Wounded Birds (The Grayson Series Book 1) (13 page)

He beams his wicked smile at me, and as God is my witness, this must make all the women go weak in the knees. Sorry ladies, but he’s Gay. He gives me the biggest squeeze. So much has happened in the past two days.

I embrace Blake, soaking up all his strength because I sure as hell need all I can get. “Oh, Blake,” I cry out and burst into tears shuddering in his arms. I can’t stop. It’s been a long time since I cried this much.

He soothes me with his tender touches, brushes his hands through my hair, holding me tight against him, caressing and comforting me with his presence.

He pulls me away so he can see me, yet still close enough to hold me. “Ariana, what happened, love?”

I stop crying, and the shudders abate. I gaze into his eyes. “Everything went to hell. I don’t even know where to begin,” I blurt out and plunge myself back against his solidness, absorbing his warmth and comfort.

Blake takes my hand; we walk up the stairs to the front door and enter a large foyer, which leads into the back of the house, encased with a wall of glass.

We step out onto a wooden deck, and a few of Blake’s friends are enjoying themselves. A small number of them are in the pool next to the deck, and the rest are on the beach, playing volleyball. One of his friends yells out, “Hey, Ariana, what a great surprise to see you here.”

I wave back with a fake smile.

“Come and sit, I’ll get you a glass of wine.” Blake offers and heads towards the wet bar. He stops and turns. “Are you sure you can have a drink?” He frowns.

“Yes, I’m fine. I need the wine. Thanks.”

I gaze at the open ocean that stretches endlessly. I close my eyes for a moment and inhale the salty, scented air, which brings a tingling awakening to my senses. The sounds of waves crashing against the shoreline transport tranquility and peace to my soul.

I caress my exposed arms, relishing the balmy sunlight against my skin. The cries of seagulls’ catch my attention, and I watch with amazement as they soar effortlessly across the water with grace.

“Earth calling Ariana.” Blake nudges me.

“I’m sorry, I got lost in the scenery. The beach has a way of doing that to me.”

“Okay, love, drink this and start spilling.” I take the glass of wine, gulp half, and set it on a small table between us. I stare at Blake, who’s built like one of the gods with his bare, bronze chest. His white shorts sit right below his waistline, emphasizing his powerful abs. His loose jet-black hair sits above his shoulders. He’s breathtaking, but I never felt anything for Blake except true friendship.

“Where do I begin?” I sip at my wine, letting the red liquid slide down my throat, giving me a little numbing effect. I start from the beginning, giving him details about lunch with Michael and then my so-called fan, stalker, psycho or whatever you want to call him.

I go into details about Michael’s brother, Trent, who owns a private investigating company and has offered to track down this deranged man.

My chest constricts with an agonizing burning thinking about this asshole. I drink more wine, holding back the tears, and swallow hard, my mind spinning from Michael’s wrongful accusations, and this madman lurking out there watching and taunting me.

“What gave him such a crazy idea?” Blake asks.

I stare down, fiddling with my fingers, tapping my foot nervously on the deck. I inhale a deep breath.

“Out with it, Ariana, what made him think such a thing?” Blake is persistent this time, his eyes more intense.

“He caressed my back and thought I was wired. I was so angry at his accusations. In order to prove him wrong, I flashed him my scars,” I rush out and I down more wine.

“Shit, Ariana, I’m going to kick his sorry fuckin’ ass.” His voice vibrates with genuine regret. He stands up, his body shaking with fury.

Damn, I’d forgotten how protective he is over me. I wish I’d never said anything and waited for Joanne to come back from her trip, but she would have cut Michael’s balls off and hung them up on the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Blake, please relax. I needed to get this off my chest. I’m feeling some relief.” I lie. Just two days with Michael and I’m overflowing with lust, grief, and rage.

“Damn, Ariana, what possessed you to show him your scars, love?” Blake wanders over to the wet bar and pulls out his brandy to pour himself a shot. He swallows it in one swig.

“There is no explanation for my actions, Blake. I was lost in the moment and angry. I made a stupid, spontaneous decision. Oh, Blake, it hurt me so much that he would even accuse me of such an act.” I stand and pace around the deck a few times and sit back down. “I called him a little shit and showed him my scars. I guarantee you he left in a state of shock.”

“Fuckin’ jerk serves him right. I swear if I get a hold of him; I’ll tear him apart.” He blows out a breath and sits next to me, grasping my hand to place a kiss over the knuckles.

“How can I describe this gut-wrenching pain? This hurts. I want to crawl under a giant boulder and shrivel away.” I shut my eyes, sickened with everything that’s happened.

“Ariana, please don’t talk nonsense. Time heals all. You’ll get through this. I’m here for you.” He squeezes my knee, and his phone rings. He rushes over to pick up his cell and answers the call.

“Hello. What the hell do you want you prick, and how the hell did you get my cell number? Sean. Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage to her poor soul? Leave her the fuck alone,” Blake hisses out and I can sense the tension radiating from his body. “She’s better now. . . . She’s here with me in the Hamptons.” There is a long pause as if Michael is pleading, or explaining his side. “I will . . . . I’ll be with her . . . . I’ll relay the message.” Blake shuts his phone.

“It was Michael,” I say before he states the obvious.

“The one and only. He went to Bethpage State Park to apologize. He panicked when he couldn’t find you. He’s worried sick about you, love.”

“Are you siding with him now?” I seethe.

“No, love, I’m on yours. I never met the man, but he sounds troubled over this whole ordeal and is sincerely sorry. He wants to make amends with you. He doesn’t want you driving home alone. I told him I’d drive back with you.”

“Do you feel I overreacted, Blake? Please, be honest with me.”

He sits beside me, caressing each of my fingers. “Hell no, love, but maybe you should give him a chance to explain.” He holds up his hand when I start to make a comment. “What he did to you was repulsive. I’ll even kick his ass for you on that one, but why don’t you hear him out, love. I’m sure there is a logical explanation for his actions. We’ve all jump to conclusions now and then.”

I hate when he puts things into perspective. “I’ll think about it. I need time to get over the vicious words we exchanged along with his accusations and over the embarrassment of what I did.” I know Blake is right, but the thought of seeing him again brings my anxiety level up.

Blake continues telling me about his conversation with Michael. “Michael thought the ‘demented fuck’ as he calls him, kidnapped you. The poor guy was pulling his hair out looking for you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned the field inside out.” Blake starts to laugh.

“I can only imagine. Can you imagine what the guys at the polo field thought when Michael arrived searching for me and demanding answers of my whereabouts?” I laugh, adding, “God; you're so good for my soul. What a blessing I got detoured. This is exactly what I needed.”

“As you are for me,” Blake whispers. He frowns and says, “I’m concerned about your stalker. I hope Michael’s brother finds him soon,” he says and stands up, “I’m going to tell Francis I’m riding back to the city with you and start packing.”

I nod. “I’ll wait for you.” I pick up the wineglass and stand up. “Blake,” I call out.

He stops and turns to face me. “Yes, love?”

“Thank you,” I murmur with deepest sincerity.

He looks at me with his radiant smile and walks towards me, wrapping his big, beefy arms around me and kisses my head. “No need for thanks, we’re friends, and I love you to death. I would do anything for you, love,” he whispers across my ear, brushing my bangs away from my face.

“I know, now go tell Francis and get packing. I hate to be stuck in traffic.”

He salutes and rushes off.

Chapter 10

The Stalker

Finally,
after sitting in traffic for almost three hours, we arrive in Manhattan. I dropped Blake off at his apartment and headed home, pulling into the breezeway of the building for the valet to park the car.

I pass the front desk, and the security guard gets my attention.

“Miss DiMarco,” Ryan calls out. I stop and turn to face him.

“Yes, Ryan.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but these flowers came in for you,” he says, handing me the exquisite bouquet.

I hold them tight against my chest and inhale the sweet fragrance. I would guess three dozen red and white roses, encircled with sprigs of baby’s breath, lavender wax flowers, and lemon leaves wrapped in iridescent cellophane with streams of red ribbons made of soft silk.

I stiffen and my eyes grow wide as a horrifying thought flashes before me. I grasp the stems tighter pricking myself with one of the thorns. I place my finger in my mouth, sucking the tiny blood oozing out and wonder if these are from my stalker. I glance at Ryan, and he stares at me with a wary look, and I can tell I went pale by his facial expression.

“Are you all right, Miss DiMarco?”

I take in a slow breath, waiting for the blood to rush back to my head. “Yes, I’m fine, Ryan. I had a long day, thank you for your concern.” I smile.

“You’re welcome, Miss DiMarco,” he says with a nod and goes back to viewing the surveillance monitors.

I reach the top floor and walk into the apartment. I’m scared to read the card. They could be from him . . . the psycho maniac. I lay them on the kitchen counter and decide to take a quick shower and get into something more comfortable, and then find myself pacing around my bedroom with anxiety, debating whether I should read the enclosed note.

I shut my eyes, clenching and unclenching my hands into tight little fists. I finally get the courage to walk back into the kitchen, and stare at them, as if they are going to spray off some toxic fumes. I curse inwardly at myself.
They’re just roses. Stop being such a coward and read the damn note.
I berate myself. I finally move, and with a trembling hand, I reach for the envelope, pull the note card out, and read the message aloud.

Dear Ariana,

Please, forgive my outburst. I need to see you. I attended the polo game today and went into a complete meltdown when I couldn’t find you. I thought something happened. Do you have any idea what this does to me not knowing if you’re safe?

I’m sorry I missed you today. Please, let me take you out to dinner tomorrow evening, so I can beg for your forgiveness and explain why I was such a pompous ass.

Truly regretful for what I did.

With heartfelt warmth,

Michael

aka Mr. Bulldozer/Bully/Pompous Ass

I lay the card down. I pick up the delicate roses and place them in a vase filled with water. I rush over to the laptop, and I pull up his company website and hit “contact us.” I click Michael’s e-mail address and start typing my own quick little note.

Dear Michael,

I received the beautiful roses. You shouldn’t have, but thank you. I love them. However, with deepest regret, I must decline your dinner invitation.

I’m angry, not just with you, but at myself for losing control. I wasn’t thinking straight, and I handled the situation incorrectly. However, your accusations and harsh, poisonous words stung me, pushing me to become this enraged lunatic.

I’m sorry to have to say this, but I think it’s for the best, we don’t see each other anymore. The time we spent together has merely been two days, and yet you seem to think you can take control over my life. I will not subject myself to being anyone’s puppet again, and by your actions; you have proven to me that you are a dominating, overbearing, and controlling man. I’m finally free of that. I can come and go as I please, to live my dream, my life on my own terms.

Maybe your demeanor stems from something deep inside your heart or maybe this is just who you are.

Thank you again for the lovely roses.

Sincerely,

Ariana

I hit send and crawl into bed.

***

These past several days have been a blur. I muddled through work and couldn’t concentrate on our next trip.

I’ve wallowed like a baby over Blake’s shoulder every night saturating his shirts with my tears and mascara. Going to sleep wasn’t an option, not when I went to bed with a huge knot in my stomach. The ache I felt deep in my chest drained me physically and mentally. I had no appetite from the deep depression I went into, which didn’t make any sense, especially since I’ve only known Michael for two days, a man who seems to be a controlling bastard like Danny, and let’s not forget the foul words he spit at me.

I should be proud of myself for walking away from him. Relieved that I don’t have to be dictated to or controlled. I should be overjoyed, happy, and excited, but instead, I’m like a withering flower, and he isn’t my only problem. There is still the psychopathic jerk that’s still on the loose and tormenting me. I’m grateful for Blake and Joanne, who stood by me this week, and especially Trent, who has done nothing but go above and beyond to keep a close eye on me.

Blake had the pleasure of meeting both Trent and Josh one night when they stopped over to check in on me. I wonder if Michael had them spying on me, rather than just paying a visit.

Blake was my solid rock, reassuring me that each day the pain would disappear and the crazed obsessed fan would be caught or just get tired of his games. Joanne phoned every night. I had her on the speaker so Blake and I can converse with her. As I predicted, Joanne threatened to cut Michael’s balls off and hang them on the Brooklyn Bridge as an example to all others who would dare to hurt me. We all laughed so hard we cried.

Poor Joanne, she’s been living out of a suitcase for the past two weeks. Sean has her traveling to all the newest and trendiest restaurants, eating and filming her experiences. She claims she’s gained at least ten pounds and is not a happy camper. I don’t believe her. She’s a size zero with a high metabolism.

As for my fan, according to Trent, he continues to call. I haven’t answered the phone since that Sunday. Trent has forwarded the calls to his office to monitor them. He’s recorded at least twelve-incoming calls from this deranged man. He refuses to tell me what the messages entail. To be honest, I’d rather not know.

I did, however, receive an e-mail from my psychotic stalker telling me he’s been jerking himself off while watching my show. He also wrote that soon I would be his little play doll. Bile rose up my throat at the thought of this asshole getting his hands on me. I called Trent, and he now has all unknown e-mails blocked and forwarded to him.

I asked Trent if he received any more e-mails from the stalker, but he refused to answer me. Again, I guess this is for the best. I told him earlier he could exempt himself from the case. He scolded me and said whatever differences Michael, and I had; they have nothing to do with him. He will continue his search for this ‘demented fuck’ as he calls him. I thanked him with all my heart.

I offered to pay him, and he reprimanded me again. He said to fix Michael’s ass for hurting me, the invoice would be tripled, and he’d have one of his oversized bodyguards personally deliver the bill and demand payment on sight, or else. Blake and Joanne had a great laugh when I told them what Trent planned to do.

Last night was an eventful evening. One I never want to relive again. I was going stir-crazy trapped in my apartment. I’m sick and tired of having to be escorted in and out of the building by Blake or one of Trent’s guys.

I decided to take a jog through the park. I know it wasn’t the smartest thing to do. I did call Blake and asked him to meet me at our usual spot. He insisted I wait for him to pick-me-up. I declined and said I was leaving now and hung up.

I dressed in workout clothes, sneakers and wrapped my hair into a ponytail. I left the building heading across the street. The time was about seven, and the sun had already set. I plugged in one ear bud, so I would be alert to my surroundings. I pulled up my favorite music and pressed play.

I ran onto the paved, lit trails leading me deep into the park. However, I had an unsettling feeling someone was following me, or maybe I was getting paranoid. I kept looking over my shoulder, but the area was desolate. I wasn’t far from Blake.

A cool, brittle breeze prickled my skin. The slight scent of the pine needles and wet greeneries tingled my nose. I gazed at the overhanging limbs and the leaves dancing against the slight wind. I stared at the stars flickering over me through the lattice of trees.

I jumped out of my skin when I spotted something in an overgrown patch of bushes up ahead. I relaxed after taking a closer peek to capture the glow of animal eyes.

A chill filled the air. I knew someone was following me; my gut screamed it out. The sounds of the traffic dissipated as I ran farther into the park, only to confirm I was correct; I had company. My heart halted when the sounds of footsteps echoed behind me. I knew I couldn’t have been hallucinating. I quickly turned, and a large figure dove into the tall shrubs disappearing behind the trees. My instincts screamed ‘Run’.

My pulse pounded viciously in my ears, my lungs heaving painfully in my chest. I had to stop so I could breathe. I needed to get to Blake, so after thirty seconds of recovery, I took off at a full sprint. My thighs and calves burned, and my shins ached. My lungs screamed, and my heart continued to slam hard within the walls of my chest.

I stopped breathing long enough to hear the sounds of footsteps behind me. They were approaching closer. I was afraid to turn. I pushed myself harder. Sweat was penetrating through my skin. My bangs plastered against my forehead. My heart was still pounding, my lungs begging for a break. I realized I should call Blake. I reached for my phone attached to my arm. He answered at the first ring.

“Ariana,” Blake huffed out.

“Blake, I’m being . . . followed. Please can you hurry . . . down the path we usually take on our run?” I rush out breathless.

“I’m heading there now. Are you sure?” He asked, gasping for air.

“Of course . . . I’m . . . not making this up,” I sputtered out between panting breaths. “Trust me on this.” I paused to catch my breath. My poor depleted lungs were withering away to nothing. “Please,” I spew out with a desperate cry.

“I’m on the trail, just keep running, Ariana. Don’t look back,” Blake ordered sounding winded.

“Okay,” I agreed and disconnected the call.

Seconds later, I let out a bloodcurdling scream as my assailant violently pulled my ponytail and shoved me onto the cold, wet, ground covered in grass and pine needles. I can smell the sweet earth along with a repulsive odor of alcohol and cigarettes, causing me to gag.

He wrapped his grimy hands over my mouth. I cringed with disgust when his callus, grubby fingers touched my face and arms. He pulled me by the hair and smacked my head against the ground. I cried out from the stabbing pain shooting through my skull. His solid body laid over mine, shoving all the air from my lungs. His breathing was harsh against my neck, reeking of body odor.

Panic coursed through me. Is he carrying a knife, a gun? Is he planning to kidnap me, rape me, or worse? An explosion of fear tore into me, and I squirmed and whimpered. Tears cascaded across my face, seeping into the soil.

“I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth. Don’t fuckin’ say a word
baby doll
, or I’ll snap your neck in two,” he rasped out, and the sound of his poisonous voice tore into me like a jagged knife.

I gasped, and my eyes grew wide as realization slammed into me and every muscle in my body cringed. No, this couldn’t be happening; it was him, my stalker. Oh, God, oh, God, please help me!

“I love your skin . . . so soft . . . and silky,” he grated out. I winced as he stroked my arms with his coarse fingers.

My heart began to pound wild, racing to a near explosion, jump-starting my adrenaline. I turn to look at my assailant.

“I don’t think so, baby doll,” he grated out and smacked me across the side of my face scraping my outer ear. A trickling sensation followed as something wet and warm slithered down from my ear like slime, finding its way into the corner of my mouth. I tasted the familiar metallic flavor and gasped in horror when I realized it was blood. A wave of dizziness took over, and bile rose up to my throat. I swallowed it down with disgust.

Where is Blake? Why would I have expected him to be here by now? I had only gotten off the phone with him two minutes ago.

Oh, God, what was I thinking when I left the apartment? I can’t get over the stupid move I made. Everyone warned me, but
no;
I didn’t listen. I insisted on going for a jog.
Oh, stop beating yourself up, Ariana. This isn’t a time for a meltdown. You need to outsmart this demented asshole.