Wounded Birds (The Grayson Series Book 1)

by Unknown

  My blood began to singe with anticipation as I watched all the colorful lights reflecting off the walls and floors with every beat. The DJ is nonstop, pumping thrilling, jaw-dropping, eclectic mix of music that you have no choice but to dance.

  “Blake isn’t this fantastic,” I scream out through the music, feeling my heart exhilarated with excitement and dancing like I never danced before as my blue sequin dress glimmers under the dim flashing lights of the club.

  “Yes it is,” he yells into my ear, but never looking at me once because he is too busy scoping the area for anyone suspicious in the club.

  “Would you, please relax, Blake. Come on, dance, and loosen up a little. Let yourself go.” I beg him.

  “How can I relax, Ariana, I’m afraid if I let my guard down, something will happen,” he yells out, his voice strained, jaw taut and eyebrows knitted together.

  I take his hands, spin him around, and swing him back to me. He laughs. Finally. He continues to dance, feeling less stressed. I glance over at Jackie, Mandy and Willie, all screaming with arms in the air and dancing their little hearts out, dressed to kill in their little black dresses and Willie in his hot black jeans and white shirt.

  “Ariana DiMarco.” An unfamiliar voice echoes around us. Blake swings me into his arms, his hold tightens and my breath is caught in my lungs.

  “Blake, loosen up a bit, please. I can’t breathe.” He releases me, but not far.

  “Can I help you?” Blake asks the intruder, looking grim and probably scaring her to death with his don’t-come-near-me look.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t usually do this, but can I have your autograph Miss DiMarco, and a picture with my friends. I’m a big fan of yours,” a young woman asks timidly.

  “Absolutely.” I smile and take her pen and pad. I wish her the best and sign my name.

  She hands Blake her camera. “Would you, please take our picture,” she begs and her voice is a little shaking.

  Blake puts on a fake smile, not happy about the whole thing, but he sucks it up and does it anyway. Five of her friends stand alongside the young woman and me, and Blake snaps a few pictures.

  “Thank you so much,” she says graciously and moves away giggling with her friends.

  “Ariana, we danced three songs. It’s time to leave,” Blake says firmly, giving me a look that he means business.

  I make a face, not wanting to go, but we made a deal. Blake and I leave Africana’s, the rest of the group stayed behind. I was not so pleased, I was warming up, but a promise is a promise.

  We arrive at the hotel. The whole ride back, Blake seemed deep in thought and just stared out the window watching everything rush by as we swerved around the winding roads of the Amalfi coast. He never uttered one word, and I didn’t want to initiate a conversation in case he started talking about the psycho. That’s one subject I wanted to stay far away from. It feels great not having to worry or think about him and his spine-chilling calls.

  We walk towards our suite. I wrap my fingers around my wrist and realize I left my watch on the nightstand. “What time is it?” I ask Blake as I place the key in the door to our suite.

  He glances at his watch. “Two in the morning, love.”

  I head for the bedroom, collapsing on one of the beds. Jackie and I are sharing a bed. Mandy is a restless sleeper, and neither Jackie nor I want to sleep with her. We usually don’t. Most of the time we get our own rooms, but since the hotel offered bedroom suites; this was more practical and cost-efficient.

  “I’m going to sleep, Blake. I’ll see you in the morning,” I yell out.

  He walks in, yawning. “So am I, long flight, extended night, and major jet lag,” he mutters and yawns again.

  I have no clue what time Michael arrives in Hong Kong. I’m sure he’s arrived by now, but he’s six hours ahead of us, and I hate to call him up at seven thirty in the morning. Michael’s probably heading for meetings or having breakfast with a few of his clients. I’ll give him a jingle later this afternoon.

  ***

  A bizarre sound has my heart jumping into my throat. The curtains are still drawn shut, making the room dark. I’m all disoriented. I peek through my lashes, and my arm is lying over Jackie’s leg. I sit up on my elbows and find she’s sprawled out, her head on the other end of the bed, still wearing her dress. She looks wasted. I laugh.

  I gasp again from the same sound that startled me. I reach over to the nightstand and glance at the digital clock. Oh, shoot, eight in the morning. I grab for my phone, which is illuminated showing four missed calls from Michael. Damn, I spring out of bed and pull the robe over me. He must be going frantic. I’m surprised he hasn’t called the security desk to have a search party out looking for me.

  I step out of the bedroom, and Blake is drinking a cup of coffee, looking all hot in his black jeans and white dress shirt. “You’re up late.” He smirks jokingly.

  “Ha. I might have slept longer if the phone hadn’t woken me.”

  “Speaking of which, lover boy called here looking for you. He said he tried your cell several times, and when you didn’t answer, he called the suite.” Blake smiles, wiggling his eyebrows.

  I tilt my head to the side. “You can be such a smart-ass,” I say, narrowing my eyes deviously at him, walking over to get a drink of water. “What did he say?”

  He takes a sip of his coffee and flashes me his thousand-watt smile. “He received your voicemail letting him know you arrived and was returning the call. After several attempts, he panicked. I told him you were sleeping like a baby . . . due to jet lag.” He snickers, lifting his cup of coffee in the air.

  “Thanks, for not telling him we were at a nightclub. He would have died on the spot. I’m going outside on the terrace to call him back.” He grins with a lift of his eyebrows. I place the glass of water on the counter and walk out through the double glass doors. A gentle warm breeze and a breathtaking view of the sea greet me. I plop on one of the chairs, admiring the sun’s reflection shimmering over the glistening waters, which bring a unique peacefulness to my soul.

  I dial his number waiting with anticipation. My heart fires up with exhilaration when he answers.

  “Good morning, Ariana.” His amorous voice seeps through, making my skin quiver and sending chills over my body.

  “Buon giorno, Michael, how was your flight?” I ask.

  “Tiresome, and yours?”

  “Marvelous! This place is enchanting. You really must make a point to visit.”

  “Enchanting? Hmm, I may have to do some exploring, on one condition.”

  “What?”

  “You partake in the trip with me.”

  “Without a doubt,” I say, twirling hair around my finger.

  “Everything quiet?” He asks.

  “If you’re questioning about our friend, yes, very peaceful.”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as calling him a buddy. He’s a fuckin’ demented, psychotic fuck,” he lashes out with anguish.

  I sense his raw tension bleeding over the phone. I had better change the subject.

  “I was told you called here looking for me,” I say.

  “Yes, I did. I was concerned when you didn’t answer your cell phone. A bit unhinged to put it lightly. Therefore, I phoned the hotel, and they transferred me over to the suite. Blake was kind enough to ease my tension.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that.”

  “My apologies, Ariana, I just noticed the time. I need to leave. I’m meeting Mr. Yabuki for a late lunch, and he’ll be here shortly,” he says regretfully.

  “You don’t sound yourself. Is everything all right?”

  “I’m feeling dejected; you’re in Italy, and I’m in Hong Kong. We are worlds apart, Ariana, and I miss you like crazy. I’m also overwrought with fear.”

  “Aw, Michael.” My heart bleeds. I’m as unhappy as he is. “I miss you too . . . immensely, and please don’t worry about me.”

  “I can’t control this, Ariana. This demented fuck has me in a disco
ncerted rage,” he hisses out and lets out a long breath. “I don’t think I can keep busy enough for the time to pass quickly. I’m eager to get back to you, and yet I only arrived hours ago. You’re a little black spider, Ariana,” he says jokingly.

  I gasp. “What? Why?” I kick one leg up at a time with glee, getting all giddy.

  “You . . . you lured me into your precious little web.” He exhales out. “I need to go. I’ll call you when I get a break.”

  “Bye, Michael. Good luck in your meeting.” We hang up. I stretch my legs, and I’m jolted back on my seat.

  “Ahhh!” I squeal out. I look up to see Blake staring me straight in the eyes with a huge grin on his face. He pulled my chair back, so now I’m parallel to the floor facing him and the ceiling. “You little twit, payback is sweet,” I threaten, giggling.

  He laughs at me. “Come on, get dressed. We’ll go enjoy breakfast while the others sleep off their liquor.”

  Chapter 19

  Roped

  I had another memorable time in Italy. The filming went well as I expected, and it should be ready for broadcasting for next week’s segment.

  Michael phoned yesterday morning to inform me of a few complications with his project, and that he would need to extend his stay to oversee them. It’s been over a week since we’ve been apart, and it feels like an eternity.

  After Michael’s call, I was heartbroken and to be honest I felt lonely. I missed him so much, so to fill the void, I rushed over to the studio to work. When I walked into my office, there was a beautiful package enclosed in shimmering, embossed pink-and-green paisley wrapping paper sitting on my desk addressed to me.

  I sat down and shook the box like a little kid on Christmas morning. I eagerly tore it open with animation. After I had removed the last piece of tape from the delicate box, my eyes grew wide, and I froze, feeling numb as the blood in my veins ran cold, and goose bumps formed throughout my entire body.

  Nestled inside, staring right at me with glassy, blue eyes, was a twelve-inch doll tainted in blood, and bounded in ropes and the words “baby doll” echoed from the box repeatedly.

  I leaped out of the chair and ran out with my heart pounding in my throat. Thank God, it was early in the morning, and no one was around to witness the panic on my face or my trembling limbs. I still can’t remember how I rushed out of the office without collapsing or tripping over my own two feet.

  I called Trent, and he immediately came to my rescue. He shut the recorder off. He placed the box containing the figurine in a bag, and a card fluttered onto the floor. He put his hand up and told me not to touch the evidence. He reached into his pocket, pulled out tweezers, and carefully picked up the note, in hopes that he would get lucky enough to get some fingerprints. He shook open the letter and read it aloud.

  Dear, baby doll,

  I’m sick at heart, Ariana, you disconnected my only form of hearing your breathless voice. Why are you hurting me like this? What did I ever do to you? All I want to do is show you how much I love you. But that’s okay because I can still follow your every move.

  I was practicing on all the ways I would show you my undying affection to you on the doll. Do you believe the ropes would be comfortable or should I use chains when I finally make you mine?

  Your beloved future husband, LOL.

  Trent muttered a few curses. “This bastard is sick and twisted, a true mental case.” He punched the desk, causing a slight tremor, and shoved his fingers through his blond hair as he paced around my office like a raging bull.

  As for me, the reaction I experienced was internal. Thoughts of my death flashed before me. I had heaviness in my limbs, a sensation of not wanting to move, or maybe I couldn’t. I prayed, begging this madness would stop.

  One person came to mind. Michael. I needed to figure out a way to keep Trent quiet. “Please don’t tell Michael,” I pleaded.

  “He needs to know Ari,” he answered with remorse.

  “Please, Trent.” He still didn’t budge. I had no other choice but to rattle him. “I’ll tell Joanne,” I threatened. “I’ll have her hang your balls if you so much as utter a word to Michael.”

  He laughed so hard at my threat that his eyes watered. I was not amused. I was concerned about Michael’s reaction. The man is going to turn gray with worry and all because of me.

  “Ari, there is no way, as a client and as my brother, that I could keep such information from him,” he said with a gentle tone and left it at that.

  ***

  Trent insisted we have dinner together every night, and he stayed at my apartment until eleven when two of his guys from his security team took the shift downstairs to guard the elevator doors, and the stairs. I told him he was going overboard. He shot me a glare and said he’d rather deal with my complaining than with Michael.

  During our dinners, I tried to pry information out of Trent regarding my secretive Michael. He refused to talk, not even disclosing anything regarding Michael’s previous girlfriends. The damn stubborn mule. I finally gave up. He did mention his mother passed away, but I already knew that, he remained quiet for the rest of the evening. I didn’t push any further.

  Three nights before Michael’s arrival, Trent and I departed to go to a quaint little Mediterranean restaurant. The night air was nippy. The stars were out dancing blissfully in the universe, and the moon’s reflection cast an iridescent glow upon the city.

  Cars, taxis, and buses zipped by to reach their destination and people rushed through the avenues. Some were dressed to the hilt and others casual, taking pictures like tourists and laughing with merriment.

  We were standing on the corner near Columbus Circle waiting for the light to change when a loud roar echoed through the area. Within a matter of seconds, everything went into a whirlwind of chaos.

  A man on a motorcycle came tearing down the road, screeched to a halt, and before I knew what was going on, I was lassoed in a thick rope and yanked toward the busy streets of Manhattan. I skidded a few feet, landing on my knees, but, as I grabbed hold of a lamppost, Trent pulled out a knife, cut the rope, and it collapsed, pooling around my legs. I watched in dismay as another car raced down the street, chasing the motorcycle.

  My heart started pounding hard against my chest, pumping blood viciously through my veins. My lungs screamed for air, and shivers, tremors, and chills coursed through me like violent waves. I ached from the rope, feeling the stinging, burning sensation around my arms, chest, and back. I needed to shake off the fog in my head. This was too eerie and overwhelming to consume. I took a deep breath, and I slowly stood back up.

  “Oh shit, damn fuckin’ ass,” Trent screamed out, cursing, using words I’ve never heard come out of this gentleman’s mouth. He whipped the phone out of his jacket and started conversing with Peterson, who works for him.

  “Peterson, did you get the little fuck . . . ? What do you mean you lost him . . . ? How the hell did that happen . . . ? Fuckin’ shit, fuckin’ demented piece of shit,” Trent exploded out, his body trembled with anger, emitting tension in the air, and muscles taut and rigid as steel. He shoved his phone back in his jacket pocket with rage.

  When realization came crashing over him, he stared at me with an expression of pure horror.

  I stood still, hands frozen to the post, holding on for dear life, convulsing uncontrollably, my eyes wide with terror. Holy crap. I can’t fathom what just happened. Oh, God, how the hell did Trent pull his knife out so quickly to cut me loose before I took the last trip of my life down the avenue?

  I was completely and utterly in a state of disbelief and shocked. My nerves exploded into a million neurons, and I don’t think my body could have convulsed any more than it did. I definitely needed a shot of brandy, two, hell, maybe the whole bottle. I was hoping this was all a dreadful nightmare. I pleaded to God, to let this be a figment of my imagination.

  Trent approached me after he unglued himself from the street beneath his feet, looking pale, white as paper. “Oh, my God, Ari,” he c
hokes out. “Are you okay?” He tugged me into his solid chest, and I broke down, crying like an imbecile. My body was nowhere near sedated. Trent’s body was trembling, most likely from anger, befuddlement, and his adrenaline pumping at an all-time high.

  “Shhh, it’s okay,” Trent whispered and whistled for a taxi. “Ari, come on, let’s get you home.” He pulled me away, and we walked toward the cab. My legs were like noodles, and I lost my balance, almost collapsing to the ground. Trent quickly grasped me around the waist and helped me into the backseat.

  I was beyond traumatized. I didn’t even recall stepping out of the cab and riding up the elevator to the apartment. I sat down on the sofa with lids partially closed. As I peeked through my lashes, there were two muscular legs standing before me. “Ari, drink this,” Trent ordered. Sounds just like Michael. Oh God, Michael! How in God’s name are we going to tell him about this? He’s going to flip, more than flip, he’s going to burst an artery.

  I took the small glass filled with warm, amber liquid and gulped it in one-shot. The brandy slammed down my throat like a fireball, easing in with a burning sensation through every one of my arteries, soothing my nerve endings and abated the tremors. Trent paced around the room once and finally sat beside me.

  “Ari, how are you now? Do you need another shot?” He asked with solicitude.

  I was so tempted to say yes, but I don’t want to keep relying on any substance that can make me incoherent. I lifted my head up. Poor Trent, he seemed so pale and unhinged. His expression was filled with frustration, anger, and pure terror.

  “I’m doing better now. Thanks for the shot. I’m getting used to this stuff. This seems to be a part of my daily diet,” I replied, suppressing a laugh.

  I pulled my coat off and winced from the pain, and Trent hissed out a curse. I stared at my arms in horror; they were red and tender, but not raw. There were small holes on my blue jeans around the knees, probably when I skidded on the ground.