Freed

by James, E L

  The elevator doors open and we spill out into the foyer, each of us with one goal: to check on our woman. I head straight for our bedroom, and I know that’s exactly what Taylor is doing. I barrel down the hallway and into the room, grateful that the thick carpet absorbs the sound of my footsteps.

  Ana is fast asleep on my side of the bed. She’s curled up in a small ball, wearing one of my T-shirts.

  She’s here.

  She’s fine.

  My relief almost brings me to my knees, but I stand and watch her. I can’t risk touching her, as I know I’ll wake her if I do.

  Wake her and bury myself in her.

  I wonder how drunk she was last night.

  Ana. Ana. Ana.

  What a shock to come back here to Hyde.

  I steel myself and brush my forefinger over her cheek. She mumbles something in her sleep, and I freeze. I don’t want to wake her. When she settles, I slink out and head back to the living room. I need a drink.

  As I pass the foyer door I notice that it’s hanging off its hinges. There are scuff marks over the walls. But no blood, that I can see.

  Thank God. An altercation? It looks like it was a full-on fight.

  And Hyde had a gun. He could have murdered Ryan right here in my home.

  The thought is sickening.

  In the living room I head over to the bar cart and pour myself a Laphroaig. I toss the contents of the glass down in one swallow, appreciating the burn as it sears my throat, the warmth spreading downward and joining the maelstrom in my gut. I take a deep breath and pour another, larger glass and head back into the bedroom.

  I should really get some sleep, but I’m too wired.

  And too mad.

  No. Not mad. I’m raging.

  The sanctity of my home invaded by that cocksucking, motherfucking asshole.

  Quietly, I drag the bedroom chair from its position by the window to my side of the bed. Sitting down, I watch Ana sleep as I slowly sip my scotch and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to quiet the ferocious storm inside me.

  It doesn’t work.

  He wanted to harm my wife.

  That’s the only conclusion I can come to.

  Kidnap her? Kill her?

  To get back at me.

  And Ana…she wasn’t here.

  Where I asked her to be.

  Told her to be.

  My anger simmers, curdling into bitter rage.

  And I have no outlet.

  Only this drink, and the fire it leaves in its wake with each sip.

  I re-cross my legs and tap my finger against my lip as I think of all the ways I’d like to end Hyde.

  Strangulation. Suffocation. Beat him to death. Shoot him. I have Leila’s gun.

  And punish Ana for not doing as she’s told.

  Paddle. Flogger. Cane… Belt.

  But I can’t. She won’t let me.

  Fuck.

  As dawn breaks, it gradually lights the room.

  Ana stirs, and her eyes flutter open. Her lips part as she gasps in surprise when she realizes I’m sitting and watching her. “Hi,” she whispers. I finish my drink and place the glass on the bedside table while I contemplate what I’m going to say to her. “Hello,” I murmur, and it feels like someone else is talking. Someone robotic. Someone without feeling.

  “You’re back.”

  “It would appear so.”

  She sits up, eyes bright, and blue, and lovely. “How long have you been sitting there watching me sleep?”

  “Long enough.”

  “You’re still mad,” she whispers.

  Oh, I wish I was just mad. Robotic me says the word out loud, testing it. But it’s not enough. “No, Ana. I am way, way beyond mad.”

  “Way beyond mad. That doesn’t sound good.”

  No. It’s not. We gaze at each other and I wish I could stand up and yell and scream and tell her how I feel. How disappointed and relieved I am.

  How frightened I am.

  How fucking furious I am.

  I don’t think I’ve ever experienced the depth of these conflicting feelings that plague me right now. But robotic me doesn’t know what to do; all systems are offline, trying to contain my rage.

  She reaches over, grabs her glass, and takes a sip of water. “Ryan caught Jack,” she says, placing the glass back down.

  “I know.”

  Her brow creases. “Are you going to be monosyllabic for long?”

  Is she trying to be funny? “Yes,” I respond, because it’s all I can manage.

  Her frown deepens. “I’m sorry I stayed out.”

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  “Why say it, then?”

  “Because I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

  It’s too late for that, Ana. I sigh and run a hand through my hair.

  “I think Detective Clark wants to talk to you,” she says.

  “I’m sure he does.”

  “Christian, please…”

  “Please what?”

  “Don’t be so cold.”

  Cold? “Anastasia, cold is not what I’m feeling at the moment. I’m burning. Burning with rage. I don’t know how to deal with these”—I wave my hand seeking inspiration—“feelings.”

  Her eyes widen farther, and before I can stop her, she clambers out of bed and onto my lap. It’s so unexpected—a welcome, disarming diversion from my rage. Slowly and carefully, so I don’t break her, I wrap my arms around her and bury my nose in her hair, inhaling her unique Ana scent.

  She’s here.

  She’s okay.

  My throat burns with my unshed tears of gratitude.

  Thank heavens she’s safe.

  She embraces me and kisses my neck.

  “Oh, Mrs. Grey. What am I going to do with you?” My voice is hoarse, and I kiss the top of her head.

  “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t normally drink hard liquor.”

  “This is my second glass. I’ve had a trying night, Anastasia. Give a man a break.”

  I sense her smile. “If you insist, Mr. Grey.” She nuzzles my throat, once more. “You smell heavenly. I slept on your side of the bed because your pillow smells of you.”

  Oh, Ana.

  I kiss her hair. “Did you, now? I wondered why you were on this side. I’m still mad at you.”

  “I know,” she whispers. My hand moves rhythmically down her back; touching her brings me solace and starts to ground me in the now. “And I’m mad at you,” she says.

  I stop caressing her back. “And what, pray, have I done to deserve your ire?”

  “I’ll tell you later when you’re no longer burning with rage.” She kisses my neck and I close my eyes and hold her.

  Tight.

  I never want to let her go.

  I could have lost her. She could have been killed by that asshole. “When I think of what might have happened…” I squeeze the words past the knot of fury that’s still lodged in my throat.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Oh, Ana,” I choke out, and I want to cry.

  “I’m okay. We’re all okay. A bit shaken. But Gail is fine. Ryan is fine. And Jack is gone.”

  “No thanks to you,” I mutter.

  She leans back and glares at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t want to argue about it right now, Ana.”

  I think she’s weighing my words, and for whatever reason, she cuddles into me once more. She wouldn’t if she knew the truth.

  She knows the truth.

  She knows me.

  The bad seed.

  She’s seen the monster. “I want to punish you.” I whisper, like it’s a deep, dark confession, “really beat t
he shit out of you.”

  She stills. “I know,” she whispers.

  That’s not what I expect her to say. “Maybe I will.”

  “I hope not,” she says, her voice quiet but unwavering.

  I sigh. It’s never going to happen. This I know and I reconciled myself to that when she came back after leaving me.

  But I want to.

  Really fucking want to.

  But she left the last time I did.

  Now she’s my wife and here we are.

  I hug her tighter. “Ana, Ana, Ana. You’d try the patience of a saint.”

  “I could accuse you of many things, Mr. Grey, but being a saint isn’t one of them.”

  And there she is.

  My girl.

  I chuckle, and though it sounds hollow, even to my ears, it’s cathartic. “Fair point well made as ever, Mrs. Grey.” I kiss her forehead. “Back to bed. You had a late night, too.” I pick her up and deposit her back on the bed.

  “Lie down with me?” she says, her eyes imploring me to stay.

  “No. I have things to do.” I reach for my empty glass. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you in a couple of hours.”

  “Are you still mad at me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll go back to sleep, then.”

  “Good.” I tuck her in and kiss her forehead. “Sleep.”

  I stride out of the room before I change my mind.

  And I know that I’m running from her, because she has the power to wound me like no other. If Hyde had gotten to her…shit. Her absence from this world would hurt me more than anything I’ve experienced so far.

  I wander into the kitchen, deposit the glass by the sink, and head into my study. I need an action plan. I scribble down everything that I need to do, then send Andrea an e-mail to cancel my meetings in Washington, DC. I tell her I’ve had to return to Seattle, but can still have the meetings via WebEx or phone. I press send, knowing that once the news cycle picks up on Hyde’s arrest, it will be self-explanatory.

  I pull out Hyde’s file to have another look through the information Welch has provided, to see if there are any clues to Hyde’s insanity.

  I keep coming back to one detail that’s been nagging at me since I read it the first time. I wonder if it’s a coincidence or material to this mess.

  Jackson “Jack” Daniel Hyde.

  DOB: Feb 26, 1979, Brightmoor, Detroit, MI

  Hell. I’m so tired my brain is fried, but I know I won’t sleep. I need some fresh air to clear the fear and anxiety from my system.

  Quietly, I sneak into the closet and change into my running gear, but before I go out, I check on Ana. She’s fast asleep. With my iPod strapped to my arm, I head down to the lobby in the elevator.

  As the doors open, I note the two photographers outside. I slip through the rear doors to the utility area, then through a series of corridors and out into the passage behind the building. I hit the early morning streets of Seattle, The Verve’s “Bitter Sweet Symphony” playing loud and proud through my earbuds.

  I run and run and run, down Fifth Avenue to Vine. I run past Ana’s old apartment, where Kate Kavanagh should be sleeping off her hangover. I run along Western, veering off to go through Pike Place Market. It’s grueling. But I don’t stop until I’m back outside Escala. And then I do it all over again.

  I return a sweaty mess with my Mariners cap pulled low over my face. I make my way unrecognized through the press gathered outside the building and safely into the elevator.

  Mrs. Jones is in the kitchen.

  “Gail! How are you?” I ask as soon as I see her.

  “Good, Mr. Grey. Glad you and Taylor are back.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  As I fill and drink a glass of water, she gives me a quick run-through of last night’s events. How Ryan ushered her into the panic room. And afterward, once Hyde was caught, what happened with the police and paramedics. “I never thought we’d have to use that room.”

  “I’m glad I had it installed.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m grateful, too. Do you want a coffee?”

  “Not yet. I’ll have some orange juice for Ana.”

  She smiles. “Coming right up.”

  “Is Taylor awake?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good. Let him rest.”

  She hands me the juice, and I leave her to go wake Ana.

  She’s still asleep.

  “There’s some orange juice for you here.” I place it on her bedside table and she stirs, her eyes are on me, her teeth toying with her bottom lip. “I’m going to take a shower,” I mutter and leave.

  I strip quickly, leaving my clothes on the bathroom floor. My run has done little to improve my temper. I start washing my hair vigorously, and mentally run through a checklist of what I have to do this morning. I sense Ana before I hear her. She closes the shower door, then steps up behind me and places her arms around me. I stiffen at her touch.

  Everywhere.

  Don’t touch me.

  Ignoring my reaction, she pulls me closer, so that I feel her warm, naked body against me. She presses her cheek to my back.

  We’re skin on skin.

  And it’s unbearable.

  I’m too mad at you right now.

  I’m too mad at myself.

  I shift so we’re both under the water and continue rinsing the suds out of my hair. She presses her lips against me in small, soft kisses.

  No. “Ana,” I caution her.

  “Hmm.”

  Stop.

  I burn for her.

  But my thoughts are too dark.

  I’m too angry.

  Her hand skims down over my belly, and I know what she has in mind. But I want none of it.

  I want all of it.

  All of her.

  No!

  I place both of mine on hers and shake my head. “Don’t,” I whisper.

  She steps back, immediately, as if I’ve slapped her, so I turn around and her eyes flit to my erection.

  It’s just biology, baby.

  I clasp her chin. “I’m still fucking mad at you,” I whisper, and rest my forehead against hers, closing my eyes.

  And I’m fucking mad at myself.

  I should have stayed in Seattle.

  She reaches up and strokes my cheek, and I desperately want to give in to her tender touch.

  “Don’t be mad at me, please. I think you’re overreacting,” she says.

  What!

  I straighten, so her hand falls to her side, and glare at her. “Overreacting?” I rant. “Some fucking lunatic gets into my apartment to kidnap my wife, and you think I’m overreacting!”

  She gazes up at me, but she doesn’t back away. “No, um, that’s not what I was referring to. I thought this was about me staying out.”

  Oh. I close my eyes. I left her for one night, and she could have been kidnapped or worse. Murdered by that asshole.

  “Christian, I wasn’t here,” she whispers in the gentlest of tones.

  “I know.” I open my eyes, feeling hopeless and worthless at once. “And all because you can’t follow a simple fucking request. I don’t want to discuss this now, in the shower. I am still fucking mad at you, Anastasia. You’re making me question my judgment.”

  I leave her and grab a towel as I stalk out of the bathroom. I want to hang on to my anger. It protects me and keeps her away from me.

  It keeps me safe.

  Safe from more complex and difficult feelings.

  I towel myself dry. I’m still damp as I dress, but I don’t give a damn.

  I storm out of the closet and along the corridor to the kitchen.

  “Coffee?” Gail calls after me, as I head toward my study.

  “Please.”


  At my desk I look once more through Hyde’s background check. There’s something here. I can feel it. Gail appears and leaves a black coffee on my desk.

  “Thanks.”

  I take a sip; it’s hot and dark. Damn, it tastes good.

  I call Welch.

  “Good morning, Grey. I hear you’re back in Seattle,” Welch says.

  “I am. Who told you?”

  “I just got an update from Taylor.”

  “So you’ve heard about Hyde.”

  “Yes. I’ve put a call in to my contact at King County PD. Find out what’s going on.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And I’ve heard from the FBI.”

  There’s a knock at my door, and Ana stands in the doorway, wearing the purple dress that reveals every womanly curve she possesses. Her hair is in a bun, and there are diamonds in her ears. She looks prim and proper, hiding her inner freak, and it’s arousing as hell. I shake my head, dismissing her, noting the downturn of her mouth as she turns away.

  “Sorry, Welch—what did you say?”

  “The FBI. There’s a match. The partial print in the EC135.”

  “It’s Hyde?”

  “Yes, sir. The FBI uncovered his convictions as a minor in Detroit.”

  Detroit again.

  “They match,” he says, “though those documents are supposed to be sealed, which is why it’s taken a few days.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “They may be inadmissible.”

  “Shit, really? Well, there’s also the footage we have of Hyde outside Escala that Prescott found earlier this week. It’s obvious he was checking the place out. And, of course, the CCTV from GEH’s server room.”

  “The police have been wanting to question him about the incident at GEH, but they hadn’t been able to locate him.”

  “They have him now.”

  “Indeed,” Welch growls. “And the two investigations are going to compare Hyde’s prints for a match.”

  “About time. Did you get anything out of his former assistants?”

  “No. They’re reluctant to talk. They all say he was an excellent boss.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Agreed, given the hushed-up harassment claims,” Welch mutters. “We’ve only spoken to four. I’ll keep pushing.”

  “Okay.”

  “What do you want to do about the heightened security around your family?”

  “Let’s keep it for now and see where this goes with Hyde. We have no idea if he’s working alone or with someone.”