scattered around, with only a few booths along the back wall. It’s one of the nicer bars I’ve been to lately, with its fresh coat of paint and calm music playing through the overhead speakers.

I go straight to the bar, lean over, and gesture to the bald-headed bartender. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a few women elbow each other and nod in my direction. Rolling my eyes, I down my drink and drape my jacket over the back of a chair. Music continues to play in the background while my head spins.

The longer I stand there, knocking back drink after drink, the worse I feel. Tristan and the others aren’t wrong to lose faith in me. I took my eye off the ball for Isabella, and now I can’t find it again. As much as I hate to admit it, I have no one to blame for this shit-show but myself.

Fucking hell.

How am I supposed to maintain my grip over the family if I don’t even want to? If I spend all my time and energy trying to keep thoughts of Isabella out of my mind?

With a growl, I fish my phone out of my pocket, my finger hovering over the voicemail she left me days ago. Scowling, I finish my drink and gesture for another. The bell above the door rings, and I glance up in time to see a familiar head of hair. I slam the glass against the counter with a little more force than necessary, my eyes widening as Sam materializes first, pushing her way through the crowd with a reluctant and frail-looking Isabella trailing behind her.

Even from where I’m standing, I can see how much weight she’s lost. But she looks beautiful in her short skirt and long boots.

More than a few of the men in the bar glance at her as she walks past. She remains huddled in her coat, her eyes never leaving the floor. Once they reach the other side of the bar, Sam gestures to an empty booth, and the two of them sit down. Isabella hides her face behind a menu, and Sam’s eyes dart over the bar, taking in the rows of tables on either side and the abstract paintings on the walls.

As soon as she sees me, Sam freezes.

I shove my way through the crowd, carrying my drink in my hand. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Isabella gasps, and her face lights up when she sees me. “Carter! What are you doing here? You know what, it doesn’t even matter. I’m just so happy to see you.”

I fix my gaze on Sam and ignore Isabella altogether. “I asked you what the fuck you’re doing. You can’t bring my pregnant fiancée into a bar.”

Sam stiffens and squares her shoulders. “She needed to get out of the house, and I thought a change of scenery would be good for her.”

I give Sam my most menacing look, and she shrinks a little. “You’re supposed to be taking care of her.”

Isabella places a hand on my arm, but I shake her off.

“I am taking care of her,” Sam firmly states, her gaze sliding over to Isabella’s before she looks back at me. “We all are.”

A long and tense moment passes.

“I don’t care what you have going on with Tristan. If you get her into any kind of trouble, I fucking swear—”

Isabella jumps up and wedges herself between us. “Stop it, Carter. I agreed to come here, okay? I’m not a baby.”

She places a hand on my chest and tries to meet my gaze. “Can we please go somewhere we can talk? I have so much I want to say to you.”

Being in close proximity to her is hard. Harder than I ever thought possible.

Every cell in my body screams her name, and every inch of me aches with the desire to take her into my arms and carry her right out of there.

Isabella steps closer, and the smell of her perfume wafts up my nostrils, sending a jolt straight through me.

For the first time in weeks, I exhale and press two fingers to my lips. “You two need to get out of here, Sam. You’re in over your head, and you know it. Take her somewhere else.”

“But—”

“Now,” I bark through gritted teeth. I take a few more steps back, leaving as much distance between myself and Isabella as possible.

But I don’t miss the wounded look on Isabella’s face or the tears she tries to blink back.

Sam drapes an arm over Isabella’s shoulders and says something into her ear. Isabella’s eyes are still on me, and she’s muttering something unintelligible under her breath. I hold myself perfectly still as they brush past me. After a brief pause, I stride ahead of them and hold the bar door open. On her way past, Isabella tries to touch me again, but I don’t give her a chance.

Outside, Ernesto is waiting for them, his back pressed against the SUV. Wordlessly, he holds the door open, and Tristan gets into the front.

I dig my nails into my palms as they drive off, resisting every urge in my body to go after them. As I stand there underneath the flickering fluorescent lamp, Paul comes to stand next to me and doesn’t say anything. Red and orange flames light up his face as he puffs on a cigarette.

Without looking back, I hold my hand out. Paul hands me a cigarette, and the first inhale loosens the knot in my stomach.

It takes every ounce of strength and self-control I have to continue to stand there until Ernesto’s SUV turns into a speck in the distance. As soon as it’s swallowed whole by traffic, I spin around to face Paul, who has a strange expression on his face.

“What the fuck are you looking at?”

Paul shrugs and takes another long drag. “Love is a strange thing, isn’t it, boss?”

I grunt. “You and your brother need to learn to mind your own goddamn business.”

Paul nods and rolls his shoulders. “Abso-fucking-lutely. Yet here we are. I haven’t spent a lot of time with Isabella, but she’s good people, boss.”

I shoot Paul a warning look, the anger still pumping steadily through me.

If Sam hadn’t agreed to take Isabella back, I’m not sure what I would’ve done, but I’m sure the patrons of the bar, who are now singing loudly and offkey, would’ve borne the full brunt of my anger. Over the past few weeks, I’ve earned a reputation in most of the bars within a ten-block radius, but I can’t bring myself to care.

Because none of it matters.

All the bars, all the drinks, and all the fights aren’t going to change what I am. Or what I’ve done to Isabella.

And they sure as shit aren’t going to make me into the man she wants, the one she needs. Isabella deserves more than the cold shoulder and for me to ignore her, but until I’m ready to go back and until I know what I’m going to do, she’s better off without me.

Let her nurse her ego and pride.

Because I’m determined that I’m never going to hurt Isabella like that again, and if it means continuing to stay away from her for the foreseeable future, so be it.

Carter Blackthorne isn’t a quitter, and he doesn’t half-ass anything.