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 Shattered Wings
Feathers and Thorne Series Book 3
Written by Ivy Black and Raven Scott
Copyright © 2024. All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely
coincidental.
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 Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Your Free Gifts
 Chapter One
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.
 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.”
 Chapter Three
Isabella
Bright light dances behind my eyelids. I hear a beeping sound and lift my hand up to my face. When I tug,
there’s a strange pull, like something is holding me back. Slowly, I force one eye open, spots dancing in and out
of my field of vision. I blink, and the world tilts into focus, showing me the IV drip poking out of my arm. I
frown at the drip and lift a finger up to trace it.
The monitor next to me makes a loud beeping sound.
My frown deepens as my fingers close around the drip, and I try to remove it. Suddenly, Carter is by my
side, fingers circling my wrist. Wordlessly, he pushes my hand away and steps forward, blocking my view of the
monitor. I rub my hands over my eyes, and when I look back, I see Carter in a wrinkled shirt with specks of
dried blood, bloodshot eyes, and tufts of hair standing up on top of his head.
He looks nothing at all like the man I love. Carter looks more like a ghost, a shell of his former self.
And as I inhale, I struggle to remember why.
Little by little, the rest of the room comes into focus, and I realize I’m in a hospital bed, in a paper-thin
gown, with a blanket draped over me and a window overlooking the city’s skyline. In the distance, I can make
out the squeak of shoes and wheels rolling against the linoleum floors. Gingerly, I sit up straighter, and Carter’s
hand darts out to fluff the pillow behind me. He smells like sandalwood and sweat, and it makes some of the
knots in my stomach unfurl.
Until he leans forward and presses his lips to my forehead. “You’ve been asleep for two days, dove. How
are you feeling?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I swallow and try again, my voice coming out thick and hoarse.
“Why am I in the hospital?”
Carter frowns and pulls a chair up to sit next to me. He takes both of my hands in his. “You don’t
remember what happened?”
I pause. “I remember you being here when I was drifting in and out of consciousness. Did… did
something happen?”
Carter’s face is smooth and expressionless, giving nothing away. But I know something is wrong by the
way he holds himself and by the tight set of his shoulders.
Why can’t I remember?
Carter releases a deep breath. “A lot of fucked up shit has happened, dove, but you don’t need to worry
about any of that right now. The important thing is that you and the baby are safe.”
My mouth falls open. “You know about the baby?”
“I saw the note. I almost missed it, by the way, so the next time, you should try telling me instead,” Carter
says, his lips lifting into the ghost of a smile. “This isn’t the kind of thing I should find out from a note.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Carter searches my face, some of the shadows lifting from his face. “You want to keep the baby, right?”
I grip his hands tighter. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but I want to be a mom, Carter. For what it’s
worth, I think you’re going to make a great father.”
Carter releases my hands and stands up. “I don’t know about that. I’ve had to do a lot of shit the past few
days to keep you all safe.”
“Why would you…” I trail off as an image comes to mind. When I blink, I see Rich standing across from
Tristan, who is panting and bleeding profusely. My heart starts to pound in my chest when another memory
comes to mind. One with the gun Carter had given me, the same one I held to Rich’s chest.
All at once, I see the two of us wrestling for control, and I can smell Rich’s blood wafting up my nostrils. I
see his mouth form a surprised “O” before he crumples into a heap on the ground. I gasp, sit up straighter, and
turn tear-filled eyes to Carter.
“What’s the matter, dove? What happened?”
I shake my head. “I… I can’t tell you.”
Carter’s expression is wounded. “What do you mean you can’t tell me? We don’t keep secrets from each
other, dove. Not when it really counts.”
I bury my face in my hands, my shoulders heaving. “I can’t tell you because you’re not going to look at me
the same way if I do.”
 The bed dips, and I hear Carter sit down. He moves closer to me, but the bed is too small, and I can’t get
away from him fast enough. I don’t want to feel his arms around me, and I don’t want him to stroke my hair. I
especially don’t want him to be kind and understanding because I don’t deserve it.
“I’m not the same woman you fell in love with,” I whisper from behind closed fingers, my voice catching
toward the end. “I’m spoiled now, Carter.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
My hands tremble as I pull them away and meet Carter’s gaze directly. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry
you wasted your time on me.”
Carter stands up, his eyes sweeping over my face. “Whatever fucked up joke this is, you need to stop. It
isn’t funny.”
Tears roll down my cheeks now. “I’m not kidding, Carter. We can’t go back to the way things were. I… I
don’t even know if I can be a mom anymore.”
Or if I should be.
Our baby deserves better than two parents with blood on their hands and a slew of dead bodies in their
wake. But I can’t change what I’ve done, no matter how much I wish I could.
Carter’s expression darkens. “No.”
“What do you mean no?”
Carter draws closer until he is mere inches away from my face. His eyes blaze with emotion, and his body
is coiled. “I am not going to let you push me away. Not again.”
I try to look away from him, but he won’t let me.
Carter places two fingers under my chin and holds my head in place. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
My lower lip trembles and quivers. “No.”
Carter doesn’t look away, and he doesn’t release my chin. “So help me God, dove, if you don’t tell me
what’s wrong, I’m going to turn this whole room inside out.”
More tears spill from my eyes. “Oh, and that’s your solution to everything, is it? Why does it always have
to be violence? Why can’t you choose something else?”
Carter releases my chin and takes a step back, a shadow settling over his face. “Is that your issue? You
knew who I was when you met me, Isabella.”
“I know that, but things are different now.”
Carter takes another step back, and I see him ball his hands into fists at his side. “So, that’s why you
didn’t want to tell me about the baby. You think I’m not good enough.”
My heart sputters. “No, it’s not that at all. I think you’ll make a great dad someday. I just—”
Carter crosses over to me in two strides and pushes his head forward so we lock eyes. “You just what? You
thought you could mold me into a different kind of man? Like Rich, perhaps.”
I place two hands on his chest and shove Carter away. “How could you even say that? After everything
he’s done to us. He used me and lied to me, and you let him string me along.”
Carter winces and runs a hand over his face. “I admit that I could’ve handled that better, but you were in a
really bad place after your dad died, and I didn’t want to make things worse.”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
I cross my arms over my chest and level him with a look, something cold hardening inside my chest. “You
didn’t tell me because you don’t know how to be honest. Because you always like keeping a trick or two up your
sleeve. How could I possibly forget the man I’m engaged to?”
Carter’s nostrils flare, and one of his eyes twitches. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
I throw the covers off the bed and swing my legs over, ignoring the wave of dizziness that washes over me.
“Yes, let’s pretend like we’ve already been doing and like we’re going to keep doing for the rest of our goddamn
lives.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. You’ve had a stressful few days, so I’m not going to say
anything—”
“Or what? You’ll bring your belt?” I turn so I’m facing Carter directly. Even from across the room, I can
see how much effort he’s exerting to hold himself together, to keep from doing something stupid.
But I know Carter wouldn’t hurt me. Not like that.
Still, a part of me wants to punish him for dragging me into all of this. For pushing me into the deep end
and expecting me to figure out how to swim on my own. And another smaller part of me wonders if it’s too late
for me to walk away.
Was this Carter’s plan all along to ruin me so I’m just like him?
Carter’s expression darkens. “You and I both know that’s not the kind of man I am, Isabella. The fact that
you’re insinuating that is further proof that you aren’t in the right frame of mind.”
I struggle with the needle in my hand, but I can’t rip it away. “That’s where you’re wrong. My thoughts
have never been clearer.”
Carter presses his lips together and says nothing.
I stand up, my arm half bent at an odd angle, my other arm hanging limply at my side. “I want to know
the real reason why you didn’t tell me about Rich.”
“I told you why.”
I search his face. “Why don’t I believe you?”
Carter’s expression is one of disbelief and shock. “Do you think I wanted this to happen? Do you think
that I wanted to put you and Tristan in the line of fire?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore, Carter.” I run my free hand over my face and try to ignore the
ringing in my ears. “But I do know that I’m tired of being lied to. I’m tired of being used and abused and
everything else under the sun.”
“Isabella, I—”
I hold a hand up and shake my head. “I really don’t want to hear it, Carter.”
With that, I climb back onto the bed and flip onto my side so I’m not looking at him. Carter comes to
stand in front of me, but I squeeze my eyes shut to ignore him. All I can see is Rich, crumpling to the ground in
front of me, over and over again. I keep seeing myself patting his pocket for his keys and running away.
I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep till I shoot up, drenched in sweat and with my heart hammering against
my chest. I rub my eyes and lick my dry lips. On the table next to me, there is a large glass of water. I down it all
in one gulp and sink back against the mattress, my heart still pounding uneasily. Out of the corner of my eye, I
see a flash of movement, and I realize Carter is propped up on a chair across from me.
He has fingers linked together and is looking directly at me. But he doesn’t say anything.
I flip onto my other side and ignore him.
A few hours later, Carter crouches in front of me, a tray of food in his hands. I look from the food to his
face and back away again. He holds up the spoon to my mouth, but the smell of broth sends a wave of nausea
through me. I push past him, stumble into the connecting bathroom, and sink onto the tile floors. I’m bent over
the toilet, dry heaving, when I hear Carter come in.
When my stomach stops recoiling, I push myself up to my feet and use the back of my hands to wipe my
mouth. Then, I flush the toilet and prop myself against the sink. Cupping both hands together, I splash cold
water on my face and shiver. After patting my face dry, I glance back up, and Carter is still in the doorway,
having changed out of his wrinkled and dirty clothing into a fresh pair of clothes.
I don’t say anything as I walk past him and climb back into bed.
As soon as I draw the covers up to my chin, Carter walks over to me and reaches for the tray. “You have to
eat something.”
I shake my head and stare at an unmarked spot on the wall.
Outside, the world is changing colors, from pink and purple to dark grey. In the background, I can make
out the sound of shoes squeaking against the floor and the rise and fall of murmured conversation. Then,
there’s a loud cacophony of voices as a monitor beeps in the distance. Through the glass window, I spot a group
of medical personnel racing in the opposite direction, white lab coats flapping behind them.
It feels like I’m watching all of it happen from a distance. Like I never made it out of the car crash, to
begin with.
Carter climbs onto the bed and holds the bowl up to my face. “I know you’re angry with me. I know I
fucked up, but you can’t punish yourself for this, dove. This is my fault, not yours.”
My gaze flicks over to Carter, and I don’t say anything.
He shifts closer, his expression turning hopeful. “For the baby’s sake, please. You need to keep up your
strength.”
I open my mouth and allow him to feed me a few mouthfuls of soup.
By the fifth spoonful, I’m feeling sick again. Abruptly, I push Carter away and throw myself back against
the mattress. Although my eyelids feel heavy, I’m reluctant to shut them because I don’t want to face what’s
waiting for me. Rich’s face is already hovering in my field of vision, smiling cruelly at me.
 Against my better judgment, I drift off and wake up drenched in my own sweat.
Carter is standing outside my room, a phone pressed to his ear. His free hand runs through his hair, and
he keeps pacing. I swallow past the lump in my throat and pick up the glass of water next to me. I down it all
and lean back again, feeling weaker than before. Then I drape a hand over my stomach and glance down, my
chest tightening.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do better,” I whisper in a cracked voice. “I should’ve done better.”
When I fall asleep again, I’m in a large field, with blades of grass everywhere I look. I have a baby in my
arms, a pink bundle sleeping soundly. With a smile, I bring him up to my face for a kiss, and he coos. I lower my
head to kiss him, and his face transforms, changing to that of Rich. He pulls back his lips to reveal a row of
white teeth stained with blood.
“What’s the matter, Isabella?” Rich says in a taunting voice. “Something on your conscience?”
The baby in my arms squirms as he begins to bleed, little droplets at first that stain the ground beneath
our feet. Suddenly, it grows stronger and stronger until most of my clothes are covered in blood, the
overpowering stench making my stomach recoil. Then the baby grows too heavy, and I drop him with a yelp. I
scramble to my hands and knees and crawl to the baby, but he disappears. Once I stand up, I see Carter on the
edge of the field, holding the bundle in his arms.
I race to them, my hair whipping behind me. “Wait, I want to see my baby.”
Carter shifts, his grip on the baby tightening. “Why would I want you anywhere near our son? You’re
going to turn him into a murderer, just like you.”
I wince and skid to a halt on the edge of the field, within arm’s reach. “That’s not true. I didn’t mean to. I
was trying to protect myself and the baby. Rich would’ve hurt us.”
Carter lets out a low, humorless laugh. “Is that what you tell yourself? Is that how you justify killing
someone like that? I’ve killed a lot of people, Bella, but even I have better excuses than that.”
“But I—”
Carter’s expression darkens, and he holds the baby behind his back. “You’re not fit to be his mother.
You’re not a dove anymore. You’ve got blood on your hands now. You’re no better than the other women I was
with.”
I start crying, the tears flowing freely down my face as my shoulders shake. “Carter, please. Don’t do this.
Don’t keep my baby away from me.”
Carter points a finger at me and smiles, the kind of smile that sends a shiver racing up my spine. “You did
this to yourself. You’re a fucking murderer, and you have no one to blame but yourself.”
I blink and find myself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling and listening to the monitor next to me go crazy.
Slowly, I bring my free hand up to my face and shove my hair out of my eyes. The room is mostly dark except for
a small light to my right. I turn to it and find Carter propped up on the chair, his head tilted to one side, and his
eyes squeezed shut.
He’s twitching in his sleep.
I shift to sit up, and Carter’s eyes fly open. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”
He scrambles over to me and takes both of my clammy hands in his. I look away from him and squeeze
my eyes shut. Another wave of tears threatens to drag me under. Carter stays on the floor, holding my hands
until I start to drift off. Then he tucks me in and drifts back to his chair. Before I fall asleep, I open one eye and
study his vague outline slumped against the chair.
In my dreams, Rich is still chasing me.
In the morning, Sam is the one sitting next to me, her hair a wild mess around her face while bundled up
in a too-large coat. She sits up straighter when I stir and does her best to offer me a smile. I take one look at her
face, see Tristan’s anguished expression, and my shoulders begin to shake.
Sam is by my side in two seconds. She climbs onto the bed, drapes an arm over my shoulders, and tucks
me into her side. “You’re okay. You and the baby are okay, Isabella. Everything’s going to be fine.”
I throw an arm over Sam’s middle and sniff. “It’s not, though. I’m so sorry, Sam.”
Sam squeezes my shoulders. “What for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I lift my gaze up to hers and swallow past the tightness in my chest. “It’s my fault Tristan got stabbed, and
then I had to leave him behind and—”
Sam shook her head. “What were you supposed to do, Isabella? Rich manipulated you.”
I press my lips together and say nothing.
Slowly, Sam stands up and walks over to the chair. She takes out a large bag and brings it over to me. “I
didn’t know what else to do, so Paul took me to buy some clothes for the baby.”
The low pounding in my head intensifies.
Sam rummages through the bag and pulls out a dark-colored onesie. Then she takes out a few socks, a
bib, and an assortment of other baby clothes. While she’s showing them to me, I study her face, everything from
the dark circles under her eyes to the pale, ashen color of her cheeks. A part of me doesn’t want to be around
Sam, either.
I can’t stand how patient and kind she’s being. Especially when she and I both know the truth.
Although Sam won’t come out and admit that she’s falling for Tristan, I know the truth. Since I’ve known
her, I’ve watched her go through the same struggle, fighting a similar battle to mine, only to end up losing
completely. Even if she won’t admit it, I know the truth.
Tristan means as much to her as Carter does to me. But since he is Carter’s second in command, he’s in
the line of fire more often than not. Because of me, Tristan has been shot, stabbed, and beaten—his position
within the Blackthorne empire threatened because he refused to fall in line.
I can’t help but wonder if his hate for me is justified.
“If you don’t like anything, I can return it,” Sam adds in a lighter voice. “Don’t feel pressured to accept any
of it.”
I bite down on my bottom lip. “I love all of them, Sam. You didn’t have to do all of this.”
Sam shrugs, her cheeks regaining some color. “I wanted to. Besides, it’s good to have something else to
talk about, and it gave Paul something to do. He’s been so worried about Tristan.”
My tongue feels heavy and awkward in my mouth. I open my mouth, but I have to swallow a few times
before the words come out. “How is he?”
“Tristan’s fine. Doctors say he’ll make a full recovery, but he’ll have to take it easy for a few weeks
because he lost a lot of blood.”
Knots form in the center of my stomach and tighten. “How bad was it?”
Sam begins to fold a few of the items, her gaze darting away from mine. “Bad enough that Carter was
freaked out. He’s the one who found him first. He and Ernesto were in a panic when they did, and then when
they couldn’t find you…”
I scrub a hand over my face. “I left Tristan behind.”
Sam shoves the last of the clothes into the bag and tucks it bag under the chair. “Yeah, because Rich made
you. Tristan told us.”
I shake my head, a low ringing beginning in my ears. “Rich didn’t make me leave Tristan. Well, he did at
first, but after we struggled with the gun, I took Rich’s car and left.”
Sam wheels around to face me, a furrow appearing between her brows. “What are you talking about?”
I close my eyes against the onslaught of images and bow my head. “I couldn’t shake the feeling that
something was wrong and that Rich was lying. I kept asking him to talk to Carter, but he kept giving me
excuses.”
Sam takes my hands in hers. “Isabella, you don’t have to tell me any of this if you’re not ready.”
“I have to tell someone,” I say in a thick voice. “Because if I don’t, I’m afraid it’s going to eat me up alive.”
Sam squeezes my hands and says nothing.
“The harder Rich tried to get me out of the house, the more confused I became. I finally pointed the gun
at him and demanded that he give me answers.”
Sam’s sharp intake of breath reverberates inside of my head.
“We fought for control of the gun, and I tried to get away,” I continue in an impossibly soft voice. “But he
wouldn’t let me go. I thought he was going to kill me and the baby.”
Silence stretches between us.
“Isabella, d-did you shoot Rich?”
My eyes fly open, and I look directly at Sam. “I thought he was the one who shot me until I saw the stain,
and I… I have no idea what came over me after that, but I took his car keys and left.”
Sam’s eyes widen, and her face pales. “Carter doesn’t know, does he?”
“I can’t tell him… not yet. I… I didn’t get far before I remembered Tristan,” I add, my voice cracking
toward the end. “I should’ve remembered him sooner. I don’t know why I don’t.”
Except that I hadn’t been thinking of him at all. At the time, all I could think about was getting the blood
off my hands.
Literally.
 And when I changed out of my clothes and was calm enough to drive, I’d been worried about the baby. I’m
ashamed to realize it took me too long to think of the Blackthorne cousin. Far longer than I’d like to admit.
“You were in shock,” Sam says, finally, her voice surprisingly clear. “You went into flight mode to protect
your baby. I understand that.”
I shake my head, more tears spilling freely now. “You shouldn’t. No one should. I’m not this pure and
perfect person everyone has to protect anymore. Instead, I’m just… I’m just…”
Sam climbs back onto the bed and holds me to her. “Isabella, this doesn’t change anything. I still love you,
and I’m sure everyone else does, too. What you did, you did to defend yourself and your baby. No one can
possibly blame you for it.”
I cling to Sam as if my life depended on it. Her words are like a soothing balm over my aching soul. But
they do nothing for the demons lingering in the shadows and in the back of my mind.
It’s not that I don’t want to believe Sam.
It’s that I can’t.
“No one is going to think less of you,” Sam repeats in a louder voice. “And if they do, then they can all go
and screw themselves. Every one of us would’ve done the same in your position, and I don’t blame you for
Tristan because you tried to come back.”
I’m crying harder, ugly and loud sobs when Carter comes in and freezes. He looks between Sam and me,
and a shadow settles over his face. “What the fuck did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Sam answers in a clipped and even tone. “Isabella had some things she needed to
get off her chest.”
Carter takes a step in our direction, his expression growing darker. “You’re not supposed to upset her. The
doctor said she doesn’t need any more stress.”
Sam’s grip on my shoulders tightens. “I’m not the one causing her stress right now.”
A look passes between the two of them, one full of charged intensity and meaning.
“Stop it,” I murmur without looking at them. “Stop fighting.”
Sam releases a deep and uneven breath. “You’re right, Isabella. I’m sorry. I should go.”
I shake my head, wisps of hair smacking me in the face. “No, don’t go, please.”
I catch the wounded look on Carter’s face as he folds his arms over his chest. “I have a few phone calls to
make, dove. I’ll be back with some food later.”
Without waiting for a response, Carter turns around, and the door clicks shut behind him. My shoulders
deflate, but I continue to hold onto Sam. She strokes my back and my hair, the repetitive and rhythmic motions
lulling me to sleep. A short while later, I feel the bed dip and creak, and Sam moves away.
The smell of her fruity perfume lingers behind her as I bury my face against the pillow and try to sleep.
I’m drifting in and out of consciousness when I hear the door open, and Carter comes in. He and Sam are
exchanging furious whispers when I open an eye. As soon as Carter realizes I’m watching, he stops and looks
over at me with a smile. I give him a weak smile, then twist onto my side. Carter presses a kiss to the top of my
head and adjusts the blanket over my body. When I wake up again, Anita and Ernesto are in the room, standing
near the window, overlooking the hallway outside my room. I try to sit up but give up after a few tries.
Anita twists to face me, and her expression softens. “How are you feeling?”
I shrug and sink lower against the mattress.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of movement, and Carter is next to me, holding up a bowl of
soup. “I know you don’t feel like it, and I can’t make you fucking tell me anything, dove, but you need to eat.”
I press my lips together.
Carter doesn’t move. “You need to eat, and you need to take care of yourself. If not for me or for yourself,
then for the baby.”
My lips part, and I allow Carter to give me a few spoonfuls of soup.
But it isn’t long before I’m pushing the bowl away again, spots hovering in my field of vision. I lower
myself onto the mattress, pull the blanket up over my head, and go still. Anita, Ernesto, and Carter’s voices all
blend together, but I can’t make out anything.
I’m not even sure I want to. Because what good is it going to do me? Knowing what happened isn’t going
to change anything, not as far as I’m concerned.
My last thought before I drift off is that the past few weeks were for nothing. Having to be locked up in
the Blackthorne manor, day in and day out, with no one but Tristan for company, was for nothing. Instead of
keeping the chaos and destruction outside our doorstep, I invited it in with open arms.
 And I have no one to blame but myself for not seeing the signs sooner. I should’ve known Rich’s
friendship was too good to be true.
He was part Lacey, after all.
 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.
 Chapter Five
Isabella
I avert my gaze and stare at the window overlooking the city’s skyline. Although there are bright blue
skies outside, and the sun is high in the sky, the cheerful weather does nothing to lift my spirits.
And it doesn’t chase away the darkness settling around my heart. Nothing can. A part of me wonders if
anything ever will.
It’s been eight days of doctor’s visits and nurses poking at my arms and sides while Carter lingers in the
background. Eight days of being examined, my every flaw and every weakness scrutinized as if the hospital is
going to be able to fix what’s wrong with me. My blood pressure remains frustratingly low, and I’ve lost more
weight than when I first came in, and no one can understand why.
Except for Sam.
She’s the only other person who knows the truth about how I got away from Rich. The only person I can
bear to talk to about it.
Everyone else hovers, well-intentioned and watchful but never daring to imagine the truth.
As hard as it is for me to watch Carter struggle, especially when I hear him pacing at night, and whenever
I see him arguing with the other Blackthornes, I know this is for the best. Carter met me when I was pure and
unspoiled, as far removed from the violence of his day-to-day life as possible. Up until a week ago, he and I were
from two completely different worlds.
Now, whenever I look at my hands or catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, all I see is red. Red
staining my clothes, my soul, and every available surface.
I feel like I’m losing my mind, but I’m powerless to stop it. And a small part of me wonders if it’s the least
I deserve for taking another man’s life.
Sam waves her hand in front of my face and perches on the edge of the bed. “Are you even listening to
me?”
I blink and swing my gaze back to Sam’s. She has a little more color in her cheeks, and her clothes are
actually clean, but seeing her so put together and in control only makes me feel worse.
Because I know I can’t go back to that.
Sam sighs and inches closer. “Isabella, you can’t keep beating yourself up over this. Have you ever known
me to be a liar?”
I frown. “No, but what does that have to do with anything?”
Sam shifts even closer and holds my gaze. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this, Isabella. You did what you had
to do, and I would’ve done the same thing.”
A lump rises in the back of my throat. “You and I talked about the kind of world I’m going to bring my
baby into, and we talked about not wanting that to affect the baby…”
Sam winces. “Yes, but this is different.”
“How is this different?” I throw my hands up in the air and shake my head. “These hands have blood on
them, just like Carter’s. My baby isn’t even here yet, and I’m already a terrible mother.”
The kind who can’t even keep her head above water.
The Blackthorne mansion seems like another time, one that is so far removed from the present that it
feels like another life altogether. And another me, one untainted by blood and destruction.
Sam stands up and runs a hand over her face. “You need to tell Carter the truth. He’s not handling any of
this well, and it’s affecting the business.”
My gaze snaps up to hers. “What are you talking about?”
Sam glances over her shoulders and then back at me. “I overheard Tristan and Paul talking the other day.
The war with the Natoris and Philipses isn’t over. They’re trying to negotiate a truce, but it’s not going well.”
A shiver of fear races up my spine. “What do they want?”
“They want some of the Blackthorne territories,” Sam whispers, with another fearful look over her
shoulders. “Carter is furious, and he keeps pushing back, but his head isn’t in it.”
I search Sam’s face. “I never asked him to do this. I didn’t ask for any of this.”
Sam nods, and her expression softens. “I know, but you had a chance to walk away, and you didn’t. So,
like it or not, this is your life now.”
I exhale. “Can’t Tristan talk to Carter?”
 Sam pulls a face and shakes her head, wisps of dark hair flying out of her bun. “He’s tried, but Carter
won’t listen to anyone. He barely sleeps, barely eats, and spends most of his time in your room or prowling the
hallway. I don’t think he’s even set foot outside the hospital since you’ve been here.”
I gasp. “But he… he can’t be here all the time. He’s got an empire to run.”
Sam sinks into the nearest chair and runs her fingers through her hair. “I hate to be the bearer of bad
news, but when this is all over, I’m not even sure there’s going to be an empire left.”
Fear and panic snake their way through me and climb up my chest.
“What are we going to do, Sam?”
Sam throws her head back and stares up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what the right thing to do is. I
honestly don’t, but I do know that it has to start with you and Carter talking. I don’t see another way forward.”
“We tried talking,” I whisper, mostly to myself. “And it didn’t work out for us.”
On the contrary, it just made things worse. I’ve never felt further away from the man I love, and it is
eating me up inside. Almost as much as the guilt and shame are.
Sam sighs. “I think you need to try again. Your issues are not going to be resolved in a day, Isabella.”
I press my lips together and don’t say anything.
Sam gets up to leave the room, and Carter bursts in, his eyes wide and wild. He points at Sam, beads of
sweat forming on his forehead and down the sides of his face. “Get onto the bed, now.”
Sam’s brows furrow together. “What the hell is the matter with you? This isn’t the time or place for—”
Carter crosses over to Sam and places a hand over her mouth. “For fuck’s sake, I need you to stop arguing
with me and do as you’re told. Natori men are here, and they’re looking for Isabella.”
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and Carter helps me to my feet. “Where are we going to go?
There’s nowhere for us to hide.”
Carter grips my hand in his. “Yes, there is. Get under the bed.”
On shaky legs, Sam climbs onto the bed and draws the covers up to her chest. Her eyes are wide and
shining with worry as Carter slides across the floor and under the bed. After a brief pause, he pulls me down,
and I follow his lead, pausing to tuck myself into his side, my heart hammering unsteadily the entire time.
Sam bolts up, retrieves a heavy blanket from the closet, and returns to the bed. She lets the sides of the
blanket cover both sides of the bed, offering better coverage. Then the bed dips and creaks as she climbs onto it
and releases a deep and shaky breath.
“What about Tristan and Paul?” Sam’s voice is low, but there’s no mistaking the fear in it. “Are they safe?”
“Tristan was discharged a few minutes ago. He, Paul, and Ernesto were on their way out when they got
the news. Paul and Ernesto are nearby, but Tristan is waiting somewhere safe nearby for backup.” Carter’s voice
is a low whisper that sends shivers racing up and down my spine. He has one arm around my shoulders, and the
other is between us, resting against my stomach.
I feel like I’m going to throw up.
“What if they recognize Sam?” I whisper directly into Carter’s ear. “We shouldn’t be asking her to do this.”
“They won’t recognize her,” Carter insists in an equally soft voice. “She’s going to be fine.”
“Somebody’s coming,” Sam hisses before throwing herself back onto the mattress. Moments later, the
door clicks open, and I hold my breath as three sets of heavy footsteps come into the room. Carter’s grip on my
shoulders tightens, and I bury my face in the crook of his neck.
If they find us under the bed, they’re going to drag me away, and Carter isn’t going to be able to do a thing
to stop them.
He’s only one man. And even on his worst days, he’s had backup.
Even I know that if push comes to shove, Carter is not going to be able to save Sam and me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, letting Carter’s smell wash over me, and pray he doesn’t have to make that
decision. Carter is as still as a statue, but I feel the erratic pulse of his heart. I strain to hear what’s happening,
but I can barely make out anything over the pounding in my ears. Then Carter places a hand over my mouth,
and my eyes fly open to look at him.
My beautiful, broken man is looking at me like I’m his salvation. Like I’m the answer to his prayers.
As if I haven’t single-handedly destroyed any chance of a future we might have. I press my forehead to
his, a single tear sliding down my cheek.
Sam stops snoring, and I hear her sit up. “What’s going on? Who are you?”
“We’re looking for someone.” A deep voice answers. “A young woman, small, dark hair.”
“This is my room,” Sam replies, an air of haughtiness in her voice. “And I don’t appreciate you barging in
here like this. I’m going to call security, and then I’m going to call my father, who is a senator, by the way.”
“There’s no need for that.” The same voice answers after a brief pause. “We’ll leave now. We don’t want
any problems.”
“Get the hell out of my room,” Sam repeats, her voice rising toward the end. “Help! Somebody help me.”
With no amount of relief, we listen to the three footsteps scramble out of the room. Moments later,
another pair of footsteps come into the room, and Sam scrambles off the bed. “Ms. Julis went for a walk to
stretch her legs. I came in to check on her and fell asleep, and these men came in and started going through her
things. What kind of hospital is this anyway?”
“I’ll call security and have them look into it.”
“They couldn’t have gotten far,” Sam adds, her voice climbing higher and higher. “They’re three dark-
haired men with buzz cuts and broad shoulders, all wearing suits. I want them arrested for trespassing.”
I cling to Carter, allowing the weight and feel of him to comfort me.
When Carter is sure the nurse is gone, he pokes his head out from under the bed. He crawls out first, and
a moment later, he and Sam help me to my feet. I sway a little, and Carter catches me, crushing me to him.
He hasn’t held me like this in weeks. Not since before I left for the Blackthorne manor.
It feels good to be held by Carter; it’s as if I can put myself back together in the comfort of his arms. All
too soon, it ends, though, and Carter carries me to the bed. Wordlessly, he darts out of the room without a
backward glance at either of us. Sam walks over to the window, pulls down the blinds, and shuts the door. She
turns the lock and twists to face me. She looks worried but doesn’t say anything. Neither do I.
Tristan is the first one to come back and check on us. “Are both of you okay?”
Sam looks visibly shaken and hasn’t stopped pacing. “What the hell was that?”
Tristan glances between the two of us. “Carter thinks that the mayor sent those men.”
Sam stops pacing and looks at Tristain, more and more color draining from her face. “The mayor? As in
Mayor Hughes?”
Tristain nods reluctantly.
“Fuck.” I breathe, earning startled looks from the two of them. “We’re never going to be safe, are we?”
Tristan averts his gaze and shifts from one foot to the other. “I wouldn’t go that far, but it does make
things harder. I’m going to go back out and sweep the perimeter. Lock the door behind me when I leave. Don’t
open it up unless it’s Carter or I.”
In the doorway, he pauses and glances over his shoulder. Then he takes Sam into his arms, and he kisses
her like his life depends on it. Something low and hateful unfurls in the center of my stomach at the sight. Just
as suddenly, he releases Sam, and she staggers back, her face a bright shade of red. She touches a hand to her
lips, a smile hovering there.
As soon as Tristan leaves, Sam snaps back to reality with a jolt and throws herself at the door.
After locking it, she spins around to face me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I swallow. “You guys are good together. I’m not sure if I ever told you that.”
Sam pushes herself off the door and shoves her hair out of her eyes. “That’s the first time Tristan’s ever
kissed me like that.”
She pulls the chair closer to the bed and sinks into it. “Jesus, how did things get so out of hand?”
I have no idea, but while I’ve been recovering and trying to find a way to heal, the war outside our door
has only gotten worse.
For the umpteenth time, Carter and I are in the middle of it all, and I don’t see a way out.
Not this time.
 Chapter Six
Isabella
“I want to know how the fuck they managed to get in. Don’t we have people stationed outside the
hospital?”
“They used a side entrance,” Paul replies in a strained voice. “We don’t have enough men to keep this up,
Carter.”
“What did I fucking say about excuses?”
My eyes fly open, and I see Carter and Paul standing across from each other near the door of the room.
Carter’s eyes are wide and dilated, and he looks like he might throw Paul out the nearest window. To his credit,
the younger Blackthorne doesn’t look intimidated.
At least he’s hiding it well.
Paul squares his shoulders and balls his hands into fists at his side. “They’re not excuses. They are facts.
We can’t have men here and be fighting the war on another front.”
“You don’t have to,” I reply in a clear voice. “I’m being discharged later today, aren’t I?”
Two pairs of eyes turn to me.
Carter’s expression is still dark when he crosses over to me. “Go back to sleep, dove. This isn’t something
you should concern yourself with.”
I shake my head. “Paul is right. You’re wasting valuable resources while I’m cooped up here.”
Carter’s expression darkens further. “Paul doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about and needs to
learn how to keep his mouth shut.”
I sit up straighter. “No, he’s right. Hopefully, the doctor gets here soon, so we can all get out of here.”
Although I’m still not sure how I feel about going back to the house, it’s not like I have anywhere else to
go.
For now, there isn’t anywhere safe. And I need to think about my baby’s safety above all else.
Carter opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted by the arrival of Tristan and Ernesto.
Through the glass, they gesture to him, so he motions to Paul, and the two of them step out. Through the
window, I see Paul linger outside the door while Carter, Ernesto, and Tristan storm off in the opposite direction.
Sam comes into my room a short while later, carrying more shopping bags. “Apparently, retail therapy
really does help.”
I snort. “More baby clothes?”
“I got you a few things, too.” Sam sets the bags down and pushes her hair out of her eyes. “I wasn’t sure of
your size, so I hope it’s okay that I asked Carter.”
“Of course, it’s okay.” I offer her a smile. “Sam, you’re pretty much the only person keeping me sane right
now.”
Sam gives me a genuine smile. “I got you a few books, a bathrobe, some shampoo, and other toiletries. I
figured you could take a shower while I wait for you. How does that sound?”
I nod. “I’d really like that.”
I’m still feeling weak, and standing up sends a wave of nausea through me. Sam helps me to the
bathroom, and I spend the short trip thinking about what the doctor said about morning sickness. While a part
of me is relieved it means the baby is healthy, the other part of me wonders if I’m being pushed too far.
I can’t even enjoy my pregnancy like other women.
In the bathroom, Sam turns her back on me while I peel off my clothes. I leave them in a pile on the floor
and turn the knob. Then I pull the curtain back and step into the stall, turning my head up to face the faucet.
Hot water cascades down my back and swirls under my feet. I press my head against the tile wall and release a
deep breath.
Sam hands me a plastic bag full of things and withdraws her hand. “So, have you thought of baby names
yet?”
I push myself away from the wall and lather up some soap. “No, not really.”
How can I think of anything related to the future of the baby when I’m struggling with the present? I
don’t even know if I’m fit to be a mother anymore.
“What if you call her Hope, if it’s a girl, I mean?”
I lift my hair up off the nape of my neck and start to scrub my hair in slow and rhythmic motions. “I like
the name, but it’s a little too…”
“Too what?”
“I don’t know, on the nose, I guess,” I say in a small voice. “I don’t know if that makes any sense.”
Sam’s sigh fills the room. “I understand. You could name him after your dad if it’s a boy.”
My lips lift into a half smile. “I like that suggestion.”
“You should definitely send them to public school for a year,” Sam continues in a more cheerful voice. “I
know that Carter is going to want the best school for them, but you don’t want your kid to be one of those
spoiled brats.”
I snort and place my head under the shower, some of the knots in my stomach unfurling. “You’re
absolutely right. I hadn’t thought of that.”
And I’m glad Sam is keeping my mind off of things. Without her, I’d be wallowing in my misery all the
time. Knowing that Carter is by my side makes me feel better, but it isn’t drawing me out of my shell. Not in the
way Sam is.
In spite of knowing the truth about me and what I’ve done, Sam’s treatment of me hasn’t changed, and
words can’t describe how grateful I am for her.
Or how much I wish coming clean to Carter is as simple as it is with Sam. But I know that couldn’t be
further from the truth.
“That’s why you need me around, and if you feel like making me the baby’s godmother as a thank you, I
wouldn’t be opposed to that.”
I laugh in spite of myself.
Once I’ve washed off the last of the soap and the shampoo, I push myself up to the tips of my toes. I use
one hand to snatch the towel off the nearby hook and the other to switch off the water. Then, I secure the towel
around my body and draw the curtain back. Sam’s hand darts out, and she helps me keep my footing and leads
me into the room.
An ankle-length dress, a long-sleeved jacket, and a pair of sneakers are draped over the bed.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d want to wear, so I thought I’d help you pick out something comfortable and
cute.”
I smile and sink onto the bed. “I really appreciate all of this.”
Sam gives me a quick hug and then takes a step back. “Okay, why don’t I go get us something to eat while
you get dressed? I won’t be gone long, okay?”
“I like Sam as a middle name,” I tell her retreating back. “It works if it’s a boy or a girl.”
Sam cranes her neck over her shoulder, and her eyes are glazed with tears. “I would be honored.”
I wait until Sam leaves before making sure the blinds are properly closed. Then I drift back into the
bathroom, taking my clothes with me. In the bathroom, I let the towel fall into a heap on the floor and examine
myself in the mirror. My body is peppered with small bruises, most of them turning yellow already, but a few of
them are still an angry shade of red and blue.
As I run my fingers over my skin, I keep seeing Rich’s fingers trying to silence me.
A shudder races up my spine as I pick the towel back up and bury my face in it. After making sure every
inch of my bare skin is dry, I pull my underwear on first. Then I snap on my bra and pull the dress over my head.
In a daze, I stare at the mirror and avoid looking at my face directly as I run a comb through my hair.
Sam’s words still reverberate inside of my head. I know she means well, but she has no idea what it’s like
for me. Or what it’s going to be like when Carter finds out the truth.
And I know it’s only a matter of time before he does.
Although no one has brought up Rich explicitly in my presence, I know they must’ve done something to
hide the body. Over and over, I see Carter dragging Rich’s body out to the backyard and digging as quickly as
possible. When my eyes start to fill with tears, I stop brushing my hair and grip the sink.
Why can’t I move past this? Why can’t Sam’s words penetrate the thick shield of guilt and shame wrapped
around me? I desperately need them to.
Because I don’t know if I can continue to live like this.
Abruptly, I release the sink and cup my hands together. After splashing cold water on my face, I pat my
face dry and pick my soiled clothes and towel off the floor. I stuff them into an empty plastic bag and carry it
back into the room. Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzz, and I can hear more beeping monitors in the
background.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and bury my face in my hands. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing
anymore. In a couple of hours, I’m supposed to be released, and Carter is going to want to take me home.
How am I supposed to walk through the front door as if nothing happened? As if I’m the same person
who walked out weeks ago.
“Looks like the little bird is all by her lonesome.”
I bolt upright and wheel around to face the door, recognizing Lilian easily, in spite of the cheap blonde-
haired wig on her head and the hoodie pulled up to obscure half of her face. Her blood-red lips curl into a sneer
as she steps further into the room and kicks the door shut behind her.
“It’s only going to be a matter of minutes before they realize you’re here,” I tell her, struggling to keep the
tremor out of my voice. “Carter, in particular, has been dying to get his hands on you.”
Lilian takes off the wig and shakes her hair out. “Oh, I know he is. And once you’re out of the picture, the
two of us can finally be together.”
I snatch the buzzer by the side of the bed and press it. “I suggest you leave, Lilian.”
Lilian throws her head back and laughs, the sound low and humorless and full of anger. “That’s not going
to do anything. All the nurses are a little occupied with the surprise I left for them.”
My heart misses a beat. “What are you talking about?”
Lilian stops laughing and straightens her back. “Let’s just say that, unlike you, I’ve come prepared. I know
they can’t have eyes on you all the time, not with a war brewing, so I left them all a little distraction.”
I drop the buzzer and clasp my hands behind my back. “What do you want?”
Lilian takes off the sunglasses, and I see the crazed gleam in her eyes and the dark circles. I immediately
recognize her desperation. “I thought that part was obvious.”
She and I both know the truth. But I have to keep her talking, at least long enough for help to come.
Although I pray it isn’t Sam who walks through the door.
I clear my throat. “Carter doesn’t love you. He’s never loved you. Why would you want him back when
he’s never going to be yours?”
Lilian’s eyes flash, and her expression darkens. “The only reason he isn’t mine is because you’re in the
picture. I’m the only woman he came back to a few times, and I can do it again.”
I take a few steps to my right in the direction of the bathroom. “Why waste your time? There are plenty of
men out there, Lilian, and you’re an attractive woman. You wouldn’t have a hard time finding someone else.”
Lilian takes a step in my direction and pulls her coat back, revealing the knife and syringe there. “I know
what you’re trying to do, Isabella, and it’s not going to work. You’re not going to be able to convince me to leave.
I want what I came for.”
I take another step in the direction of the bathroom. “And what’s that?”
Lilian gives me a slow and chilling smile. “To eliminate the threat, of course. Without you in the picture,
Carter and I can finally be together, just like we were meant to be. But do you know what the problem is? You’re
like a fucking cockroach. I’ve sent several people after you, and you still managed to elude them all.”
I dig my nails into my palms. “You’re the one who sent those people to kidnap me from the hospital.”
Lilian takes a few more steps in my direction. “They were supposed to make sure you were sold to some
sleazeball like the whore you are. But even the best-laid plans don’t work out well. If you want something done
right, you have to do it yourself.”
Fear washes over me and settles into a hard knot in the center of my stomach. “You’re not going to kill
me.”
Lilian is still advancing on me. “Oh, but I am, and I’m going to make it look like an accident too.”
I dart into the bathroom and swing the bathroom door shut. At the last second, Lilian’s foot darts out, and
she keeps the door from closing completely. I use the full force of my weight to push her away, but she is
heavier than she looks, and she manages to shove the door the rest of the way. I stumble back, my heart
jumping into my throat now. As I glance around for something to use, the door thuds open, hitting the wall
opposite it.
Lilian is still smiling. “Why are you making this harder? We both know how this ends. If I’m not the one
who gets you, Carter’s enemies will, and they’re going to make it so much more painful for you.”
I throw the plastic bag at her, and Lilian grunts in surprise. In the next instant, I sail past her and back
into the room.
I don’t make it far before Lilian pulls me back by my hair, sending little jabs of pain through my skull and
up my spine. When I’m close enough to her, I throw my head back and headbutt Lilian. She lets out a low howl
and doubles over. I’m panting as fear and adrenaline race through me. My hand is on the knob when Lilian
yanks me back again and throws her body against mine. I’m pinned to the ground, thrashing and gasping as
Lilian tries to pin my arms behind my back.
For a small woman, she’s got a lot of energy and power.
Her mouth is next to my ear when she talks to me. “Don’t worry. It won’t take effect right away. You’ll be
able to feel every single thing that happens to you, and I’m going to be there to watch it.”
I kick my legs out, and she loses her grip, but it’s not enough for me to stand back up. There’s a rustling
sound, and Lilian is muttering to herself now.
Using every ounce of energy at my disposal, I fight her. I fight her for my baby, for myself, and for Carter.
When I finally manage to throw Lilian off, I stagger to my feet and fumble for the doorknob, half-blinded
by fear. The door swings open, and my heart sputters and crashes when Sam steps through, carrying a tray. The
smile immediately falls from her face as I snatch the tray out of her hand and swing it at Lilian. She yelps, and it
avoids her by an inch.
“What the hell is that bitch doing here?”
“Trying to kill me,” I say between wheezes. “You need to get help, Sam.”
Sam yanks me back and away from Lilian’s reach. “Somebody help! Security. Where is everyone?”
“Lilian did something to cause a distraction,” I reply between pants. The blood is still pumping furiously
through my veins, and I’m struggling to think past the ache in my muscles and the panic clawing its way
through my chest. “We need to lure her away.”
Sam and I jump backward as Lilian charges at us, and I catch a glimpse of the wild mane around her face
and the shadow settling over it.
She looks unhinged, like the kind of woman who is at the end of her tether. Without any help, there’s no
telling what she’ll do.
Sam takes my hand in hers, and she drags me away.
Lilian trails behind us, yelling and taunting me the entire time. Sam and I race past rows and rows of
closed doors, but we don’t run into any other medical staff. When we finally reach the end of the hallway, which
spills out onto the nurse’s station, we finally see someone else. A single nurse is sitting there, with a landline
cradled between her neck and shoulders. Her eyes widen when she sees Lilian round the corner, the syringe
held in her hand.
“Call security,” I snap as we circle the desk and stand opposite it. “Where is everyone?”
“There was an emergency.” The nurse’s fingers tremble as she pushes a button under the desk. “What the
hell is going on?”
“She’s insane.” I step behind the desk and pull the woman backward. “My fiancé and I have a restraining
order against her, but she won’t abide by it.”
Together, the three of us step out from behind the desk and dart into another empty hallway. Lilian is still
hot on our heels as we take a series of twists and turns. I’m suddenly thankful no one else is in the hallway
because I can’t imagine what Lilian might do to them. In her desperation to get to me, she will lash out at
anyone. Everyone is fair game as far as she’s concerned.
When we reach the elevator, the nurse presses the button frantically and tries her phone. “I don’t know
what’s happening. I’ve got a really bad signal.”
The elevator doors ping open, and I release a sigh of relief when a few security guards spill out, with
Carter stepping off last. His face is one of stony fury when he recognizes Lilian, who skids to a halt.
Immediately, he tucks me into his side and motions to Sam to step behind him. I’m still shaking and uneasy as
the security guards surround Lilian.
The syringe falls to the floor with a clattering sound as Lilian spins on her heels and darts off.
Carter takes a step in her direction, but my hand darts out to stop him. “Don’t go.”
He twists to face me, and I can see the muscles working in his jaw. “You can’t ask me for that, dove. I have
to go after her to make sure they do their fucking jobs.”
“They’ll get her,” I plead, my eyes moving over his face. “There’s no way she’s going to make it out of
here.”
Carter pries my fingers away and gives me an apologetic look. “I can’t leave that up to chance.”
Without waiting for a response, he darts off after them, and I collapse against Sam. The two of us shiver
as the nurse leads us back to the station. There, she pulls out two chairs for us and forces us to sit down. She is
saying something to me, but I can’t make out the words.
Because all I can think of is what would’ve happened if help hadn’t arrived in time. Would Lilian have
hurt Sam and the nurse to get to me? Would I even still be alive to see Carter one last time?
I drape an arm over my stomach, another violent tremor coursing through me. “My baby…”
Comprehension dawns on the nurse’s face as she kneels in front of me. She pulls out a portable sonar
from a nearby supply room and sets it up. Wordlessly, she runs the machine over my stomach, a furrow
appearing between her brows.
A long and tense moment passes.
Finally, we all hear my baby’s heartbeat, strong and steady, as it fills the empty hallway. Sam buries her
face in her hands, and I collapse against the nurse. She pats my back awkwardly and waits for a few minutes
before pulling away. Then she puts away the machine and leads me back to my room. Sam and the nurse put
everything back where it was while I linger in the doorway, one hand over my stomach and the other curled into
a fist at my side.
I keep listening for the sound of Lilian’s voice.
Carter materializes as Sam is helping me get back into bed. He and Sam exchange a quick look before she
leaves the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
I fold my arms in my lap. “I hope it was worth it.”
Carter runs a hand over his face. “What the hell did you expect me to do, dove? She came after you at the
fucking hospital. She’s lost her mind. I’m not the bad guy here.”
“I told you not to go after her.”
Carter crosses over to me, his eyes blazing with emotion. “And I told you that I wasn’t going to do that.
What the fuck do you expect me to do, huh? Let a bunch of dumbass security guards go after her?”
I ignore the low thrumming in my veins. “Did you get her?”
Carter gives a sharp shake of his head. “She got away, but I’ve got Ernesto and Lorenzo out looking for
her. Tristan and Paul are posted nearby. She’s not going to get away with this, dove. I promise.”
I look away from him and link my fingers together. “I don’t want you to make that promise, Carter. I don’t
want more violence.”
“Excuse me?”
I swing my gaze back to his, and the tight feeling in my chest only grows. “The answer to violence is not
more violence.”
Carter barks out a laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me? We’ve been here for eight days, and I’ve done
everything I can to make sure there’s very little violence, and you want to bust me for that?”
I sit up straighter. “I’m not busting you for it. I’m just saying that there is another way to do things. Sam
and I were talking, and—”
“Oh, here we go again,” Carter mutters darkly. “I’m starting to think this relationship is between three
people.”
I frown. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Carter makes a vague hand gesture, his hair in tufts on top of his head by now. “You’ve barely been able to
look at me since you’ve been admitted. You don’t want me to touch you, and you won’t tell me what happened
with Rich.”
“And?”
Carter stands at the foot of the bed, his expression tight. “But when it comes to Sam, you can’t shut up.
The only time you act human is when she’s around, and I want to know why.”
I blink. “That’s not fair. That’s not the only time I act human…”
But Carter and I both know I’m lying.
It isn’t his fault I can’t look at him without seeing Rich’s last moments or that I can’t bring myself to tell
him. Instead, I’ve let it fester between us, growing to twice its size and sucking up all the oxygen in the room.
Carter’s voice is low when he speaks. “You and I both know that isn’t true. I’ve tried to be patient, dove. I
know you’ve been through a lot of shit, and the last thing I want is to add to that, but fucking hell… what more
do you want from me?”
“This is you being patient? You’ve been hovering the entire time!”
Carter comes to stand next to me, and I can see the amount of effort it’s taking for him to hold himself
still. “Because I love you, Isabella. Because I’m supposed to protect you. Because it’s what a fucking fiancé does.
I’m not some fucking stranger who lied to you and manipulated you—”
I jump out of bed and point a finger at him. “You just can’t let that go, can you? You hate that I confided
in Rich and that he and I became friends. Why can’t you accept that I’m going to confide in other people? You
can’t be everything to me, Carter.”
Nor will I let him. I’m already too dependent and reliant on him, and the last thing I need is not to have a
support system at all. Especially given the nature of my life with Carter.
Carter takes a step forward, and I drop my hand. “Why can’t you accept that I know better than you? I
know when people want to use you or take advantage of you, and I can tell when they’re fucking lying.”
“I’m not as naïve as you think I am,” I snap, pausing to tilt my head back. “I can handle myself.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” Carter says before closing the distance between us. He grips my shoulders and
looks into my eyes. “I am not going to apologize for who I am or what I do to protect this family.”
I squirm and try to push Carter away. “Let me go.”
Carter’s hands dug further into my arms.
Abruptly, he releases me and takes a step back. “People like Rich prey on your insecurities and your fears,
and they know how to exploit them.”
“Sam isn’t one of those people,” I tell him with a frown. “You can’t put her in the same category as them,
and you know it.”
“I can if she’s poisoning you against me, dove.”
I throw my hands up in the air and scowl. “Sam supports me, but you don’t care about that. You won’t
even give her a chance, and we both know why. You’re threatened by her.”
Carter takes me into his arms and kisses me. I’m so shocked that both of my eyes remain open. Until he
cups the back of my neck and massages my scalp.
I shudder and melt into the kiss, a barrage of emotions rising up within me. When Carter’s arms come up
around my waist, and he digs his fingers into the flesh there, I know it’s too late. I kiss him back with just as
much fervor and passion, every last inch of me coming alive under his touch.
It’s like I’ve been gasping for air. Carter’s kisses feel like lifting my head up over the water and inhaling. It
feels like I’ve been living a nightmare, craving his touch and his embrace.
We stumble backward, and my back hits the nearest wall. Carter growls into the kiss and nips on my
lower lip. His tongue darts into my mouth, beginning a sensual battle for dominance. Then his hands move
down, and he hoists me up, so I wrap my legs around him.
Carter is rubbing himself against me when someone clears their throat. I grab a fistful of Carter’s shirt
and deepen the kiss.
The person clears their throat again, so Carter sets me back down on my feet and spins around. “What?”
I peek out from behind Carter and see Sam lingering in the doorway, a sheepish look on her face. She has
her hands clasped behind her back and isn’t meeting anyone’s gaze. “Sorry to interrupt. Tristan asked me to
come and find you.”
Carter tucks me into his side and straightens his back. “Have any of them managed to find Lilian?”
Sam shakes her head. “No, I’m afraid not.”
Carter swears, and I see him ball his hands into fists. He is inches away from punching the wall when he
looks over at me and sees my frown. Slowly and with a great deal of reluctance, he lowers his hand and takes a
step away from me. He is raking his fingers through his hair when the doctor comes in and takes a look around
the room.
“Did you guys move some things around?”
Sam steps in front of us and gives him a warm smile. “We’re sorry, doc. Isabella was feeling a little angsty
at being cooped up here all this time. We did try and put everything back the way it was.”
Dr. Masterson scribbles something down and nods. “That’s fine.”
“We’re happy to pay for the damages,” I say in a breathless voice. Carter shoots me an incredulous look,
but I ignore him. “If there are any.”
Dr. Masterson waves my comment away. “It’s nothing to worry about, Ms. Julis. Now, I will need you to
follow up with your primary healthcare provider in the city, and you’re going to need to take it easy. Avoid
anything that will cause extra stress.”
Sam hides her snort behind a cough.
I step forward and pat Sam on the back. “I’ll do my best, doctor. Thank you so much for all your help.”
Dr. Masterson glances between the three of us, a furrow appearing between his brows. Then Carter steps
forward and takes the discharge paperwork out of his hands. He walks Dr. Masterson out, and I deflate as soon
as I spot them through the glass. In silence, Sam helps me pack all my things into a small suitcase and wheels it
behind us.
 “Don’t say it,” I whisper as we wait for Carter to finish talking to the doctor. “I know I messed up.”
Sam taps her fingers against her thigh. “I haven’t said anything, Isabella. Carter is your fiancé.”
“I haven’t told him yet,” I say in a voice so low I wonder if Sam even hears me. When she tilts her head in
my direction, and I see the myriad of emotions dance across her face, I know she has. “I’m going to when we go
home.”
Sam presses her lips together and nods.
As soon as Carter comes back, he takes the bag from Sam and laces his fingers through mine. When a
petite nurse with a long braid steps forward with a wheelchair, Carter gives her a dismissive look. She hurries
after us, protesting loudly the whole time until Carter wheels around and gives her a pointed look. Then she
shrinks back, and Carter tugs me forward. Sam matches her stride to ours as we hurry down an empty,
florescent-lit hallway. At the end of the hallway, we stop in front of the elevator, and Sam pushes the button. I
can’t help but glance over my shoulders and down both sides of the hallway as if Lilian is going to jump out at
us.
This hospital has too many upsetting memories for me, and I’m all too glad to leave it behind. Even if I
am reluctant to face the outside world again.
Carter pulls me into the elevator when the doors ping open, and Sam scurries in after us. The doors shut,
and I lean into Carter’s side, allowing the familiar smell of him to wash over me. He runs a hand down my back
and pauses at my ass. After giving it a firm squeeze, his hand moves back up to settle around my waist.
Tristan and Paul are waiting for us when we come out.
Wordlessly, Sam tucks herself into Tristan’s side.
Once we set foot through the double doors, a blast of cold air hits me in the face, and I shiver. The first
thing I notice is the dark clouds gathering on the horizon, and the second thing I notice is the number of cars in
the parking lot. A steady stream of people rushes past in either direction as I search our surroundings for
Ernesto’s familiar SUV.
Sure enough, he pulls up, and we all pile into the car, with Paul slipping into the passenger seat and Sam
and Tristian sliding into the row of seats behind us. Carter and I are the last to get in, and he practically hoists
me off my feet and sets me into the back. Without waiting for me to adjust myself, Carter gets in behind me and
presses a button to lift a partition between us and the front of the car. Then he presses another button, and
another partition separates us from Tristan and Sam.
I fold my hands in my lap and swallow.
“We’re not done yet, dove,” Carter murmurs without looking at me. “You and I need to find a solution.”
“A solution for what?” I try but fail to sound airy and unaffected, but I can tell by the tightness of Carter’s
eyes that he doesn’t believe me.
Why would he?
Carter places two fingers underneath my chin, and I twist so I’m facing him directly. “For you disobeying
me. For questioning my decisions. Over and over. Now, I wasn’t going to cause a scene in the hospital, but you
know the rules.”
I search his face. “Is that really all you care about? Your stupid punishment?”
Carter’s eyes flash, and he pulls me onto his lap. “Don’t ever ask me that question again, dove. You know
what you mean to me, and you know what I’ve done and what I’ll continue to do to keep you safe.”
I squirm against him. “I don’t want you to do that anymore.”
Carter places both hands on my waist and raises an eyebrow. “So, you’d rather I let Lilian kill you and the
baby?”
I sputter. “No, of course not.”
Carter gives my ass a light slap. “Then stop fighting me on this.”
I bring my head to rest against his chest and go quiet. Carter holds onto me for the duration of the ride,
and I don’t resist. A part of me feels guilty for not coming clean, but the other part of me can’t bear the thought
of what it’ll do to Carter.
To us.
When we pull up outside Anita’s house, Carter sweeps me into his arms and carries me up the driveway.
Instead of turning to our own house, we step through Anita’s front door. She offers me a wave and a grim smile
on the way past, but I avoid her gaze. Carter doesn’t stop until he reaches the top of the stairs and sets me down
on my feet. Slowly, he places a hand on my waist and leads me to the room we’ve used before.
All my things have already been set up, including the supplies I was using to prepare for Carter’s project. I
let my gaze sweep over the room, taking in the fresh sheets and the smell of lemon lingering in the air. Carter
pulls me to him when Tristan brings my bag up and leaves it in the doorway.
Tristan looks directly at me, a strange gleam in his eyes. “I never got the chance to thank you.”
I blink. “What for?”
“For coming back for me,” Tristan replies, the words pouring out of him in a rush. “I have no idea how
you got away from Rich. At this point, it doesn’t really matter. I’m sorry I put you and the baby in danger.”
I step out of Carter’s arms and offer Tristan the barest hint of a smile. “I’m the one who should be
apologizing to you. I never should’ve left you.”
Tristan shrugs and looks away. “You didn’t have a choice. Rich was very persuasive.”
Silence settles between us.
Carter clears his throat and places both hands around my waist. “Isabella needs to rest.”
Tristan nods, and another look passes between them.
Then Carter reaches into the pocket of his pants and pulls out a set of keys. He hands them over to Trista,
who grips them in the palm of his hands. As quickly as he came, Tristan heads back downstairs, leaving Carter
and me alone for the first time in days. Carter’s fingers are still laced through mine as he walks over to the bed
and pulls me onto his lap.
This time, when he kisses me, I’m all too aware of the desperation, of the yearning. Of Carter’s need to re-
establish control.
But when he spins us around and lowers me onto the bed, I know I can’t give it to him. Carter rubs his
hands up and down my arms, sending shivers racing through my body. He hovers over me, his lean and
powerful body keeping some of my demons at bay. However, when he lifts the dress up so it pools around my
waist, I freeze.
Suddenly, I can’t think of how good it feels to kiss Carter. Or how badly I want to feel his skin against
mine.
When Carter draws back to look at me, all I can see is all the ways I’ve failed him. I make a low noise in
the back of my throat and let my arms fall to my sides. Frowning, Carter tries to kiss me again, but I turn my
head to the side so his lips touch my cheek instead. Sighing, Carter draws back to look at me, but I don’t meet
his gaze.
“Dove?”
“Mercy,” I whisper, hating how my voice cracks on the last letter.
For the longest time, Carter doesn’t move. So long, in fact, that I wonder if he didn’t hear me.
When he does finally move, shame and guilt have settled in the center of my stomach as I pull my dress
back down. I fold my arms over my chest and curl onto my side. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a flash of
movement, and Carter materializes with his shirt on. He brushes my hair out of my face and presses a kiss to
my forehead.
Through the slit in the bathroom door, I see him switch on the water and wait for the tub to fill. In the
mirror, I catch a glimpse of his reflection, and it nearly weakens my resolve.
Until he looks up, and our eyes meet from across the room. I swallow, flip onto my back, and glance up at
the ceiling.
Carter returns to the room and perches on the edge of the bed. “Anita is letting us have the entire floor to
ourselves. Tristan and Sam are staying at our place, so they’re nearby.”
I swallow. “What about the war?”
“I already told you that I’m going to take care of it,” Carter says in a hard voice. “It’s taken enough from
us, and I don’t want it to take anymore.”
I lower my gaze and stare at him through lowered lashes. “And Lilian?”
Carter stands up and pulls the cover up to my chin. “You need to focus on getting better and keeping our
baby healthy. That’s all that matters.”
Tears burn the back of my eyes when Carter leans forward and presses his mouth to my forehead. He
lingers, and I almost want him to move further down and kiss me again. Before I can shift closer, Carter pulls
away and steps out of the room. The door clicks shut behind him, and I stand up. In the bathroom, I peel off my
dress and throw it into the laundry basket.
With my body mostly submerged in the water, I pull some of the bubbles to myself.
Then, I drape my arms on either side of the tub and exhale. “Maybe you’d be better off without us, bean.
You could go to a nice, normal home with normal people who’ll love you and look after you and give you all the
things we can’t.”
Including safety.
It’s the one thing I know I can’t give my baby.
I suck in a harsh breath, plunge my head under the water and squeeze my eyes shut. When the need for
air becomes too great, I lift my head back up and gasp. Carter is in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed with
his ankles crossed together. He doesn’t say anything as he watches me. I turn away from him and stare at the
window above the toilet.
I have no idea how long I sat there or when I fell asleep.
All I know is that when Carter lifts me out of the water and wraps me in a towel, I’m relieved. He helps
me change into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt that smells like him. I’m still half asleep when he helps me climb
onto the bed and tucks the covers around me. I lace my fingers through his and refuse to let go until I drift off.
Because I’m afraid of what’s waiting for me when I close my eyes.
Carter pulls a chair up and sits down next to me. “You’re not alone, dove. We’ll get through this together.”
 Chapter Seven
Carter
“How is she?”
I walk over to where Anita is standing, an apron tied around her waist and a ladle in her hand. “All things
considered, I think she’s doing well.”
Anita frowns and peers into the pot of soup. “Have you thought about getting her to see a professional?”
I give my aunt an incredulous look. “And what is she going to tell a shrink? It’s not like she can be honest
with them.”
Anita shrugs, the furrow between her brows deepening. “It’s just a suggestion. Everyone is waiting for you
in the dining room.”
I press a kiss to the side of Anita’s head and brush past her, yelping when she swats me away. In the
dining room, several of the Blackthorne men are already pacing, with Tristan, Ernesto, and Paul standing near
the other side of the table. Behind them, the flames in the fireplace are crackling, red and orange flames dancing
as they cast long shadows across the walls.
“Have they seen reason yet?”
Lorenzo glances around the room and clears his throat. “No, boss. They want to stick to the terms of the
agreement. We’ve already hit them in several key locations, but it seems like they’ve got more money pouring
in.”
“Fucking Hughes,” I yell, pausing to slam my hands against the table hard enough to make it rattle.
No one flinches or reacts to the gesture. Not when they’re all used to seeing much worse from me.
“We need to hit them harder,” I realize after a lengthy pause. “Target one of their warehouses, and we
won’t let up until they come back to the table with a better offer.”
A murmur of agreement rises through the room.
“In the meantime, our businesses will continue to operate in the shadows.” I straighten my back and let
my gaze sweep over the room, daring anyone to defy me. “It won’t be long before those bastards are begging for
another ceasefire.”
But I’m not going to give it to them. I’m not going to stop until they are on their hands and knees begging
for leniency.
“Where the hell is Donahue? We agreed that you’d bring me his head on a silver platter.” I direct my
words to Lorenzo, who has the common sense to look ashamed as he lowers his gaze. “I want his balls, Lorenzo.
He needs to be made an example of after what he did.”
“There’s no sign of him or Lilian.”
I sweep everything on the table onto the floor, sending sheets of paper and a few cups and plates flying in
every direction. Shards of glass are everywhere, but no one moves or says anything. I’m breathing heavily as I
flip the table over, unable to keep my rage in check. Eventually, it’s Tristan who steps forward and places a hand
on my arm.
But it’s the sound of Isabella’s voice that stops me from doing something stupid.
I release a deep breath and give everyone a withering look. “Tomorrow, everyone better be here with
better news. The Blackthornes will not be made a mockery of.”
One by one, they trickle out of the room, leaving me alone with Tristan.
I give him a pointed look, and he exits, passing Isabella on his way past. She pokes her head in, sees me,
and scrambles back out. When I step out of the room, Isabella is in the kitchen with Anita, their heads bent
together in conversation. Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, and she has her feet stuffed into a
pair of slippers that are two sizes too big.
But she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And when she offers me a hesitant smile, my
chest hurts.
An hour later, after Isabella has cleaned her plate, I insist on carrying her back upstairs. She offers no
resistance as I set her down on the mattress and climb in next to her. When I pull her to me, she stiffens. I press
kisses to the back of her neck and run my fingers down her back, but Isabella doesn’t react.
By the time she drifts off, the knots in my stomach have increased, and the bile in the back of my throat is
worse. Slowly, I withdraw from Isabella and pad into the bathroom in my shorts. After splashing cold water on
my face, I lift my gaze up to the mirror.
 Wild, bloodshot eyes stare back at me. I frown and release the sink.
Isabella is whimpering and crying out in her sleep. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull her to me. She
keeps muttering and thrashing until I kiss the back of her neck. Abruptly, she goes slack, and her breath hitches
in her throat.
“Carter?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you find Rich’s body?” She twists to face me, and even by the pale light of the moon, I can see the
terror and fear written all over her face. “It should’ve been in the driveway.”
“There was no body in the driveway, dove. He’s probably gone into hiding again. Fucking rat.”
Isabella sniffs and shakes her head. “He wouldn’t have been able to make it far, but maybe I’m
remembering it wrong. There was so much going on… We were standing closer to the neighbors, where he
parked the car. I don’t know… Why can’t I remember?”
I freeze, and my heart jumps into my throat. “Why is it so important for you to remember? It doesn’t
matter where you were before you drove off, does it?”
“It does.”
Ice settles in my veins. “Why?”
“Because I shot him,” Isabella whispers, her voice catching toward the end. “I… I didn’t mean to kill him,
Carter. I swear.”
My heart is pounding in my ears now. “What are you talking about?”
Isabella’s eyes find mine in the dark, and they are wide and unfocused. “I didn’t mean to. He kept trying
to make me go with him, and I thought he was going to hurt me and the baby.”
I place both hands on her shoulders and hold her gaze. “Are you sure?”
“I saw his body.” Isabella’s voice is growing smaller with each word. She wraps her arms around herself as
she shivers. “I had to pat his pockets for the keys. The blood, Carter… there was so much blood.”
I taste bile in the back of my throat. “Did you check for a pulse?”
Isabella’s eyes widen further, and she shakes her head. “No, I… he wasn’t moving. Did you hear what I
said?”
I crush Isabella to me and release a harsh breath. “I heard you, dove. You have nothing to worry about. I’ll
take care of it.”
But first, I need to make sure Isabella doesn’t spiral further.
Now that I know the real reason she’s been keeping me at arm’s length, my mind starts racing. On the one
hand, I’m relieved that it has nothing at all to do with me. On the other hand, I’m terrified of what this
newfound information is going to do to us.
To Isabella, in particular.
Even on her best day, my dove is delicate and fragile, and I know how much she hates violence. I still
remember how shaken and ill at ease she was when the mayor’s man broke into our house. It took her days to
shake his image away, and she wasn’t even the one who pulled the trigger.
Knowing that she now has blood in her hands doesn’t sit well with me. Because I know this is going to
push her to the brink of insanity. And I have no idea how to help her.
Isabella sniffles quietly. “Do you hate me now?”
I draw back to look at her. “Dove, I could never hate you. I don’t give a shit what you had to do to protect
yourself. We all have to do messed up shit to protect ourselves.”
Isabella’s breath hitches in her throat. “I’ve never had to.”
I open my mouth to respond, and my phone rings, the sound slicing through the air. With a frown, I
release Isabella and stand up. When I reach the nightstand, I fumble in the dark until my fingers close around
the metal. I press it to my ear and turn my back on Isabella.
“This better be good.”
“We’ve got a lead on Lilian,” Lorenzo replies in a quiet voice. “We’re chasing it down right now.”
I bend down to retrieve my shirt and pull it over my head. “I need you to look into something else.”
I feel Isabella’s eyes on my back as I leave the room. Downstairs, I drift into the living room and peer
through the window. Across the lawn, I can see Tristan in the kitchen, moonlight gleaming off his skin. When I
gesture to him, he downs the glass of water in his hand and nods. Then he heads in the direction of the door. A
few short minutes later, there’s a soft rap on the kitchen’s backdoor, and I open it to let Tristan in.
Together, we creep into the dining room, and I let the door click shut behind me. I interrupt Lorenzo mid-
sentence and hang up. “I need you to look into something for me.”
Tristan shoves his hands into his pockets. “What do you need?”
“Has Rich been found?”
Tristan shakes his head. “Not yet, why?”
I run a hand over my face. “Reach out to Paul’s man on the inside. He’s been cooperative so far. Offer him
triple the amount of money to help us find out what happened to Rich.”
Tristan’s expression darkens. “You don’t think that son of a bitch is still alive, do you?”
I frown. “He’s a cockroach, but he’s hurt Isabella enough times, and I want to be sure, especially after…”
Tristan studies my face, his expression growing more and more confused. “The police assumed that he
crawled away from the car wreck and bled out somewhere else.”
I press my lips together and don’t say a word. I can’t betray Isabella like that, not when she had a hard
enough time telling me. There’s no telling what’ll happen to her if word of this gets out.
I clear my throat. “I just want Isabella to have some peace of mind. She deserves it.”
Since I can’t change the fact that she has blood on her hands, and I can’t exorcise her demons, no matter
how much I want to, the least I can do is make sure she knows it wasn’t in vain. Knowing Rich is no longer a
threat will help Isabella feel better.
It has to. Because I have no idea how else I can make things better for her.
After discussing a few more things, Tristan leaves the house through the back door. I run into a sleepy,
rob-clad Anita on my way up the stairs, and she blinks at me. “Is everything okay? Was that Tristan I just saw
running across the lawn?”
I offer Anita a tight smile. “Nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep.”
Anita snorts and waves my comment away. “This is my house. I’ll do what I want.”
With a slight shake of my head, I race up the stairs, taking them two at a time. When I reach the room,
Isabella’s whimpers spill out. I push the door open and feel for the knife tucked into my sock. Little particles of
silver light dance on the floorboards, but everything else is undisturbed.
Isabella tosses and turns, the covers bunching up around her legs.
As I drift closer, I realize she is drenched in sweat and breathing uneasily. Hastily, I throw the knife into
the nearest drawer and climb onto the bed. Isabella cries out louder now, muttering my name over and over like
some kind of plea. I gather her into my arms and bury my face in her hair. But Isabella is no more aware of me
than she is of anything else.
Over and over, she pleads with me, each word like a knife through my heart.
How am I supposed to help her fight enemies I can’t see?
I continue to hold her to me, pressing light kisses to the back of her neck, the side of her face, and every
other patch of skin I can. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Isabella goes slack, although her breathing
still remains uneven. I lay her down on the mattress carefully and tuck her into my side. My hand moves from
the back of her neck to the small of her back, and I wait.
Slowly, Isabella rises from her stupor, and I feel her eyes on the side of my face. “What happened?”
I squeeze her shoulders. “Nothing to worry about, dove. Go to sleep.”
Isabella sighs, and it takes her a while to fall back asleep. I stare at the ceiling the entire time and wonder
what’s going to happen next. Is she ever going to be able to look at me without seeing what I’ve turned her into?
What my life has forced her to become.
Little by little, my eyelids grow heavy until I flip onto my side and curl up against Isabella’s back. When
sleep finally comes, I welcome it open with arms.
In my dreams, Isabella and I are on a deserted beach. The afternoon sun is high in the sky, and there is
nothing but clear blue skies overhead. Isabella is in a two-piece red bikini, showing off every curve and every
inch of her smooth, unblemished skin.
When she smiles at me, something in my stomach tightens.
I pull her onto my lap, and she wriggles against me. “What if people see?”
“There’s no one else here, dove,” I reply with a smirk. “Nothing else matters.”
With that, I untie the string on the back of her bikini, allowing her breasts to spill forward. Her breath
hitches in her throat, hunger playing out across her features. She links her fingers over my neck and rubs
herself against me. I growl and lower my head, taking one nipple between my teeth.
Isabella’s answering moan reverberates inside of my head. She fumbles with the waistband of my
swimming trunks when I move onto the other nipple. I lick and suck and flick them until they’re both as hard as
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un port de commerce très fréquenté, dont les exportations tendent à
s’accroître rapidement. Mais là s’arrêtent les ressemblances. Pour
quiconque vient du Brésil, l’arrivée à Montevideo est une surprise
complète.
Le long des côtes, plus de ces masses altières de pics rocheux
ou de collines aux versants boisés. Nous avions pris l’habitude de
regarder en l’air pour contempler les montagnes, il faut la perdre ici ;
les éminences décorées du nom de sierras et de cerros sont des
ondulations qui, le plus souvent, ne dépassent pas deux ou trois
cents mètres au-dessus de la mer.
Ayant atterri dans la nuit du 16 au 17 sur l’île de Lobos, sentinelle
avancée qui marque l’entrée du Rio de la Plata, nous avons passé à
l’heure du déjeuner près de Florès, îlot bas et aride, et bientôt nous
pûmes distinguer la ville de Montevideo, située sur une petite
presqu’île rocailleuse, à la partie orientale de la baie qui porte son
nom. De l’autre côté, nous apercevons le fameux Cerro (colline),
dont les Montévidéens sont très fiers, bien qu’il n’ait que 150 mètres
d’élévation [2] . A l’horizon, semblable à celui d’une mer, aucune
chaîne de montagnes, aucun pic ; on devine qu’au delà de cette
ligne presque droite s’étend la plaine à peine ondulée, uniforme, la
plus grande qui soit au monde. C’est là, en effet, que commencent
les Pampas, ces steppes de l’Amérique du Sud, où l’Indien recule
sans cesse devant le moderne gaucho, et qui n’ont d’autres limites
que le détroit de Magellan au sud, et à l’ouest la Cordillère des
Andes.
[2] Monte-Video : Je vois une montagne.

Nous avançons lentement vers le mouillage, en sondant

continuellement ; bien loin encore de la ville, nous trouvons des
fonds de dix mètres, et la hauteur de l’eau diminue graduellement à
mesure que nous approchons. A un mille et demi environ de terre et
presque au milieu de la ligne qui joint les deux extrémités de la baie,
le timonier crie : « Six mètres ! » Impossible d’avancer davantage
sans échouer ; la Junon mouille successivement ses deux ancres,
reçoit aussitôt les visites de la direction du port et du service de la
santé ; une heure après, nous étions tous à terre.
On débarque au quai de la Douane, le long duquel sont
construits de vastes entrepôts. Nous voici dans la ville. Les rues se
coupent toutes à angle droit, formant ainsi une quantité de carrés
réguliers. C’est un immense échiquier, comprenant trois à quatre
cents cases, qu’on nomme cuadras, et sur lequel sont élevées plus
de 11,000 maisons.
De couleur locale, point. Cependant la ville a un aspect plus « à
son aise » que Rio-de-Janeiro. Les voies sont larges, assez bien
pavées, les maisons surtout mieux construites, affectant parfois un
caractère architectural simple et confortable. Toutes sont édifiées
dans le goût européen moderne, façon italienne, mais sans aucun
cachet d’originalité ; par les cours grandes ouvertes, nous
remarquons le soin et la grâce avec lesquels l’intérieur de ces
habitations est arrangé : propreté parfaite, fleurs en profusion,
escaliers spacieux de marbre blanc et noir, légères grilles en fer
forgé d’un travail élégant, tout cet ensemble donne aux maisons des
« bourgeois » de Montevideo un air riant qui indique la vie de famille
et prévient en leur faveur.
Les rues principales sont bordées de jolis magasins, assez bien
approvisionnés, où nous rencontrons pour la première fois des
dispositions rappelant les inimitables étalages de nos boutiques
parisiennes. Une grande partie de ce commerce paraît être entre les
mains de nos compatriotes.
Dans les rues adjacentes, nous remarquons que la plupart des
maisons n’ont pas de toiture ; elles seront surhaussées au fur et à
mesure de l’accroissement de la population.
On se perdrait en parcourant tous ces carrés pareils les uns aux
autres, si l’on n’avait presque constamment des échappées de vue
sur l’Océan, le Cerro et le fond de la baie ; et bien certainement, de
tels horizons, auxquels les habitants des capitales sont rarement
accoutumés, contribuent beaucoup à donner un aspect gai à cette
ville dont le plan est si uniforme. Elle n’est pas, d’ailleurs, tellement
grande, qu’on ne puisse s’y retrouver en traversant quelques places,
entre autres celle de la cathédrale, dont les deux tours fort élevées
servent d’amers aux vaisseaux venant du large.
Je ne répéterai pas à propos de Montevideo ce que j’ai dit des
tramways de Rio. Comme ceux de la capitale du Brésil, les
tramways ici s’en vont jusqu’à plus de deux lieues dans la
campagne ; le service en est très bien fait, et la population urbaine
de toutes classes en fait un constant usage.
Pendant ma première journée, j’ai voulu aussi visiter quelques
monuments, afin de me débarrasser le plus tôt possible du tribut que
tout voyageur consciencieux doit payer à la curiosité officielle et
obligatoire. Pour être sincère, je dois vous dire, lecteur, que je
réserve ma vraie curiosité pour les choses qui ne se voient pas aussi
facilement que les églises ou les bibliothèques et qui laissent des
impressions alors que toutes les bâtisses du monde (je ne parle pas
des œuvres d’art) laissent à peine des souvenirs.
Des édifices de Montevideo, je ferais tout aussi bien, sans doute,
de ne vous point parler. C’est bien fait, c’est pratique, moderne,
civilisé, commode, intelligent ; vous voyez que je ne leur marchande
pas les éloges, mais ce n’est pas plus que ce que je viens de dire.
Aucune critique n’est cachée sous mon approbation, si laconique
qu’elle soit ; je me borne à constater qu’une description de la Poste,
de la Bourse, du Palais du gouvernement, des marchés, voire même
des églises et autres… curiosités de la capitale de l’Uruguay aurait
de grandes chances de ne pas vous intéresser.
Je ne mentionnerai le Teatro Solis, fort belle salle
confortablement installée et ornée avec goût, que parce que nous
avons eu la satisfaction d’y entendre une œuvre nouvelle,
dénommée sur l’affiche « la tan aplaudida opera Parisina, por el
maestro Garibaldi. » Le maestro Garibaldi, de Montevideo (et non de
Caprera), nous a paru agir sagement en faisant représenter sa pièce
sur les bords de l’océan Austral ; non que la musique n’en soit
admirable, ce que j’ignore, car, en ce temps de batailles entre les
dilettanti, il est difficile de savoir à quoi s’en tenir en pareille matière,
mais tout uniment parce que, au rebours du proverbe, il est prophète
en son pays et ne le serait peut-être pas ailleurs. Parisina a donc été
« tan aplaudida » en notre présence, que, pour ne pas manquer aux
lois de la politesse, nous avons dû joindre nos impartiales
manifestations au bruyant enthousiasme de nos voisins.
Résumant mes impressions sur le Théâtre Solis, son
architecture, l’arrangement de la salle, l’œuvre représentée et
l’interprétation des chanteurs, je puis assurer que ce qui m’a paru le
plus intéressant et le plus artistique, c’est la beauté des femmes
montévidéennes, groupées comme de frais bouquets de printemps
aux deux premiers rangs des loges.
Elles ont le type espagnol, avec son éclat incomparable, son
originalité, sa grâce d’un ordre tout particulier, sa hardiesse, pleine
cependant de langueur et d’indolence ; mais, plus affiné, plus
régulier, un peu français, parfois presque parisien. Les attitudes sont
aisées et simples, les physionomies sont aimables, et le jeu de
l’éventail n’a pas, grâce à Dieu, pris cette allure mécanique à
laquelle un Castillan ne s’habituerait pas ; mais, s’il n’est pas moins
expressif, il est cependant plus réservé et moins rapide.
En sorte que, tout compte fait, nous avons emporté du Théâtre
Solis, de l’opéra nouveau, et de notre soirée, un fort agréable
souvenir.
Le lendemain, nous avons été reçus au Cercle français avec la
plus franche et la plus cordiale hospitalité. Tous les renseignements
utiles sur le pays ont été mis à notre disposition, et toutes les
excursions possibles nous ont été offertes par l’obligeance de nos
compatriotes, qui nous ont reproché amèrement de ne faire auprès
d’eux qu’un séjour de trop courte durée.
Après les félicitations, les poignées de main, une heure ou deux
de conversations à bâtons rompus, dans lesquelles nous ne parlons
que de l’Uruguay, et où on ne nous parle que de la France, nous
voici en route pour une promenade aux environs. Il ne s’agit encore
que d’aller dans une quinta (maison de campagne), à quelques
lieues de là, goûter la cuisine des gauchos [3] ; mais on a projeté
pour demain une excursion à l’un des saladeros [4] situés sur le
versant du Cerro.
[3] Le gaucho est l’homme de la campagne, produit du
mélange de l’Indien avec l’Espagnol.
[4] Abattoirs.

Notre expédition est dirigée par M. Charles Garet, le vice-

président du Cercle, directeur du journal la France. Une demi-
douzaine de calèches nous entraînent rapidement hors de la ville ;
en arrière, rebondit un fourgon bourré de victuailles, parmi
lesquelles, et comme pièces de résistance, quatre ou cinq
churrascos, ou énormes quartiers de bœuf, destinés à être rôtis tout
entiers. On a comblé les vides du fourgon à l’aide de petites caisses,
renfermant un nombre respectable de bouteilles de bon bordeaux, et
joint à ces éléments dignes d’intérêt tout un outillage de fourchettes
et de couteaux, car nous mangerons en plein air, dans la pampa.
Ce n’est pas ainsi, je le reconnais, que se font les explorations
scientifiques ; mais voyageant, comme dit le programme, pour notre
instruction et pour notre plaisir, il faut bien de temps en temps nous
conformer à cette seconde partie du règlement.
Le faubourg que nous traversons d’abord est d’aspect fort gai et
surtout extrêmement varié. C’est un nid à maisons de campagne
dans le genre de Passy, mais pas une seule d’entre elles qui
ressemble à sa voisine. Il y en a de gothiques, de grecques,
d’italiennes, de mauresques, de chinoises… Quelques-unes sont de
haute fantaisie. Tout cela, peint des couleurs les plus tendres, est
d’un affreux mauvais goût, comme vous pensez bien. — « Les
architectes de ce pays sont donc doués d’une trop riche
imagination ? » — Erreur. C’est un Français, un seul, qui a dirigé la
construction de toutes ces villas. Informé par un ami des idées
particulières des gens de Montevideo, il avait débarqué un beau
matin portant sous son bras un album complet tout rempli de
temples, de kiosques, de châteaux forts, de pagodes, de chalets et
autres pièces montées. Au bout de six semaines, il ne suffisait plus à
l’ouvrage. Voyez ce que vaut un bon renseignement.
 Ces artistiques cottages, heureusement, sont entourés de
charmants jardins. Nous sommes au plus fort du printemps, en
pleine saison des fleurs ; si bien que les hautes charmilles, les
grands arbres déjà touffus, en cachant une bonne partie des
beautés architecturales qui défilent sous nos yeux, nous permettent
de louer sans trop de réticences cette série de paysages de
convention.
Après deux heures de route, nous arrivons à la quinta du señor
Herrosa. C’est une grande propriété, admirablement tenue, avec
château et dépendances, parterres, serres, jardins et bois. Aux
confins de ce magnifique parc s’étend la plaine indéfinie, dont nous
ne sommes séparés que par la petite rivière du Miguelete.
A l’ombre de saules gigantesques, on procède aux préparatifs du
churrasco. En un instant, les énormes quartiers de viande ont été
embrochés et déjà rôtissent devant nous, à l’entour d’un énorme
brasier, où s’entassent en guise de bûches des arbres entiers garnis
de leurs feuilles.
Pendant ce temps, nous attaquons les réserves ; la conversation
prend une allure plus vive, les souvenirs viennent plus pressés à la
mémoire ; ce grand air, cet horizon immense, ce repas original,
quoique excellent, nous mettent dans la meilleure disposition du
monde. Ce n’est pas la bonne humeur voulue des gens qui
s’amusent « quand même » et pensent que le bruit fera venir la
gaieté, sous prétexte que la gaieté amène souvent le bruit. C’est une
satisfaction intime et complète, qui se traduit par un continuel
échange de questions, de réflexions plus bizarres les unes que les
autres, faites en toute sincérité, accueillies avec la meilleure bonne
grâce.
Nous causons d’abord des choses de ce pays ; mais bientôt la
curiosité s’envole, et c’est un véritable voyage en France que nous
faisons avec nos nouveaux amis. On se raconte les histoires
d’autrefois, on redit les vers de Musset, de Hugo ; on chante les
immortelles vieilleries de Béranger. L’Uruguay ! où est l’Uruguay ? à
deux mille lieues assurément de ce groupe en vestes et en
chapeaux ronds, d’où s’échappent des refrains de Lecocq, des
hémistiches de Murger, et qui, entre deux gorgées de vin de
Champagne, trouve place pour une saillie d’une gauloiserie bien
authentique.
Que nos aimables hôtes de Montevideo en restent bien certains,
nous n’oublierons pas le « voyage autour d’un churrasco. »
Je ne vous dirai pas le retour au triple galop, par un tout autre
chemin, et notre rentrée triomphale, et les joyeux « événements » de
la soirée.
Le lendemain, malgré les fatigues de la veille, nous étions à
cheval au lever du soleil pour aller visiter un de ces établissements
d’abattage de bœufs qu’on nomme « saladeros. » Ce sont les great
attractions du pays. En une heure et demie, nous avons franchi les
quatorze kilomètres qui nous séparaient du but de notre excursion.
Malheureusement (heureusement pour les âmes sensibles) on ne
travaille au saladero qu’en été, c’est-à-dire dans quelques
semaines ; il faudra donc nous contenter des explications qui nous
seront fournies par le propriétaire du lieu. Tâchons d’être aussi clair
et plus bref qu’il le fut.
« Saladero », endroit où l’on sale. Il n’y a pas à s’y tromper ;
endroit aussi où on fait disparaître un bœuf comme un
prestidigitateur une muscade. Voici comment :
La tuerie commence au point du jour. Les animaux prêts à être
abattus sont amenés dans une enceinte qu’on appelle le « brette »,
vingt par vingt. Cette sorte de chambre circulaire est pavée de dalles
glissantes. En un point du mur est fixée une poutre horizontale ; à
côté d’elle une poulie dans laquelle passe une petite cordelette ; sur
cette poutre est assis un homme armé d’un couteau large, court et
aigu.
Non loin de là, un autre homme, monté sur une petite estrade,
tient l’une des extrémités de la corde qui passe dans la poulie et
n’est autre chose qu’un lasso, dont l’autre extrémité est fixée à la
selle d’un cheval monté.
Les bêtes sont introduites ; l’homme qui tient le lasso le jette sur
l’animal qui lui paraît le mieux à portée, le cheval part au galop. Ainsi
traîné par les cornes, le bœuf glisse sur les dalles de la brette et va
infailliblement frapper de la tête la poutre où l’attend l’homme au
couteau. Un seul coup sur la nuque, le même que porte le cachetero
dans une corrida, quand l’épée de l’espada n’a pas tué raide le
taureau, et l’animal tombe foudroyé, non pas sur le sol, mais sur un
wagon dont la surface est au niveau du sol.
En un clin d’œil le lasso est enlevé, une porte s’ouvre, le wagon
glisse et disparaît sous un hangar, où le dépècement se fait sans
désemparer. En six minutes environ, un bœuf de forte taille est
« lassé », tué, saigné, écorché et dépecé. La chair s’en va au Brésil
ou à La Havane, à moins qu’on n’en fasse, sur les lieux mêmes,
comme à Fray-Bentos, de l’extrait de Liebig ; les cuirs et le suif sont
envoyés à Anvers, à Liverpool ou au Havre ; les os, les cornes et les
sabots sont expédiés en Angleterre.
Dans le corral du saladero que nous visitions se trouvaient
quelques bœufs. Pensant nous intéresser davantage, le propriétaire
en fit abattre un devant nous ; les diverses phases de l’opération
furent terminées en six minutes et demie.
On ne tue que pendant quatre mois de l’année ; mais les
établissements de quelque importance abattent en moyenne mille
têtes par jour, chacun. Détail curieux : le desnucador, c’est-à-dire
celui qui est chargé du coup de couteau, lequel demande un sang-
froid et une sûreté de main extraordinaires, n’est payé que 10 à 12
francs par cent bœufs abattus. Ceux qui touchent la solde la plus
forte sont les charqueadores, chargés de découper en tranches de
quatre à cinq centimètres d’épaisseur les parties destinées à être
expédiées comme salaisons.
Assez de boucherie, n’est-ce pas ? Je gagerais que vous trouvez
mes impressions sur Montevideo peu intéressantes. Un déjeuner et
la visite d’un abattoir, voilà de plaisants récits de voyages ! Vous
m’excuseriez peut-être d’inventer, comme tant d’autres, une
anecdote quelconque, pour… corser ma narration. Je n’en ferai rien.
Permettez-moi seulement de vous dire, comme les orateurs qui
croient apercevoir quelques traces de fatigue sur les physionomies
de leur auditoire : encore quelques mots, et je termine !
 « Pour qu’on puisse peupler les deux importants postes de
Montevideo et de Maldonado, j’ai donné les ordres nécessaires afin
qu’on vous envoie, par les navires indiqués, cinquante familles, dont
vingt-cinq du royaume de Galice et vingt-cinq des îles Canaries. »
Tel était le texte de l’ordonnance royale adressée d’Aranjuez, le 16
avril 1725, au gouverneur de Buenos-Ayres.
Maldonado n’a pris que fort peu de développement ; quant à
Montevideo, elle a aujourd’hui plus de 100,000 habitants, dont
65,000 nationaux, ce qui prouve que les vingt-cinq familles de Galice
n’avaient pas été mal choisies et comprenaient les devoirs que leur
imposait la volonté souveraine.
On pourrait croire que c’est sous la protection d’un gouvernement
stable, dans une ère de calme et de travail que la population a pu
prendre un aussi rapide essor. Loin de là. Pendant près d’un siècle,
le pays fut relativement tranquille ; mais soumis à la domination de
l’Espagne, bientôt impatient d’en secouer le joug, il ne jouissait pas
de plus de liberté que le Brésil à la même époque et ne prospérait
guère. En 1810, la Banda orientale (c’est l’ancien nom, encore très
employé, de la république de l’Uruguay) commence à s’émanciper et
parvient, en 1828, à se constituer en État indépendant.
Ayant atteint la réalisation de leurs plus chères espérances, les
Montévidéens exprimèrent leur satisfaction en se livrant à des
guerres civiles non interrompues, auxquelles vint s’ajouter la guerre
contre Buenos-Ayres, de 1843 à 1852. Pendant presque tout ce
temps, Montevideo fut assiégée par les troupes du dictateur Rosas,
et ne dut son salut qu’à l’intervention de Garibaldi. Le combat de
San-Antonio, où le célèbre patriote italien battit 1,000 cavaliers et
300 fantassins avec ses 200 légionnaires, a passé à l’état de
légende, du moins dans ce pays.
En 1857, nouvelle guerre civile jusqu’en 1860. Les
révolutionnaires, battus, laissent enfin s’établir la présidence de
Bernardo Berro, sous laquelle le pays est pacifié et s’occupe
uniquement de ses propres affaires. Cela dure trois ans. En 1863, la
dispute avec Buenos-Ayres recommence de plus belle. Le général
argentin Florès tient la campagne contre les gens de l’Uruguay
jusqu’à la fin de 1864 et s’allie alors avec le Brésil, qui profite tout
naturellement de l’occasion pour entrer en scène. Second siège de
Montevideo, bloquée par une escadre brésilienne ; menace de
bombardement, panique. Le président Villalba, qu’on a beaucoup
blâmé depuis, mais qu’on appelait alors « le vertueux président »,
livre la ville, le 19 février 1865, au général Florès, « dans l’intérêt de
la paix publique, de la sécurité et du bien-être de la cité. » Ce sont
les expressions qu’il emploie lui-même dans une lettre de
remerciement à l’amiral français Chaigneau, dont l’habileté et
l’énergique attitude avaient fait éviter d’irréparables malheurs.
Tout est fini ? Nullement. Le nouveau gouverneur, docile
instrument de la politique brésilienne, signe un traité d’alliance avec
l’empire esclavagiste et la république Argentine, pour
l’envahissement du Paraguay.
Le fameux dictateur Lopez défend son pays pied à pied pendant
cinq ans contre les trois puissances alliées et meurt, assassiné, dit-
on, ce qui met fin à une guerre qu’un peuple décimé ne pouvait,
d’ailleurs, prolonger davantage.
Vers cette époque, deux partis se dessinent nettement dans
l’Urugay : ce sont les colorados, ou rouges, et les blancos qui
s’intitulent aussi restauradores de las leyes. Leur but est bien net,
sinon bien avoué : rester au pouvoir quand ils y sont, et y arriver
quand ils n’y sont pas.
En 1868, Florès est assassiné. En 1870, les colorados, alors
maîtres de la ville, sont vivement attaqués par les blancos et
parviennent à s’en débarrasser. Mais ce n’est que pour peu de
temps, la lutte recommence bientôt. Enfin, en 1872, les deux partis
semblent réconciliés : enthousiasme général.
Nous arrivons aux événements tout à fait récents qui ont amené
la situation politique actuelle. On pourrait en retrouver d’analogues
dans l’histoire de certains pays d’Europe ; cependant elle ne laisse
pas que d’être assez originale.
 Vous avez deviné ou pressenti qu’au fond de ces querelles faites
au nom de la liberté, de l’ordre, du progrès, de la loi, etc., les
questions financières étaient de fait seules en jeu. « Être ou ne pas
être » est bien le dilemme terrible qui s’impose aux pays troublés ;
mais les politiciens le traduisent : « Avoir ou ne pas avoir ». Je
retourne sur les bords du Rio de la Plata, si vous avez pu supposer
que je les aie quittés, et je continue.
Vers la fin de 1874, l’avocat Jose Ellauri, président depuis près
de deux ans, ayant soumis des projets d’emprunt qui rencontraient
une vive opposition dans les Chambres, hésitait à les faire agréer
par la force. Cependant, le déficit étant considérable, il était urgent
de prendre une décision. Pendant qu’il discute et tergiverse, un
jeune chef de bataillon, M. Latorre, harangue la garnison, l’entraîne,
dépose le président et fait nommer M. Pedro Varela, qui lui confie le
portefeuille de la guerre, en témoignage de sa reconnaissance.
Mais M. Varela n’était pas homme à pouvoir arranger des affaires
aussi embarrassées que celles de l’Uruguay. Le désarroi était
complet, le désordre à son comble, le pays écrasé par une dette de
papier-monnaie de 12 millions de piastres, c’est-à-dire environ de 60
millions de francs. Des troubles surgissent à l’intérieur ; Latorre, de
plus en plus nécessaire, parcourt le pays, prêche la concorde et le
patriotisme, frappe rudement, mais adroitement sur les plus
compromis, et revient à Montevideo.
En son absence, la situation était devenue ce que deviennent
généralement les situations mauvaises, quand on n’y applique pas
quelque remède énergique : elle avait empiré. M. Varela, impuissant
à la modifier, inquiet, indécis, ne tenait plus à ce pouvoir dont il
n’avait pas su se servir. Pour le quitter, il suffisait qu’une
manifestation populaire l’y autorisât ; elle eut lieu, cela va sans dire,
et, le 10 mars 1876, l’autorité suprême passait, sans discussion, aux
mains de l’homme indispensable, du sauveur, le colonel don
Lorenzo Latorre, qui régit et gouverne à son gré depuis cette époque
les destinées de la république démocratique et représentative de
l’Uruguay.
 La constitution pourvoit le pays de sénateurs et de députés ; elle
est très libérale et très parlementaire, mais, pour le moment, il n’y a
dans la « Banda Oriental »
Ni représentants,
Ni sénateurs,
Ni président.
Il y a le dictateur Latorre, accepté, reconnu, acclamé, qui
promulgue ainsi ses décrets :
« Le gouverneur provisoire de la République, de par les facultés
ordinaires et extraordinaires qu’il revêt, en conseil des ministres, a
résolu et décrète, etc. »
Ne croyez pas que M. le gouverneur provisoire ne s’occupe que
de l’expédition des affaires courantes et ménage ostensiblement les
partis contraires pour rester plus longtemps au pouvoir ; M. Lorenzo
Latorre, je l’ai dit, gouverne. Il a rétabli la discipline dans l’armée,
purgé l’administration, fait rendre gorge à ceux qui avaient trop
impudemment pillé les caisses de l’État ; il supprime les journaux qui
lui déplaisent et met en prison les raisonneurs. M. Latorre n’est peut-
être pas un économiste de premier ordre ; cependant, depuis deux
ans et demi, il a amorti sept millions de piastres de papier-monnaie,
tandis que la dette de la république Argentine s’est accrue d’à peu
près autant dans le même temps.
Le nouveau maître de l’Uruguay s’est bien gardé de violer la
constitution. Il y eût risqué de recevoir un coup de couteau. En
prenant le pouvoir, il a convoqué les électeurs pour 1877 ; mais une
pétition des départements l’ayant engagé à continuer sa dictature,
c’est au mois de novembre 1878 qu’auront lieu les élections. Leur
résultat n’est pas douteux, et, jusqu’à ce qu’un plus avisé que lui
trouve moyen de dépopulariser le dictateur, M. Latorre continuera à
tenir l’Uruguay dans sa main. L’histoire lui donnera-t-elle tort ou
raison ? C’est ce que chacun ignore, et je n’aurais garde de me
prononcer sur un point aussi délicat.
 BUENOS-AYRES

La rade. — Débarquement en voiture. — La sortie de la messe. — Visite à M.

le comte Amelot de Chaillou. — De Buenos-Ayres à Azul. — Chasse dans la
pampa. — Les gauchos. — Une colonie russe-allemande. — Complications
politiques. — Influence des étrangers.

Buenos-Ayres, 25 septembre.

On sait que le Rio de la Plata est un immense bras de mer de

plus de cent milles de long et cinquante de large, où se jettent les
deux grands fleuves le Parana et l’Uruguay, tous deux venant du
nord et prenant leur source au Brésil, le premier à l’ouest, le second
à l’est. Montevideo est sur la côte nord, tout près de l’entrée ;
Buenos-Ayres, sur la côte sud, tout près du fond.
Ces deux villes se ressemblent beaucoup, et presque toutes les
particularités de la première se retrouvent plus accentuées dans la
seconde. Montevideo est située sur un terrain à peine ondulé ;
Buenos-Ayres, sur un terrain absolument plat. Nous avons vu que
les grands navires doivent, à Montevideo, mouiller à près d’une lieue
de terre, sous peine d’échouer ; c’est à trois lieues qu’il leur faut
s’arrêter lorsqu’ils vont à Buenos-Ayres. Découpée en petits carrés
comme la capitale de l’Uruguay, celle de la république Argentine a
été construite sur un plan analogue, mais plus régulier encore. C’est
une très grande ville, qui a bien tournure de capitale, et qui, au
contraire de celle que je viens de quitter, est plus imposante que
gracieuse.
 Mais procédons par ordre. Je reprends le cours de mon récit.
Arrivés de fort bonne heure dimanche dernier avec le Saturno, le
soleil, en se levant, nous montra, sur une longue ligne jaune très
fine, une autre longue ligne blanche et jaune s’étendant sur un
développement de près de quatre kilomètres. Au-dessus, quelques
coupoles, quelques tours carrées ; sur la gauche un peu de verdure :
c’est Buenos-Ayres.
Auprès de nous, fort peu de navires, cinq ou six petits vapeurs de
la taille du Saturno et quelques grosses barques de faible tonnage.
Où sont donc les paquebots, les clippers, les grands trois-mâts ?…
Un de mes compagnons me fait tourner le dos à la ville et me
montre à l’horizon, encore tout embrumé, les mâtures des navires de
commerce qui paraissent au loin comme une haie de pieux plantés
au hasard.
Les bâtiments du service local, construits de manière à ne caler
que très peu d’eau, peuvent, comme le Saturno, venir aussi près de
Buenos-Ayres que la Junon l’est de Montevideo ; mais les autres
restent hors de la portée de la vue et n’ont d’autre horizon que la
mer, en sorte que cette relâche doit être pour eux mortellement
ennuyeuse et incommode.
Nous embarquons, non sans peine, dans des canots de
passage, car il règne sur toute la rade un clapotis assez fort et une
brise que nos souvenirs du Brésil nous font trouver bien fraîche.
Arrivés à un demi-kilomètre de la plage, nous voyons des charrettes
à grandes roues, traînées par deux chevaux, venir au-devant des
embarcations. C’est qu’il n’y a pas assez d’eau pour que les plus
petits bateaux puissent accoster le rivage. Nous nous transbordons
dans ces véhicules, et nous roulons lentement vers la côte à travers
les eaux, sur un sable tellement dur que les roues de ces charrettes
n’y laissent qu’une faible trace.
Bientôt nous voici débarqués, et nous nous rendons à la douane
pour faire visiter nos valises.
Il paraît que, lorsque le « pampero », terrible tempête du sud-
ouest au sud-est, très fréquente dans ces parages, a soufflé pendant
longtemps, le rivage reste parfois découvert sur une étendue de
plusieurs milles ; les bâtiments demeurent alors à sec, et les marins
peuvent se promener à leur aise autour de leurs navires. On raconte
même qu’il y a quelques années, en pareille circonstance, le
gouvernement dépêcha un escadron de cavalerie pour se rendre
maître d’une canonnière montée par le général révolutionnaire
Urquiza. Cette petite expédition n’eut pas, cependant, tout le succès
qu’on en attendait ; les canons braqués contre la cavalerie
l’obligèrent à se replier avant qu’elle eût fait la moitié du chemin, en
sorte que les « loups » de mer n’eurent même pas à repousser
l’attaque des « chevaux » marins.
Après un rapide déjeuner à l’européenne, sinon tout à fait à la
française, je veux d’abord courir un peu au hasard dans la ville.
Je vous ai dit que c’était dimanche, et nous sommes à l’heure où
l’on sort des églises. Me voici de nouveau sous l’impression que
m’ont laissée les loges du théâtre de Montevideo, impression
charmante et qui me remplit d’indulgence pour les rues monotones
et mal pavées, pour les édifices sans grâce, pour le terrain tout plat,
pour les nuages de poussière que soulève la moindre brise. Buenos-
Ayres ! une ville ennuyeuse ! Non, il n’y a pas de ville ennuyeuse là
où il suffit d’aller se planter à la porte de la première église venue
pour en voir sortir un flot d’élégantes et gracieuses jeunes femmes à
l’air aimable, à la physionomie ouverte, aux grands yeux expressifs.
Je n’étais pas tout seul à regarder ce joli spectacle. Un assez
grand nombre de jeunes gens, qui certes n’étaient pas des
étrangers, en jouissaient comme moi, et même bien mieux que moi,
car c’étaient des saluts, des sourires, des bonjours, à n’en plus finir.
Tout ce monde paraissait fort satisfait et de belle humeur. N’ayant
de compliments et de coups de chapeau à adresser à personne, je
commençai à éprouver cette sensation désagréable de la solitude au
milieu de la foule, et je sautai dans un tramway qui passait, sans
m’enquérir de l’endroit où il se proposait de me mener.
Un quart d’heure après, j’étais hors des voies fréquentées, dans
un faubourg aristocratique nommé Florès. J’aperçus quelques
jardins, entourant de somptueuses maisons de campagne, mais pas
l’ombre de pittoresque, pas même la fantaisie artificielle et voulue
des quintas de Montevideo.
Une courte promenade suffit cependant à chasser mes idées
noires, et je rentrai dans la ville, l’heure étant venue d’aller rendre
visite à notre ministre de France, M. le comte Amelot de Chaillou.
J’appris qu’il demeurait à la campagne, un peu plus loin que ce
même faubourg où ma mauvaise humeur m’avait jeté. Plusieurs de
nos compagnons se joignirent à moi, et nous voilà de nouveau partis
dans un immense landau de louage, roulant assez grand train.
L’accueil de notre ministre fut aussi cordial et sympathique qu’il est
possible de l’imaginer. Il eut la bonté de mettre à notre disposition,
non seulement sa grande expérience du pays, mais aussi tous les
moyens dont il disposait pour nous faciliter une excursion dans
l’intérieur.
Notre premier projet était de remonter le Parana jusqu’à Rosario
et de nous enfoncer alors dans la pampa pour y faire quelque
grande chasse à l’indienne. Il nous fallut y renoncer, faute de temps.
Le comte Amelot nous proposa alors un petit voyage par le chemin
de fer jusqu’à une ville nommée Azul, située à soixante et quelques
lieues au sud de Buenos-Ayres. Faisant ce trajet dans la journée,
nous verrions bien le pays : à Azul même, nous assisterions aux
travaux de la campagne, nous verrions prendre et dompter les
chevaux sauvages, nous tirerions des coups de fusil tant qu’il nous
plairait, et après avoir vécu deux jours de la vie de l’estancia, nous
reviendrions assez à temps pour ne pas manquer le bateau du 25.
Ce plan accepté avec enthousiasme, M. le comte Amelot fit tout
préparer lui-même, si bien que le lendemain, à la pointe du jour,
nous n’eûmes d’autre peine que de nous installer dans un wagon
spécial que la compagnie du chemin de fer avait mis gracieusement
à notre disposition. Un instant après, le train filait à toute vapeur sur
la plaine unie du territoire argentin.
A peu de distance de la ville, et après avoir dépassé quelques
champs de maïs, nous avions déjà sous les yeux l’aspect de la
pampa, s’étendant devant nous, immense, sans limites, sans
variété, comme l’Océan ; rarement accidentée par quelques plis de
terrain qui rendent la comparaison plus juste encore en rappelant la
longue houle de l’Atlantique. A l’avant de la machine, on a fixé une
sorte de treillis formé de grosses barres de fer, inclinées à droite et à
gauche, c’est un chasse-bœufs destiné à culbuter en dehors de la
voie les animaux errants. Parfois la machine siffle, ralentit et même
s’arrête pour laisser passer un troupeau, ou bien ce sont des bandes
de chevaux qui s’enfuient en un galop désordonné, effrayés par
notre passage et le bruit de la locomotive.
Nous courons ainsi toute la journée à travers l’immensité
verdâtre des plaines, nous arrêtant à de longs intervalles devant
quelques pauvres villages, pour laisser monter et descendre des
familles de paysans.
A moitié chemin à peu près, nous faisons une halte pour
déjeuner et pour laisser passer le train qui vient d’Azul, car la voie
est unique. Il n’y a d’ailleurs qu’un départ par jour, et les trains ne
marchent pas la nuit. A partir de là, les villages deviennent rares.
Nous ne voyons plus que de pauvres ranchos aux toits de chaume,
soutenus par quelques murs en pisé, avec une porte basse, souvent
sans fenêtres, et de loin en loin quelques estancias enveloppées
dans des bouquets de verdure. Le paysage n’est animé que par la
rencontre de gauchos voyageant au galop de leurs petits chevaux.
Ce sont de beaux hommes, vigoureusement découplés, cavaliers
incomparables. Tous portent le même costume : le traditionnel
puncho, tunique sans manches, avec un trou pour passer la tête ; sa
couleur varie du jaune au brun.
Le puncho est fait de laine de guanaque ; c’est un excellent et
solide vêtement qui ne manque pas d’une certaine grâce ; un large
pantalon blanc, ne descendant qu’à mi-jambe, des bottes en cuir,
ornées d’énormes éperons, un feutre mou sur la tête : voilà tout
l’habillement du gaucho.
Notre route se poursuit au milieu d’innombrables troupeaux de
moutons, de bœufs et de chevaux, qui paissent en liberté ; mais
quand une bête s’écarte trop, elle est immédiatement saisie et
ramenée à l’aide du lasso. Nos regards se fatiguent à la longue de
ces plaines immenses et uniformes, qui n’attirent par aucun charme
et qui semblent ne donner aucune promesse, malgré cette
extraordinaire fertilité qui leur permettrait de nourrir le bétail de toute
l’Amérique.
L’aspect est bien différent, paraît-il, dans les territoires au nord de
La Plata, où la végétation est entretenue par l’humidité des grands
fleuves qui les arrosent et parfois les inondent. Mais ici nous
sommes dans la basse pampa, où l’on ne trouve ni fleurs, ni arbres,
ni montagnes, véritable désert de verdure empreint d’une poésie
triste et monotone. Pas un buisson ne se dessine sur l’azur pâle du
ciel. Les abords de la voie ferrée et les rares chemins, seulement
tracés par le passage des troupeaux, sont bordés de milliers de
squelettes, funèbres jalons que nous avons constamment sous les
yeux. Nous rencontrons aussi des marais ou lagunes, formés par
des dépressions de terrain où l’eau des pluies a pu se conserver. Ce
sont les seuls abreuvoirs des animaux de la pampa.
Enfin, nous atteignons Azul au coucher du soleil.
L’aspect tout européen de cette petite ville surprend le voyageur,
surtout s’il a été prévenu qu’à quelques lieues seulement au delà il
peut rencontrer des tribus indiennes, vivant encore à l’état sauvage,
et n’ayant pas fait leur soumission. La plupart des maisons ne
comprennent qu’un rez-de-chaussée ; elles sont construites en
brique et assez bien tenues. Les rues sont larges, tirées au cordeau,
non pavées, mais garnies de trottoirs formés de larges dalles. Çà et
là quelques bouquets d’arbres, entre autres sur la grande place, où
est édifiée l’église.
Nous trouvons bonne table et bon gîte dans le principal, je n’ose
dire le seul hôtel de l’endroit, et après une courte promenade, assez
fatigués tous de notre journée en chemin de fer, nous allons nous
reposer.
Le lendemain matin, nous recevons la visite d’un Français, M.
Theers, qui a fondé cette colonie il y a une vingtaine d’années ; notre
compatriote est maintenant grand propriétaire et, de plus, remplit les
honorables et délicates fonctions de juge de paix. Il nous offre fort
aimablement ses services et nous donne d’abord quelques
renseignements sur la ville.
Azul compte aujourd’hui environ 6,000 habitants, y compris les
gauchos et les Indiens. En 1875, ces derniers campaient encore
autour de la ville ; mais, après une révolte presque générale des
tribus, des renforts considérables furent envoyés de Buenos-Ayres,
et les Indiens, repoussés jusqu’à cinquante lieues de distance,
durent établir leurs campements aux lieux où ils avaient été refoulés.
Ces tribus, derniers vestiges des Indiens Pehuenches et des Indiens
Pampas, tendent à disparaître. On estime que, sur tout le territoire
de la république Argentine, il ne reste plus guère que dix mille
Indiens insoumis, dont une fraction seulement, celle qui confine aux
terres exploitées, peut causer quelque appréhension. Cependant, ce
n’est pas un mince travail pour les troupes du gouvernement que de
garder une ligne de frontières de plus de cent lieues d’étendue, où
elles sont obligées de se protéger par de larges fossés, sortes de
barrières que l’on ne manque pas d’avancer chaque fois que
l’occasion s’en présente.
Des détachements de cavalerie sont continuellement en marche
pour observer les mouvements des Indiens et prévenir des surprises
d’autant plus dangereuses que les prisonniers sont rarement
épargnés. Les tribus insoumises ne font pas de quartier et torturent
longuement leurs victimes avant de les mettre à mort, c’est-à-dire
avant de les scalper. Moins la torture et le scalp, les troupes
argentines répondent par des représailles analogues.
Le but des opérations militaires actuelles est de refouler les
indigènes jusqu’au delà du rio Negro, à la hauteur du 40e degré de
latitude sud. Depuis longtemps, ce fleuve est indiqué sur les cartes
comme séparant la république Argentine de la Patagonie. Les
prétentions des Argentins ne s’arrêtent même pas là ; ne voyant
aucune raison pour que le mouvement commencé ne se continue
pas, ils prétendent déjà avoir des droits sur la Patagonie elle-même ;
mais comme le Chili affiche également les mêmes prétentions, que
chaque pays prend la chose fort au sérieux et n’en veut, sous aucun
prétexte, démordre, on ne sait comment sera tranché le différend.
Ce qui est bien assuré pour l’instant, c’est que la Patagonie est
non seulement à conquérir, mais à explorer, et que, par conséquent,
elle appartient sans contestation de fait… aux Patagons. Je
reviendrai sans doute sur cette grave affaire quand j’aurai pris mes
renseignements dans le détroit de Magellan et entendu la partie
adverse — au Chili.

Notre excellent compatriote nous présente à un aimable

Hollandais, M. Freers, propriétaire d’une grande estancia des
environs, qui nous invite à venir chasser sur ses terres. Nous voilà
bientôt tous armés jusqu’aux dents et galopant dans la pampa.
Arrivés à un quart d’heure de la ville, le carnage commence ; si nous
avons été obligés de renoncer à tirer l’autruche et le guanaque,
qu’on ne rencontre guère près des habitations, nous nous rattrapons
en revanche sur un gibier moins remarquable, mais plus abondant.
En moins de deux heures, plus de trois cents pièces sont abattues :
ce sont des vanneaux, des poules d’eau, des canards d’espèces
variées, sans parler des perdrix, des bécasses…; nous avons même
tué des chats-huants. Au bruit de nos détonations, des bandes
ailées disparaissent à tire-d’aile, emplissant l’air de leurs cris. Nous
avons le regret de laisser échapper quelques chevreuils, hors de la
portée de notre tir, ainsi que des flamants et de beaux cygnes à col
noir qu’il est impossible d’approcher.
Les incidents comiques ne manquent pas. Ce terrain, tout coupé
de lagunes, est un véritable marécage, et nous nous trouvons
parfois dans l’eau jusqu’à mi-jambe. Plusieurs d’entre nous vont
ramasser leurs victimes jusqu’au milieu des mares, avec le faible
espoir d’être garantis par leurs bottes : ils sont bientôt aussi trempés
que les canards qu’ils rapportent.
En revenant de cette brillante mitraillade, chargés d’assez de
victuailles pour approvisionner tout un marché, on nous conduit au
grand corral de l’estancia. C’est là qu’on amène les troupeaux qui