Wounded Birds (The Grayson Series Book 1)

by Unknown

  “So . . . are you okay?” I carefully ask.

  He stares at me as if I’m crazy. His eyes go wild with fear and confusion.

  “Ariana, you have any idea what I put the pilot through to fly that plane faster than it could move?”

  “I wasn’t supposed to be here until late this evening to surprise you; however, things changed the moment I heard Trent’s message. I called him back, and he went into details about the motorcycle incident. I was on the damn phone chartering a private jet before Trent even had a chance to say ‘goodbye’.

  “I was going out of my mind wondering if this fuck had plans to pull another stunt like he did while I was flying over the Pacific,” he whispers so no one can overhear our conversation. He rakes his fingers through his hair, looking distraught as though he’s sitting in a pressure cooker ready to erupt. I take his hand and caress it.

  “Michael, I’m fine. See? Here I am, in one-piece. Not a scratch on me thanks to Trent.”

  “You think that eases my anxiety or the panic and explosive emotions wrapped around my gut?” He seethes with trembling hands. “God, Ariana, do you have any idea how close you came to being severely injured or worse? I don’t even want to think about the latter. You may not be as lucky next time. You can have a hundred bodyguards, and I’ll never be at peace until they catch this demented fuck.”

  “Let’s change the subject and enjoy the rest of the evening. You’re here with me. Doesn’t that ease you a little?” I gaze at him through my lashes, lean my head against his, and kiss his lips with affection.

  He blows out a long, exasperated breath. “Yes, you’re right.”

  Oh, thank God, I think to myself, releasing a sigh of relief.

  Our meal is culinary perfection, created for a feast for the gods. Our auction brings in over two million dollars. We dance and have dessert, but before the night ends, I need to make my speech.

  The master of ceremonies introduces me. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce our host for this evening’s function, Ariana DiMarco.”

  “You’re an angel,” Michael says before I walk toward the mic.

  “Thank you,” I whisper and kiss him softly on his lips.

  I face the five hundred guests and blush as they begin to applaud and whistle. I smile at the ladies from the shelter who are seated up front, looking as radiant as when they first walked in earlier this evening.

  “I’d like to thank everyone in this room for your gracious benefaction. Your generosity helps these women and children regain their self-esteem, receive an education, life’s essentials, and support from our volunteers and staff, whom I call angels. But let me say this. We are all angels with altruistic hearts.

  “I praise these women for their strength and courage, for walking away from their torment and pain.

  “It is difficult to imagine, however true, how long the healing process for any ill-treated person can take. Maybe days, months, or even years, but with your heartwarming gifts, we can get them the appropriate support they need to accomplish their goals and dreams.

  “I hope you enjoyed your evening and again my sincere appreciation for your charitable gifts. I’d like to extend special thanks to our shelter’s volunteers and staff. I would also like to thank the Waldorf Astoria for accommodating us, and their staff, who worked diligently to make this event a memorable one. A gracious thank you to the band, orchestra, the decorating committee, custodial staff, the florist, the chefs, and their crews in and out of the kitchen. You all worked hard as a team to make this event memorable and successful.

  “Thank you with all my heart and soul. God bless you all with an abundance of health, happiness, love, and prosperity.”

  A big smile spreads across my face when Michael is the first to give me a standing ovation. His radiant smile lights up the room like the bursting colors of the rainbow.

  Every guest congratulates me on a prosperous affair. I’m over the moon as Francis and Blake approach me.

  “Ariana, what an event. I’m so happy we were able to attend,” Francis says.

  “Thank you for coming and for the very generous contribution. Bless you both,” I say and give Blake and Francis hugs and kisses.

  “I’m assuming you won’t be taking the limo back with us,” Blake comments, wiggling his eyebrows.

  “I’ll be bringing her home,” Michael says, placing one hand around my waist and extending his other hand to shake Blake’s. “Thanks for informing me about the event.” He turns to Francis. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise. It’s a joy to see Ariana happy,” Francis voices.

  “I intend to keep her that way,” Michael replies and glances my way with a wicked look in his eyes.

  “Good night, everybody,” I say.

  “Miss DiMarco, I believe those were your last goodbyes. Let’s get you home.”

  “Amen to that.”

  We walk toward a black Lexus LFA. “Don’t tell me this is your car.” I’m beyond awestruck.

  “Yes, you approve?” He smirks at me after pulling the keys out of his costume.

  My jaw drops. “Ah, yeah, wholeheartedly. This is an amazing machine.” I gesture, running my fingers against the sleek lines of the car.

  His grin spreads from ear-to-ear like a teenager with his first big-boy toy. “Get in so you can enjoy the ride.”

  I step in and melt right into the red leather, and the smell of that new car scent heightens my senses. It’s exquisite. Michael slides his long, muscular legs in with ease, and the engine ignites, roaring. He maneuvers out of the garage, and the car drives like a dream, smooth like butter against the pavement.

  “Oh, Michael, this is beautiful. How long have you had it?”

  “Today. They had the vehicle waiting for me at the airport.”

  “Congratulations, it’s heavenly.”

  “We’ll drive it out to my home in Sands Point tomorrow. Does that sound good to you?”

  I go silent because I’m not sure how to break the news to him.

  “Ariana, is everything okay?”

  “You’re not going to be happy about this, but tomorrow is the only day we’ll have together.”

  “Why?” He questions with a nervous edge to his voice.

  “I need to leave on Monday for a few weeks, Sean’s orders. I’m as baffled as you are. We usually set these things up months in advance.”

  Michael’s jaw drops with a shocked expression over his face. The temperature in the car goes from a hundred and fifty degrees to fifteen below zero. “Why?” He asks.

  “There are a few new or newly renovated hotels we’re unveiling. My first stop is Thailand, then Singapore, and the last one is in Australia.”

  He blows out a long whistle. “That’s quite the itinerary.” I sense Michael’s anxiety.

  “Yes, I’m aware. I’m sorry,” I say with regret.

  “I’m disappointed. Hell, Ariana, I’m furious. I’m left with barely twenty-four hours with you. I missed you so much . . . and worried sick about you.” His hand has a tight grip around the steering wheel, the other brushing through his hair.

  I pull his hand away from his head and hold it in mine. “You’re making a mess out of your hair. Can we just make the best of it with the time we have?”

  There was a long moment of silence, and I start as he blows out a long breath. “Trust me, I have every intention of doing just that, Ariana, starting this evening. I don’t want to waste one precious moment.” He glances in the mirror. “Is my hair that bad?” He questions and looks my way with a devious smile.

  I shake my head. “It’s gorgeous.” I kiss his cheek.

  “Cheap kiss, Ariana, I expect more when we get to your place.”

  “Hey,” I say, giggling, smacking him on the arm and pout my lips.

  We arrive, and park the car in the garage under my building and take the elevator to the lobby. As we step out of the elevators, we see Trent standing at the security desk.

  My heart plumm
ets south, and Michael gives my hand a gentle squeeze of assurance.

  “Trent,” Michael calls out.

  Trent turns and waves a finger, indicating to give him a minute. He says something to the security guard and makes his way to us.

  “Hey, Michael, Ari.” He gives his brother a pat on the back and picks me up with one of his famous bear hugs. “You are the stunning image of Cleopatra, if not more beautiful,” he says. I turn red.

  He faces Michael with a slow-growing grin, shaking his head in astonishment. “I never thought I’d see the day you would be wearing a skirt, bro.” He chuckles and takes out his phone.

  “Trent, if you take one picture, I’ll snap your phone in two. Now put that away,” Michael threatens through gritted teeth.

  “Ah, Michael, you take all the fun away. Josh is going to be really pissed missing you in a skirt. Where’s your helmet and sword?” He tries to stifle a laugh.

  “I’m glad I amuse you. What brings you here?” Michael’s bossy, authoritative demeanor appears.

  “Your stalker called three times. He’s getting antsy. I just added two more of my men to the building and your home.” There was a long pause. Trent looks at us with anxiety and unease, massaging the tension from his neck.

  “My home? Why? What is it, Trent?” Michael asks. “Come out with it.”

  “He threatened your life if your relationship with Ariana continues.” Trent lays it out.

  I gasp. “No,” I whisper, clutching my hand against my chest.

  “It’s going to be fine, Ariana. He can’t touch us,” Michael says, wrapping his arms around me. He searches the lobby, and a few people step off the elevators and a couple enter. “Let’s take this up to Ariana’s apartment.”

  Chapter 21

  Breakdown

  The elevator doors slide open, and Trent rushes forward to block my path.

  “Wait here, Ariana,” he whispers with his hand raised, and enters with caution.

  “What’s going on, Trent?” I ask and peek around his massive shoulders.

  My eyes grow wide, and the world goes still, as I stare bewildered at the parcel sitting in the middle of the foyer, addressed to none other than Baby Doll. Streams of white ribbon adorn the small package wrapped in delicate red paper imprinted with the words ‘Will you marry me?’ and nestled in a black velvet box above the package is an exact resemblance of my diamond ring that Danny gave me when he proposed.

  “Oh, God,” I wheeze out. Suddenly, I’m attacked by a sudden shortness of breath, my knees collapse, and I crumple on the cold marble floor, gasping for air.

  “Shit! Trent! How the hell did he get in here! I thought you had your men on this; God damn it,” Michael shouts, bending down and sweeping me up like a tiny puppy. He hurries into the living room and sits down with me on his lap, cradling me against his warm body, pacifying me with soothing words. “Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart, I’m here for you, we all are. He just wants to rattle you. Don’t let him get to you. You’re stronger than that,” he whispers gently into my ear, spreading tender kisses over my head.

  A throbbing, pulsating sting begins to penetrate through my skull. I grasp hold of my head to stop the raw ache, rocking back and forth in Michael’s arms as the past begins to flash before me like a thunderous storm.

  A tight, squeezing pain takes hold of my chest. My subconscious snaps like a bone breaking in two, causing me to lose control of my whole being.

  I thrust away from Michael. “Ariana, no,” he screams out. He tries to pull me back, but I shove him hard causing us both to fall against the coffee table. I quickly scurry up, tripping over his feet. I regain my balance and sprint toward my room.

  “Trent,” Michael shouts, and they both come chasing after me. Blood begins to rush in my veins pulsating rapidly in my head.

  I burst through the library, slam the doors shut behind me in haste, slide the lock across and reach for my bedroom doors to wrench them open, only to get frustrated as my hands slide off the handles. “Oh God, please, please,” I squeal, pulling and tugging as my fingers continue to slip away. “No, please,” I scream, kicking and banging against the double doors. I try again, and they finally open, exposing my room.

  I dart right for the closet and rush out with boxes I never unpacked from Galveston. Sickening and horrifying memories of Danny continue to plague my mind, making me blind.

  My subconscious emerges from the trenches of my soul, tearing open every damn box like a wild lunatic who’s just escaped from a mental institution. My breathing is erratic and labored, as if I’ve run fifty miles. A loud crash and the sound of splintering wood echo’s throughout the room as the guys break through the library doors.

  “Trent, call Josh, tell him to get here fast. I think she’s having a breakdown,” Michael roars out and grabs me by the arms.

  “Ariana . . . please, sweetheart,” he begs, pleads and orders, “Let us help you.” His eyes are filled with fear. He looks pale and scared to death.

  I wiggle away from his arms. He takes hold of me again. I punch, kick, and try to bite him. “Get away from me. Don’t touch me.” I spit out like a snake injecting venom into her enemy.

  “Ariana, please,” he calls out, his eyes wide with alarm.

  I escape from his grasp and reach for the boxes, pulling and tossing items across my room like a mini tornado. I fall to the floor and crawl on my hands and knees searching . . . for what? What the hell am I looking for? Damn it, the ring of course.

  Trent runs in, all winded. “He’s on his way, Michael. I already alerted security to let him up,” he rushes out.

  I stand up in haste, panting for air, my eyes glistening with tears. The expressions on their faces are shock, anxiety, and nervousness. I look away and rush over to my closet, yanking out more boxes, turning them over and shaking the contents out. I fall to the floor; rifling through the items scattered around me.

  I’m overwhelmed, I want to scream, pull my hair out, or even jump out the window. I can’t take this anymore. Did he take the ring? How did he get into my apartment again with all the security? What is he invisible?

  Michael carefully kneels beside me. “Ariana, sweetheart, what are you looking for? I can help you. Did the ring trigger something?” He sounds so kind and caring, but he’s a man.

  I rip my headpiece and wig off. My hair tumbles down past my shoulders. I glare at Michael with disgust because, at this very moment, I despise him and all men.

  Oh God, I’m so lost. I’m spinning in a million directions. I don’t know which way is up, or down, right from wrong. I’m mindless, and I continue to shake violently. I glare at the two vipers that stand before me with revulsion. “Get out . . . both of you,” I hiss, bleeding with hatred. “I hate you both,” I growl out and continue my search.

  Papers are scattered like a collage, trinkets, which once stood on the kitchen shelf of my home in Galveston, now accompany the piles of photo albums of my family, a belt. I freeze. No! Violent fury rushes through me with retribution.

  I pick up a leather strap, and bone-chilling memories come flooding in like Niagara Falls. I close my eyes, remembering the pain. Danny used to beat me with this belt. I can still feel the sting and burn over my back. I would cry out, begging him to stop, but he continued to swing the belt, making the pain unbearable. I shake my head to get rid of the scene.

  I scream out in horror, sobbing uncontrollably, wrapping my arms around my waist, and rocking myself. My breathing becomes shallow, and I flinch as someone’s hand brushes over my hair with tenderness.

  I jerk up, startling not only Michael but also Trent and myself. I hold the belt in my hand, and the pain from the past begins to scorch deep within my skin, burning the layers off down to the bone. I should have burned this belt years ago.

  I can’t seem to stop the overflowing of tears or my shivering body. I continue to rock, my head low, and I peek through my lashes. “Don’t . . . please . . . don’t touch me,” I whisper through trembling lips.


  Michael and Trent look overwrought with panic, and helplessness. Michael inches his way closer with care, not wanting to push me over the edge.

  “Don’t you dare take another step,” I scowl. I stare at the damn black belt with the painful buckle. “He used to beat me with this,” I say through gritted teeth and shake the belt at them. “Nice, wouldn’t you say?” I hiss out, trembling from anger, hatred, and the wild rage tormenting my very soul.

  “Pure mental case, Ariana,” Michael says with disgust.

  “Not all men are like your ex-husband,” Trent intervenes. He edges his way toward me.

  “Stay where you are,” I explode. Trent frowns, moving back cautiously, giving Michael a wary look.

  Michael raises his hands up guardedly. “Ariana . . . please let us help you.”

  The elevator bell sounds off. Michael snaps his head toward Trent. “Josh,” Michael says with quivering lips. He threads his fingers through his hair with trembling hands.

  “Another male in my home,” I retort, my tone oozing with revulsion. “Get out of my apartment, all of you. Now,” I yell with a thunderous roar.

  Michael lifts his hands in the air and slowly backs out of the room. I know he’s not far. He’s too damn stubborn to listen to me and leave.

  I toss the belt against the wall with full force, smashing against a black and white picture of the Amalfi Coast, causing the glass to shatter into tiny fragments of crystals.

  I suck in a shaky breath after something catches my attention. I glare at a mound of old clothes, and sitting within the pile is a black velvet box. I inch my way closer, afraid it’s going to come to life.

  I kneel down, and with shaky hands, I reach for the soft velvety box and carefully open it and my eyes grow wide and shock and disbelief grip my soul.

  I immediately release the box, as if it scorched my skin, and the ring falls out and rolls under my bed. I rush towards the lamp, which is teeter-tottering against the wall and heave the damn thing across the room. A surge of anger rises within me, my breathing hitching with every breath. How did he know what my ring looked like? How?