Wounded Birds (The Grayson Series Book 1)

by Unknown

  Blood begins to trickle down my calf beneath my jeans, pooling in my boot and turning the angelic white snow into a dreaded crimson bath of horror. I gasp and let out a loud grunt after he smacks me in the back with his shotgun and land on the bloody snow on my back.

  He kneels down beside me. “You excite me, baby doll. I’ve never had a woman get me this pumped up,” he rasp between breaths, releasing a horrify chuckle. His knuckles brush roughly against my face, making me flinch with repulsion.

  “I’ll kill myself before I ever let you touch me,” I spew out, spitting in his face.

  “Give it up, Ariana. You’re still the same weak, breakable woman Danny married years ago,” he retorts as he wipes the spit off his face and then hits me across the temple so hard I see stars. I hold my breath and squeeze my eyes shut from the lashing pain in my head. I take a few deep breaths until the stabbing ache subsides.

  He grips both my ankles, flips me over. I let out a bloodcurdling scream, pounding my hands over the snow from the pulsating pain in my leg as he drags me, scraping my back against the icy ground. “Ahhh God!”

  “You can call out to God all you want, but he ain’t going to help you.”

  I start to cry as the slush rides up my sweater, my arms and hands skimming roughly across the cold snow, feeling weak and powerless. My neck is stiffening along with a pounding headache and the pain from my leg continues to shoot up spine.

  I gasp as Alden pulls me up off the ground and opens the trunk of his car. “I’m going to tie you up, gag you, and throw you in the trunk so I can go hunt for my car keys in the woods, you fuckin’ witch.”

  This man is unstable, a complete lunatic. Tucked away in the back are pillows, blankets, ropes, and that dreaded belt. Bile rises from my unsettled stomach. He has them arranged in a nice, neat, orderly pile. He’s sick; he is a sick man just like his brother. No sane person behaves this way.

  Alden pulls me flush up against his chest, and we both go still when a loud grunt from behind us grabs our attention.

  I gasp as Alden yanks me around by the neck. My heart stops. Oh my God, it’s Michael, standing twenty feet away, his white shirt drenched in blood. His face, hands, and arms tainted in the same crimson color.

  His eyes filled with mixed emotions, but most of all, his demeanor radiates rage and anger as he stands unsteadily, breathing heavily. Oh, no. Michael, please, don’t play hero. Not now, I shake my head, pleading with him.

  “Well, look who decided to join the party,” Alden hisses out and shoves me away like a rag doll. I let out a scream as I fall hard on my backside, crying from the throbbing pain shooting up my leg. I shriek when Alden pulls the trigger on his shotgun. Michael drops and rolls over the snowy ground, barely missing the bullets.

  “Ariana . . . stay down,” Michael wheezes out painfully, gasping for air.

  I crawl toward the back wheel of the car and get a glimpse of Michael pulling a gun from his belt. He stands up and shoots Alden in the hand. The shotgun goes airborne then slides across the snow covered ground.

  “You bastard,” Alden howls back, clutching his fist painfully against his chest.

  Michael shoves the gun in his waistband and lunges for him. “You . . . son of a . . .” Michael swings his fist and slams into his jaw: “bitch!”

  Alden spirals onto the ground with a loud cry and swiftly stands back up ignoring the pain and blood from his hand and punches Michael directly on his chin, causing him to fall back, almost folding over.

  Michael regains his balance and lands a powerful kick into Alden’s chest, knocking the wind right out of him. Alden sidekicks Michael in the gut, making him crumble to his knees. He reaches for Michael’s gun, but Michael’s quick move has him standing and lands his fist between Alden’s eyes, and blood begins to gush out, possibly breaking his nose.

  Alden lets out a bloodcurdling scream, his hands over his face. He glares at Michael, evil seeping through his wretched soul, panting heavily.

  “So you think you can play hero?” Alden mocks and surprises Michael with his fist straight for his wound.

  I gasp, feeling the pain right in my gut as Michael grunts out in agony and caves in dropping on his knees. Oh my God, I have to help him.

  “Death is the only option for you. I don’t want you to get in my way. I have plans for Ariana and me. We’re going to marry and live in a small castle I built for us, bound in soft silk scarves. Now that’s true love,” Alden hisses out, his face looking all demented, making me sick to my stomach.

  Michael props himself up on his elbow, gasping for air with a painful expression on his face. He wipes the blood from his mouth onto his already bloody arm. He staggers back up. “You call that love? That’s sick; you’re a mental case, Alden, a demented fuck.”

  I gasp in shock. How did Michael know his name? How long has he known? Is that what Trent’s lead was? Why didn’t he tell me?

  Alden reaches for his gun from his ankle and aims it at Michael, his finger on the trigger.

  “No! Michael!” I scream out, and I pull myself up and stumble toward the passenger side of Alden’s car. He has to be from Texas with that accent. I bet he keeps a gun in the car. Don’t ever mess with a Texan.

  I hastily yank the door open and search frantically under the seats, only to come up empty-handed. I open the glove compartment, practically ripping it off its hinges. I yank packs of cigarettes, a bottle opener and a bunch of crinkled up papers. Frustration begins to take over and then I get a glimpse of something shiny. I sigh with relief when I pull out his gun. I stroke the cold silvery steel in my hand itching to be used.

  “Watch your mouth, boy. Now if I were you I would be bending over and kissing my ass good-bye because, buddy, you just met your maker.”

  Michael dives for his legs before Alden can pull the trigger and knocks him down, causing the pistol to slip from his hand and skid away. Michael violently explodes and swings his fists into Alden’s face numerous times. The sounds of bones cracking echo against the angry wind.

  Alden struggles and tries to get a few punches into Michael but seems to be losing the battle and stops fighting. His body now lies still, but that doesn’t stop Michael from enduringly punching every part of Alden’s body until I can’t take it anymore and have to stop him. He’s not worth it.

  “Michael, stop, please stop,” I cry out with a desperate plead.

  Michael’s whole demeanor changes when he hears the shakiness in my voice. His arms collapse at his sides and glares at the bloody face before him with disgust. He slowly stands up, unsteady, pain radiating from his face, taking harsh breaths, and gives Alden one hard kick in the ribs, causing a faint grunt to escape from Alden’s mouth.

  Michael staggers towards me, clutching his hand over his chest, coughing up blood. Something catches my eye, and I gasp as I see Alden slithering across the ground for his gun and aim’s it at Michael.

  “Michael, look out,” I scream and take the handgun I grabbed from Alden’s glove compartment and pull the trigger. Michael folds to the ground avoiding the bullet aimed at him. The bullet pierces through Alden’s shoulder and he screams.

  “Ahhh! You bitch,” Alden bursts out and points his pistol at me.

  I lift the revolver, my eyes directly on my target. Two gunshots resound, followed by the sounds of a helicopter and police sirens. I stare at Alden’s lifeless body, lying on the cold ground turning the white powder into red slush. I hear a hissing sound by my feet and look down at the deflating tire struck by Alden’s bullet.

  I look back at Alden, with a strong urge to shoot more bullets into him. “You bastard,” I mutter. I lower my head bewildered as I find myself encircled in a pool of my own blood. A frigid chill slices down my spine like an icy switchblade as awareness hits me that I killed a man. I cringe feeling sick to my stomach as I glare at his corpse, watching the blood drain away from his body. The bastard was an inhumane sadist who deserved to die and rot in hell with his brother.

  “Ariana! Ariana!” M
ichaels calls out through the loud sounds, distress seeping through his lips. His hair wet and covered in snow, blowing in all directions. For a moment, he sits still on his knees, breathing heavily through the wrenching pain. He takes slow, steady steps and inches his way up to a standing position.

  I rush towards him as fast as my wounded leg can take me. “Michael . . . God . . . I thought I lost you,” I choke out, trembling as the icy tears streak down my cheeks.

  He wraps me in his arms, shivering from the cold and pain. “It’s over, sweetheart,” Michael whispers with his comforting tone. “It’s over,” he murmurs, his face deep into my neck, his body vibrating against mine. “Oh God, Ariana, when I woke up and you were missing . . . shit, I . . . ” he chokes out, shaking his head. “I don’t even want to rehash what went through my mind. Let’s just get the hell out of here.” He squeezes his eyes shut, his face cringing as if the scene is replaying in his mind.

  The helicopter lands, creating loud thumping sounds, the blades whirling and kicking the snow-covered ground into a blizzard-like storm. The police arrive, followed by the fire department and an ambulance.

  I’m cold and tired and I let the gun slip from my numb fingers, and I collapse into Michael’s arms. He sweeps me up against his bloody chest, walking toward the helicopter.

  I rest my head under his chin and touch the deep gash across his torso. I flinch and cringe at the sight and the pain he must be enduring.

  “It’s just a flesh wound, nothing deep. It looks worse than it is, sweetheart,” he says to ease my worry and embraces me tighter into his warmth.

  “I thought I lost you,” I choke out and start to cry, wrapping my arms around his neck, sobbing. God, it’s so good to be in his arms, to know that he’s alive. Thank you, God! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

  “It will take a lot more than a car accident, a tree, and getting shot at to keep me away from you, Ariana,” he says as he kisses my cold nose. “You can relax now, baby,” he whispers.

  Out of nowhere, Trent appears, wearing a long, black, wool coat, his blonde hair turning white, walking toward us, his face as pale as a ghost and his eyes brimming with concern and anxiety.

  “Who had the pleasure of killing the bastard?” Trent asks, looking all calm and unruffled, but I can see right through his cool manner. He was scared to death not knowing the outcome of this horrific night.

  “Ariana saved me. She wasn’t kidding when she told us about her shooting abilities. I’ll give you more details later. I want to get her the hell out of here,” he says with a sharp tone.

  Trent kisses my cheek. “Way to go, Ari. I knew you had spunk.” He brushes his fingers over my face and shuts his eyes. “It’s finally over, darlin’,” he says and examines me than Michael and lets out a long whistle. “We need to get you both to the hospital.”

  Michael nods.

  “Get her on the chopper. I’ll take care of the police from here,” Trent orders, but before he leaves, he caresses my shoulder, his expression full of remorse. “I’m sorry, Ari. No woman should ever have to endure such torment and torture. Women are strong, dominant flowers that bring life into this world. Too many people seem to forget that part.

  “I know you’re against seeing a therapist’s, but I think you should consider it,” he offers.

  “No,” I whisper and bury my face into Michael’s neck.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Trent suggests and walks in the direction of the police.

  Michael and I board the helicopter. I stare out the window, engaged at the flurry of activity. I wrap my arms around my waist, thinking how close Michael came to dying. I shake my head to clear the horrifying nightmare repeatedly playing in my mind.

  One of the medics is bandaging Michael’s chest. The other is applying ointment over my gashes. Michael hisses when the medic cuts my boot and jeans open, revealing where the bullet grazed my leg.

  I sense a weird sensation come over me as if my soul is separating from my body. The voices around me begin to fade. I start to shake and before I can call out Michael’s name I fall into a pit of clouded darkness.

  Chapter 29

  The DNA Matched

  “Ariana wake up sweetheart.”

  Michael? Is that you?

  “Ariana, come on baby, wake up for us.”

  I’m here Michael, but why is everything so dark? Why can’t I see you?

  “Ariana, open your eyes.”

  Josh? I’m hallucinating that’s what it is, but that’s impossible, not when I’m feeling a warm sensation coursing over my skin, like a soft hand stroking my arm. Ugh, why can’t I open my eyes?

  After several attempts they finally open, but the images before me are nothing but a big blotch of watercolors, a blur of nothingness. Frustration settles over me, and I squeeze them shut.

  “Is she all right?”

  Joanne? What is she doing here? Come to think of it where the hell am I?

  “She’s fine. When she wakes up, please don’t all start attacking her at once with questions.” Josh orders.

  “Of course,” Joanne whispers.

  I wiggle my nose at an unusual stench, like antiseptic or antibacterial cleaner. A shiver courses through me from the chill in the air. My hands clutch over something soft, like fabric, and my eyes spring open, everything is clearer than before. The white ceiling of the room is bare and bleak. There’s a set of closed blinds shutting me out from the outside world. A peculiar machine sits above me, beeping every so often. I glance at my hand, taped with gauze concealing the IV needle they pricked into my skin and then it hits me. I’m in the hospital.

  To my surprise, Josh, Trent, Joanne, and Blake are standing at the end of the bed, except for Michael, who’s beside me. Joanne seems dwarfed next to them, like a small animal being hovered over by protective lions, yet she is the fearless one of all.

  I reach out to touch Michael. “You’re okay,” I choke out, grasping his hand to feel his warm flesh against mine. But when I see his watery eyes, and the vein against his neck pulsating rapidly the tears begin to trickle down my face, and I sigh with relief, thanking God, he’s all right, alive and breathing.

  My mind starts to break through the dense fog, and I begin to remember everything that happened, even when I shot Alden to save Michael from getting hit with a bullet. A cold chill runs down my spine when realization hits me that I killed a man, and it’s not from guilt, remorse or regret, because he deserved to die. It’s that Michael came so close to dying.

  He takes a faltering breath, and the tension over his face starts to ease. He gently pulls me into his arms, and I sense his shudders. “Yes, Ariana,” he chokes out. “I’m alive, thanks to you. It’s over, sweetheart,” he says and pulls me closer to his warm chest.

  I lose myself in his sweet, masculine scent, which brings me back to a place where I belong, right in his arms.

  He releases me with the utmost care and gentleness. I stare into his eyes, and my heart begins to ache when I see so much pain.

  “How long have I been here?” I ask.

  “About eleven hours. When I went out to get myself a bite to eat, the nurse told me you woke up asking for water,” Michael explains, rubbing his face with both hands, looking fatigued with his hair all messy, wearing a clean shirt.

  “We’ve been worried sick about you,” Joanne spits out as if she’s scolding me, but that’s her way of hiding the fear she must have been going through deep down inside. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail, which she never wears back, and she too looks exhausted.

  “You scared the hell out of me, Ariana. Michael told us what happened,” Blake voices all teary-eyed. “To think I almost lost you.” His lips press into a hard fine line, and he shakes his head as if to rid the dreadful images from his mind. “Francis is going to bake your favorite dessert when you get back home,” he says on a brighter note.

  I smile at the thought because I know what Francis is planning to make me. Cupcakes with vanilla icing and a squirt of cream ins
ide, exactly the way I like them. “Say thank you for me,” I manage to say, feeling the dryness in my throat.

  I glance at Josh. “Is this true? Have I been out for that long?”

  “Yes, Ariana. You and Michael were both airlifted to NW Hospital about four o’clock this morning. Thank God I was working the night shift.”

  He sits beside me on the bed and takes hold of my hand. “When you arrived at the hospital, you were at a near breaking point. You were reliving the trauma, not only flashbacks of your past with Danny, but the car accident and the incident with Alden and Michael. We needed to sedate you.”

  Josh pulls out a small flashlight. “How do you feel now?” He asks while he examines my pupils. I wince from the light.

  “Numb.” I gasp and my eyes grow wide.

  “What wrong? ” Josh asks.

  “Chica . . . your puppy. Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine,” he says with a chuckle. “Chica’s at a neighbor’s house getting spoiled by his kids.”

  “Oh,” I say, and face Trent, his fatigue, matching everyone else’s in the room. He must have all the answers.

  “Trent, tell me everything,” I whisper.

  Trent settles beside me on the other side of the bed.

  “Ariana, did you know your ex was adopted?”

  “No,” I say my voice sounding hoarse. “Not until his twin brother introduced himself to me.”

  He nods and smiles. “His biological mother was a young teenage girl. She gave birth to twins. When Alden found out about his twin brother, he went out searching for Danny.”

  Trent continues to tell the story that leads to Danny’s murder and his twin brother.

  Joanne and Blake gasp and are stunned. “He killed his brother?” They ask in unison.