Wounded Birds (The Grayson Series Book 1)

by Unknown

  Well, he finally did it. He has pushed me over the edge, split me in two, tormented and taunted me to the point of a nervous breakdown. I have totally lost it. I reach for the bureau and yank out all the drawers, flinging them across the room. My veins begin to cry as the blood thrusts through them with an inferno of heat. I grasp hold of another dresser, and I push until it tips over, hitting the floor with a loud crash. Tears continue to rush down my cheeks. My heart continues to pump aggressively as my violent side goes on a rampage, trashing every inch of the bedroom.

  “You bastard.” I let out a bloodcurdling scream, tugging at my hair, and toss another piece of furniture against the bathroom door.

  All three men come rushing in, witnessing my psychotic meltdown as I kick the bed and then shove the nightstand over.

  “Ariana.” Josh’s placating voice pierces into me.

  I come to a grinding halt and turn. My lower lip trembles and I feel my eyes burning, as if Satan himself has entered my body, possessing me and bringing me into his world of pure hatred. “How did he know what my engagement ring looked like? Can someone please tell me?” I scream out and a thunderous rage tears into me and I stare through the ceiling-to-wall windows, at the city lights of Manhattan, and I wonder about the sensation of flying over the city. I glare at the men, and with a devilish smile, “Ha ha ha ha ha,” I let out a horrifying laugh.

  “Fuck you.” The words fall from my lips like those of a deranged maniac or the demon himself. I lift my fist and punch the pane with all my strength, praying I break the glass to take the final flight. I huff out furiously when I don’t even make a crack. I catch a glimpse of the men through my peripheral vision, and they come charging toward me.

  I jump onto my bed, screaming. “Get out . . . leave me alone!” I toss the pillows, blankets, and the lamp lying on the mattress.

  “Josh, get the sedative ready. Trent, you get her legs, and I’ll go for her arms.” The words explode in a harsh rush out of Michael.

  “No!” I hurtle off the bed and run for the bathroom. I scream as Michael pulls me by the arms and Trent grabs my legs. I struggle, wiggling in their hands, and squirm my body like a slippery snake, my head thrusting from side to side screaming. “Let go!”

  Trent hisses out a loud grunt as I plant my knee to his chest and Michael curses after I head-butt him in the face.

  They throw me over the mattress, pressing against me with all their weight. I refuse to submit to them and continue to fight with all my strength. “That asshole! I hate him! How does he know so much about me? I want to kill him. He’s done it. He has pushed me to the point of pure rage!” The words rip out like a savage beast.

  I flinch from a small pinprick in my arm. “Bastard,” I mutter as the sedative Josh injected into my flesh begins its journey through my veins with a burning sensation, numbing every limp in my body until I can no longer move. I’m aware and alert, yet I’m paralyzed. I curse them all for doing this to me.

  My mind begins to relax, and I take in my surroundings. I’m awestricken by what has happened, not only for the actions of Josh, Trent or Michael, but at myself for the meltdown I had no control over. The demented fuck has pushed me far enough, harassing me with his calls, and haunting me with my past that only one other person knew about, and he happens to be dead.

  I glare at Josh. He looks pained with sorrow and grief-stricken. The others share the same look, except Michael, who seems more tormented and haunted. I sense his gnawing, stabbing pain.

  “Why? I trusted you, Josh,” I whisper taking stammering breaths.

  “You can still trust me, Ariana . . . .We didn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Josh explains with a haunted and doleful look on his face. He turns his attention to his brothers. “Michael, Trent, release her,” he orders, his mannerisms professional.

  “Ariana, I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Michael moves his way to sit beside me, his eyes glazed. He swallows hard, fighting the urge not to cry. He pulls me up into his arms and breaks down and weeps. I force my weak, numb arms to enclose him. I glance over to the other two men, and my heart squeezes when I see tears trickling down their cheeks and their lips quivering.

  “Please, don’t pity me,” I say, weeping.

  Trent and Josh sit on the bed, and Michael lifts himself from my arms. He wipes his tears and rubs his trembling hands over his face.

  “Ariana,” he breathes out. “Our sister, Lara, was beaten to death by her husband,” Michael chokes out so softly I can barely hear the torment in his voice.

  Oh, no! Nothing has prepared me for this news flash. “Oh, my God, sweet Mother of Jesus.” I try to get up, but I’m numb from the sedative. My arms are like lead. I just about muster enough strength to embrace him. Michael picks himself up, resting his body more comfortably against the headboard, one leg hanging over the edge of the bed, and pulls me into his arms.

  Oh my God, the picture is perfectly clear now. The puzzle pieces scattered in my head are now connected. This is why Michael is so protective and the reason Trent never divulged any information. They are all still struggling from the loss of their sister who died in the hands of a psychopathic abuser.

  “My sincere apologies.” I kiss his chest, and I look at Trent and Josh. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. Josh and Trent stand up to pace around my bedroom, threading their fingers through their hair nervously with both hands, mourning their loss in silence as tears trickle down their cheeks.

  Moments later Josh makes a remark that breaks the stillness and shock.

  “Michael, what’s with the skirt?”

  Trent bursts out laughing so hard he clutches his stomach and tears roll down his cheeks. “Hey, Michael, Josh got to see those sexy legs of yours after all.”

  “Shut the hell up, Trent. This is a damn costume for God’s sake,” Michael scowls and glares at Josh, telling him if he so much as says one word, he’ll rip him to shreds.

  Josh holds up his hands. “I’m pleading the fifth.” He chuckles out and focuses on me.

  Josh brushes the hair away from my face with a tender touch of his fingers. “What, Ariana? I see the wheels spinning in your head with a million questions.”

  “How did he know what the ring looked like that Danny gave me? Did you get to see it? It’s identical to the one that’s out in the foyer.” I stare at the ceiling, licking my lips, my mouth feeling dry, possibly from the sedative.

  “He must have had some connection with Danny. Maybe after you guys divorced he confided in a friend.” Josh tries to come up with some reason.

  I let out a faint laugh. “Danny never let anyone get too close to him, not even me. He had trust issues,” I explain.

  “Have you and Danny ever gone to functions and been photographed?” Michael questions.

  “We’ve been to several events, but he would warn them in advance. He said, and I quote, ‘You take one picture of me or my wife, and you’ll see not only a lawsuit on your hands but my fist in your face’. Trust me, there are no pictures of us anywhere,” I say, making my point that Danny was a very private man.

  “Damn it, I can’t understand how he got in without being seen by my men,” Trent explains, trying to convince me and yet he sounds puzzled at the whole situation.

  I wish I could move so I could comfort him. It’s not his fault. I glance at Josh and say, “I don’t know what you gave me, but my body feels like one big overcooked noodle.”

  He chuckles at my comment and answers, “It’s just a mild sedative. It will help you sleep without any disturbances.”

  Well, that’s an understatement. I cringe at my image as I glimpse down at myself. The costume is in disarray and torn. The bed sheets, blankets, clothes, and pillows are dispersed over the floor, and the furniture is now in different sections of the room.

  Oh my God. What creature submerged from my body, causing this state of disorder? Will this happen again? Will my split personality appear with no self-control, without warning?

  I try to make sense of all this,
the disturbing emotions that settled over me tonight. How the hate and rage surfaced from within me. It’s as if an explosion tore my soul apart. It scared the hell out of me and now I feel numb and hollow.

  “I’m feeling a bit paralyzed. I don’t think I can get out of this,” I say, pointing toward my costume.

  “I’ll be happy to assist.” Michael grins, his eyebrows doing a dance.

  I wiggle my finger. “No, but thanks for the offer. I’ll wait until I can move.”

  “Damn, this is not my day.” He shakes his head with a pitiful look and presses a soft kiss over my lips that has me tingling all over.

  Trent leans over and kisses me. “I’m heartbroken, darlin’,” he comments, placing his hand over his heart. “I can’t give you my special bear hug.” He smirks.

  “You’ll live,” Josh retorts and gives me a sweet embrace, kissing my forehead. “You can always trust me,” he whispers in my ear.

  “Yes, of course, and I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologize, I do have one suggestion and I’m pretty much telling you, not asking. You need to see a therapist or doctor. I have the perfect doctor not far from here,” Josh offers.

  “I don’t think I can,” I answer shaking my head.

  Josh lips turn into a thin, hard line. “Ariana, it’s not healthy to keep this bottled up. You saw what just happened to you,” he says, and I can tell that it took a lot for him to keep his cool.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “At least it’s a start,” he comments.

  “I have a question. What was in the package?”

  “The parcel was empty. He was playing with your emotions,” Trent answers.

  “He succeeded,” I whisper.

  “He’s a sick bastard.” Trent explodes, his face taut with anger. “I’m going to track the bastard down. I promise.” Trent paces around the room several times making me dizzy. He stops and looks at each of us with a grim expression across his face.

  “I don’t even know how the bastard got passed security. Unless . . . .” Suddenly Trent goes pale. “He works in the building.” He combs his fingers through his hair and blows out a long breath.

  “Holy shit. Damn it, but I checked the staff,” he says with rage, his body tense and veins bulging from his neck. “What if I missed someone?” He begins to second-guess himself. “What if he’s an outside vendor? Damn it,” he hisses out.

  “Trent don’t beat yourself up. He’s a psychotic jerk and probably knows his way around the building; including the whereabouts of the cameras. You’ve covered every inch of this place and it’s surrounding area.

  “I want to get a hold of the bastard myself and kill him with my bare hands,” Michael blasts through gritted teeth.

  Suddenly an oppressive feeling weighs over me, and before I can say goodnight, I drift to a happier place.

  Chapter 22

  Sands Point

  I’m aroused by the smell of coffee. I stretch all my aching muscles, and I still. My eyes grow wide. I touch the pillows beneath my head and glance at the duvet placed over me neatly, which kept me warm overnight.

  I jerk up, and I gasp. My room, my room, which looked like a tornado hit it last night, is now neat, tidy, and organized. The dresser, my nightstands, pictures, and knickknacks are all in their proper places, and the broken glass from my picture frame and table lamps have been cleaned up. I peek over the bed, and sitting near my closet are the boxes I emptied from my breakdown and scattered throughout out the room, now packed efficiently.

  I look down, and I’m in my tank top and yoga pants. I gasp, placing my hand over my chest. I know damn well I did not change out of my costume. I frown my lips thin. Michael, you little sneak, you no-good stinker.

  I jump out of bed, a bit unsteady. He’s here. I can smell his wholesome scent. Grabbing my robe I rush out in a tirade of anger. I reach the kitchen, and there he is standing, sweet, innocent, and devilishly handsome in a pale yellow T-shirt tucked in his faded light blue jeans. His black, wavy hair brushed back. Damn him for looking so good.

  He must have heard me. He turns with that drop-dead, gorgeous grin that can cause a nuclear eruption. “Good morning, Ariana.”

  “Good morning, yourself,” I hiss out. His dazzling smile fades into a frown and his eyebrows crease.

  He places his coffee cup on the counter and ambles his way toward me. I don’t want to be upset with this adoring and compassionate man, but I am. I’m grateful for all the hard work he put into cleaning the mess I created. I don’t know if I would have been able to put everything back in its place, without the memories of last night slapping me in the face. But, I told him I didn’t need his help getting undressed and does he listen? No, he goes and does it anyway. I’m uncomfortable about my scars.

  I open my mouth, and he places his finger over my lips.

  “Before you start accusing me of any wrongdoing, I called Mrs. O’Conner late last night and asked her if she could dress you.” His eyes sparkle with brilliance. He is pleased with himself. “I know it was late to call her except I was desperate, and I paid her handsomely. Joe picked her up and took her home. She was also kind enough to help my brothers and I clean and reorganize your room. I gave her strict instructions not to lift you or turn you because you had a back injury. This way you wouldn’t have to worry about her seeing your scars.”

  I’m rendered speechless. He thought of everything. I had all my lines rehearsed. This is not what I expected. Again he sweeps me off the floor with his charm and efficiency. “Damn you,” is all I can muster and go for the cabinet to grab a cup.

  He chuckles softly. He thinks I didn’t hear him. He knew I was about to pounce on him that no-good smart aleck. I turn to face him, and he’s looking all smug.

  “Have nothing to say?” He lifts his coffee mug to his lips and takes a drink.

  I begin to say something and stop for a moment, and pour myself coffee. “Thank you,” I whisper and stare into the ripples of the black liquid in my mug.

  “Your welcome,” he says with a gentle tone.

  I turn away from the coffeepot to face him. “You’re acting like a smart-ass. You knew damn well I was about to read you the riot act, didn’t you?” I reply sounding a little snippy.

  His sweet laughter echoes throughout my kitchen, captivating me. I burst out giggling and all my anger dissipates.

  He leans toward me, and I put my hand out in front of his precious lips. “I was so angry I rushed out before I could brush my teeth,” I say, disappointed.

  “Well then, I suggest you move along quickly, Ariana. I don’t know how much longer I can hold my self-control.”

  I nod and rush out. I walk into my bedroom to take an extended look, the scenes of before and after swirl in my mind. A slight shiver goes through me. I turn on my stereo system, and I hear the song “He’s Trying to Save Me” by Raushi.

  My subconscious springs out and gives me a fair warning. You can’t trust men. They’re all alike. I shake the thoughts out of my head and shower, dress, and, of course, brush my teeth. I comb my bangs to the side and left my long, black hair loose in bouncy waves. I decide to wear a pair of black jeans with a black T-shirt cradling my every curve.

  I walk back into the kitchen. I catch him drinking his coffee. He peers up at me through his long lashes and almost chokes, spitting out the coffee over the floor. He snatches a dishtowel, wets it, and dries the marble. “Damn, Ariana, give a man warning before you come waltzing in looking like a goddess,” he says with a provocative tone and lust filled eyes.

  “Sorry . . . I . . . ” are the only words I get out before he hauls me into his arms, pressing me against his solid chest. His lips on mine and I’m lost in his sweltering kiss.

  I grip his shoulders, pulling him harder to my aching body. I snake my arms around his neck. I feel his heat, and I go liquid, groaning from the sensation washing over me.

  I can’t breathe fast enough. My hands drift frantically over his abs, wrapping them to his
back. My fingers begin to caress every powerful, toned muscle.

  “I want to make love to you, drive deep inside you, make you forget all your pain. I need to hear you scream my name,” he murmurs into my inflamed mouth, breathing heavily.

  I pull away, and he snatches me back. “Don’t, Ariana, I will never force you. I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

  I kiss him, and I tumble onto a field of wild flowers, surrounded by the sweet aroma of blossoms.

  He releases me, and I feel deserted and abandoned. My soul shivers from the loss.

  “A man can only take so much. Are you ready to go to the Island?” He asks.

  I blink several times. Island? Oh, yes. We spoke about this last night in his car. He wants to take me to his home at Sands Point.

  “My home, Sands Point, did you forget?” He queries.

  “No, of course not, I just had a brain lapse for a second. You know . . . you do that to me,” I whisper.

  He chuckles. “You have the same affect on me,” he says, brushing his fingers across my cheeks. “Let’s go before I try to have my way with you.”

  ***

  We approach a set of iron gates, and Michael punches in a code. They part, revealing a long, tree-lined road. Farther into the drive, an enchanting fieldstone mansion emerges into the scene with a captivating view of the Long Island Sound.

  “Wow,” is all I say.

  “You like?” Michael asks and pulls in front of double wooden doors with Tiffany stained-glass windows nestled up against each side.

  “Like . . . I love it. It’s charming. It’s beautiful, Michael,” I express joyfully.

  “Charming, you say.” He shakes his head. “Thank you.” He shuts off the engine and walks around to open the car door for me like a gentleman.

  We walk into an expanded, long elaborate hall with polished wood floors. The entrance extends to the back of the house, exposing floor-to-ceiling windows with a panoramic view of the pool with the Long Island Sound as a backdrop.

  To the right of the foyer is an exquisite staircase with thick, detailed, polished wooden railings.