Chapter 46
Chapter 46
The gunshot hit Nathaniel’s arm, and he released James instantly, collapsing to the floor with a grunt of pain.
The door burst open. Michael rushed in.
His eyes met Nathaniel’s—Nathaniel was on the ground, clutching his bleeding arm, sweat dripping down his face.
Moments later, the police stormed inside, guns drawn and aimed until they locked on Nathaniel.
He cursed under his breath at the sight of them. Two officers lifted him roughly, cuffing his hands behind his back. He turned his head toward Ariel, his eyes burning with hatred as they dragged him outside.
Michael hurried to her. “Are you okay?”
Ariel nodded weakly.
James walked over, brushing past Michael with a slight shove.
“Ariel, did he hurt you?” he asked, ignoring Michael as though he weren’t even there.
Ariel gave him a cold look and walked to the couch. Nathaniel’s blood trailed across the floor in dark streaks.
“If you already knew all of that,” James said, “why did you still think I was the murderer? Why didn’t you apprehend Nathaniel sooner?”
“That’s because I only found out recently.” She sighed, rubbing her forehead.
Michael leaned against the wall silently.
“What’s he even doing here?” James whispered to Ariel, eyes flicking toward Michael.
“He’s the one who helped us catch Nathaniel,” Ariel replied quietly. “He did most of the work.”
“Is he a detective?” James asked, frowning.
Ariel squinted at him. “Now that you mention it… I don’t think I actually know what he does.”
“You’ve been working with him, and you don’t know what he does?” James asked, his expression full of disbelief.
Michael stepped forward. “You two are talking about me like I’m invisible. You can just ask me directly.”
“How did you know all that about Nathaniel? And how did you get the evidence?” Ariel asked, watching him closely.
“I’ve been following you,” Michael admitted. “Then I dug into Nathaniel—same way I did with James.”
Ariel glared. “Are you a stalker or something?”
He smirked. “I’m just… interested in you.”
James cleared his throat. “Well, now that Nathaniel’s been caught and I’m no longer branded a murderer, I think I deserve a drink tonight.”
“I know a club,” Michael said quickly, glancing at Ariel. “I’ll take you there.”
James shot him a glare. “There’s one nearby—Ariel goes there often. We’ll go there instead.”
Michael scoffed, returning the glare mockingly.
They all stepped out into the night. The city was alive with music and chatter. When they reached the bustling club, neon lights flickering above the entrance, they went inside.
They took a seat around a round table, and a waiter immediately came over to take their order.
Later
One bottle. Two. Three. Four.
Ariel slammed the fifth bottle onto the table with a loud bang. Her hair fell across her face, damp with sweat and tears.
James was slumped over the table, completely wasted. He could barely lift his head.
Ariel was still drinking, her sobs breaking between gulps.
Michael reached out to take the bottle from her, but she shot him a dark glare, her drunken eyes fierce.
He sighed and pulled back, letting her cry and drink in silence.
“Why me?” Ariel choked out, hitting her chest. “I don’t even have a boyfriend… no job…” Her voice broke, and she sobbed louder, then belched. “Sorry,” she mumbled, grabbing the bottle again and taking another deep drink.
Her eyelids fluttered, trying to stay open as the alcohol dulled her senses.
“I need to use the restroom,” she muttered, swaying as she stood up.
Michael stood too, ready to steady her, but she shoved him back into his chair.
“I swear, I’ll kill you if you follow me,” she slurred, pointing a shaky finger at him—though she seemed to see two of him and wasn’t quite sure which one she meant.
Ariel took a step, nearly tripping, but managed to catch the table for balance before he could reach her.
“I don’t need any of you to protect me!” she shouted, cheeks flushed red. She dug into her purse and pulled out her bank card. “I can take care of myself just fine,” she mumbled, then kissed the card before staggering off toward the restroom.
Michael waited.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
Still no sign of her.
A flicker of worry crossed his face. He stood and went down the hallway toward the restrooms.
He opened the first door—
A loud scream erupted.
“Sorry!” he blurted, slamming it shut.
He knocked on the next door. No answer. He turned the handle—it opened. The room was empty.
He sighed in frustration and was about to leave when something caught his eye—the card Ariel had been holding.
He bent down, picked it up, and immediately hurried out, scanning the club.
Where had she gone?
He moved through the crowd, the bass thudding through the floor, lights flashing. People danced wildly, laughing and swaying. A few women reached out, touching his arm and giggling sexily, but he ignored them, focused entirely on finding Ariel.
Then he saw them—two men carrying a woman toward the exit.
Ariel.
His eyes widened, and adrenaline surged through him. He pushed through the crowd and ran after them.
By the time he got outside, they had already shoved her into a black car and sped away.
Michael sprinted to his motorcycle, started the engine, and tore off after them.
The car finally stopped in front of an old warehouse. Michael parked his bike quietly and followed them, keeping his distance.
He watched them carry Ariel inside and then take the elevator up.
He looked around frantically for another way, then spotted the stairwell.
Without hesitation, he dashed up the stairs, his breathing ragged, heart pounding. When he reached the top floor, he caught sight of the men just ahead, walking down the corridor.
Michael pressed a hand to the wall, catching his breath, then crept after them silently.
They entered a room, and he ducked behind the wall. As the door closed, he stepped closer, listening.
What did they want with Ariel?
Were these the same men from before?
Laughter echoed from inside.
“Wake her up,” one of them said—a deep, husky voice, the kind that scraped like gravel.
Michael’s jaw tightened.
Ariel lay on a couch inside, her hair loose around her face, completely unconscious.