Wounded Birds (The Grayson Series Book 1) (31 page)

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!” Michaels 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 inside, 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.

Trent nodded. “Cold blood, my theory is that he knocked him out, placed his body in his vehicle, and pushed the car into the lake. The bruise over his forehead gave the examiners the impression he hit his head on the steering wheel in a collision, which caused him to black out and drown.

“The moment I received word from Mrs. Williams, who runs a small adoption agency about hundred miles from Denver, that Danny had a twin, my gut screamed something was up. I flew to Montana to meet Alden’s adoptive parents’, and they claimed he picked up and left at the age of eighteen and never came back.

“I placed a call to the Galveston Police Department, and I told them of my suspicions. Sergeant Raymond Farrell suspected foul play but never had enough evidence to investigate the case, so he had to close it, documenting it was an accident. He followed his gut and saved all the articles they retrieved from the accident. He was happy to re-open the case. Sure enough, they located a few strands of hair, which didn’t match Danny’s.

“I started to investigate Alden, thinking that maybe, by chance, Alden had decided to search for his birth mother. I made a visit to a small town not far from Denver, Colorado, where his biological mother lives, or at least used to live, but she and her parents’ had moved after she gave birth to the twins.

“I was about to head back to New York when this older gentleman came after me. He had some information on Alden. He mentioned Alden came looking to find his mother and left him his name, number, and address in case he heard anything of her whereabouts.

“I stopped by Alden’s house, knocked several times, and no one answered. I walked around the back. There was a large bay window. I peered in and my heart stopped in its tracks. Plastered all over his wall was a collage of pictures of Ariana and a few with Michael. The words ‘Kill and dead’ were painted over every picture of Michael.

“When they brought Alden’s body to the morgue, a sample of his hair was tested and sure enough, the DNA matched the hair found on Danny’s clothing.”

“Oh my God, his twin brother was even sicker,” I snap out, and pull myself up on the bed to sit. “What else?”

“That’s all I have at the moment. The police are going through his home on Long Island.”

“Long Island?” I question. “I thought he was from Montana.”

Trent nods. “Yes, but he moved to Long Island after Danny’s death. He had an obsession with Ariana. There were piles of magazine articles, newspaper clippings, and photos of you, Michael, and others. In his bedroom, the police found a life-sized poster board of Ariana.”

I place my head between my hands. This is too much to take in. I still can’t fathom the thought that Danny was adopted, let alone a twin.

“I think it’s time we left Ariana. She needs her rest,” Josh voices.

“I’m staying,” Michael says his voice firm.

Josh nods, leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “Thanks for saving my brother’s life,” Josh expresses, looking so angelic compared to his brothers. He’s different from the other two, subdued, passive, laid-back, a man who can soothe the wildest beast.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, move over Michael. I need to kiss and hug my friend.” Joanne giggles, giving a friendly shove to Michael. He gives her a gentle shove back.

“Watch it, bro, or I’ll have to beat the shit out of you,” Trent chuckles.

Trent is defending Joanne? What happened while I was gone? They seem to all be best buddies. I glance over at Joanne suspiciously, and she gives nothing away with her passive expression. Damn it.

“Girlfriend, I’m thrilled you didn’t send this one running for the hills,” Joanne voices, laughing and embracing me with a hug and kiss. I love her so much.

“It’s his damn bossy demeanor. He wouldn’t give up on me.”

“I like the big bulldozer. You did well. Ciao, bella, when you’re feeling better, you call so we can get together,” Joanne chokes out; sounding emotional, like she almost lost a friend.

“I’m looking forward to our time together.”

Everyone leaves except for Michael, who’s lying next to me on his side, legs stretched out and his hands caressing my face. “Ariana, when I woke up in the car and you were missing, I nearly died.”

“How about me? I was scared to death. Watching you bleed, gasping for air, trapped, and unconscious. I thought you were going to . . .” I whisper, not able to finish my thought as I recall the terrifying scene and start to cry.

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’m fine. Please don’t cry,” he says, wiping the tears from my face and holds me closer as he kisses my forehead. “I won’t lie, this hurts like hell, but I only needed three stitches.” He lifts his shirt and removes the bandage, revealing a small wound. I wince. “It’s not so bad,” he says, reassuring me.

He kisses me tenderly over my nose, cheeks, and lips. “I’m okay, baby. I’m fine. I managed to find my phone and called Trent. He told me about Alden.” He brushes my bangs to the side, caressing my face, smiling, and gazing into my eyes with so much love.

“Oh, Michael.” I grip his shirt and pull myself into his warm body. I press my head against his chest, listening to his beating heart, alive and well. His arm wraps around me, tugging me closer. “It was horrible. His face was identical to Danny’s. I thought I was hallucinating.” I shut my eyes as images of his arrogant face flash before me.

He strokes my back, sending tingling sensations throughout my whole being. He brings life into my heart, mind, and soul. He fills the gaping hole I once had. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d died.

“Honey, please consider going for help. I’m worried about you.”

I shake my head. “No, Michael, I don’t want to talk about the past. It’s too . . . terrorizing,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut.

He frowns his expression distraught. “Just consider it, okay? That’s all I ask. For me.”

To appease him, I agree.

“Thank you. Now get some sleep. You’re going home tomorrow.”