by James, E L
“You’re going?” You’re really going.
“Yes.”
No! No! NO! I free-fall, tumbling down into the abyss. Falling. Falling. Falling. Reaching out, I splay my hand on the wall to support myself. The pain is visceral.
Don’t leave me.
Shit, was this always going to happen? Did she ever love me?
Was it my fucking money?
“But why the cash? Was it always the money?” Tell me it wasn’t the money. Please. The pain is indescribable.
“No!” She sounds emphatic.
Do I believe her?
Is it because I saw Elena? For God’s sake! And in this moment, I don’t think I could loathe Elena more. I breathe deep, trying to get a handle on my thoughts.
“Is five million enough?” How will I live without Ana?
“Yes.”
“And the baby?” She’ll take our baby away? The knife twists in my soul.
“I’ll take care of the baby.”
“This is what you want?”
“Yes.” Her voice is barely audible. But I hear her. The pain is crippling. She wants me off the phone—I can tell. She wants it done. She wants away from me.
“Take it all,” I whisper.
“Christian,” she sobs. “It’s for you. For your family. Please. Don’t.”
I can’t stand this.
“Take it all, Anastasia,” I snarl and tilt my head back and silently howl at the gray sky above me.
“Christian—” Her desperation is laced through every syllable of my name. I can’t bear to hear her.
“I’ll always love you,” I murmur, because it’s true. They’re the last words of a condemned man. I hang up and take a deep, steadying breath, feeling hollow…nothing more than a husk.
I told her that once.
In a shower.
And then I told her I loved her.
“Mr. Grey?” Taylor’s trying to attract my attention. Ignoring him, I call Whelan again.
“Troy Whelan.”
“It’s Christian Grey. Give my wife the money. Whatever she wants.”
“Mr. Grey, I can’t—”
“I know you hold the reserve for the Pacific Northwest. Just transfer it from the main holding account. Or liquidate some of my assets. I don’t care. Give her the money.”
“Mr. Grey, this is highly irregular.”
“Just fucking do it, Whelan. Find a way, or I’ll close all the accounts and move GEH’s business elsewhere. Understand?”
He’s silent on the other end of the phone.
“We’ll sort the fucking paperwork out later,” I add, in a more conciliatory tone.
“Yes, Mr. Grey.”
“Just give her whatever she wants.”
“Yes, Mr. Grey.” I hang up.
I want to cry. I want to break down here on the roof and weep. But I can’t. I close my eyes and wish that I were here on my own.
“Mr. Grey.” Taylor’s voice cuts through my pain.
I turn to face him, and he blanches. “What?” I snarl.
“Hyde has been granted bail. He’s free.”
I glare at him. What fresh hell is this?
Hyde is free? How? I thought we’d dealt with that.
Taylor and I eyeball each other, wondering, What the hell?
“You’re leaving me?”
“No!”
“It’s for you. For your family. Please. Don’t.”
“Ana!” I whisper. “She’s trying to withdraw five million dollars.”
Taylor’s eyes widen. “Shit!” he says.
We reach the same conclusion at the same instant. Whatever the hell she’s doing, deep down I know it has something to do with that fucker Hyde. I punch the elevator button, as my utter despair congeals into fear. Fear for my wife. “Where’s Sawyer?”
“He’s at the bank. He tracked her car.” We leap into the elevator and I jab the button for the garage as Charlie Tango’s rotors start again. It’s deafening.
“You have the car keys?” I shout to Taylor as the doors close.
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s get to the bank. Do we know where Hyde is?”
“No. I’ll text Welch.”
“He left a message. Shit—it must have been the news about Hyde.”
The elevator takes forever to descend to the garage. What is Ana playing at? Why can’t she tell me if she’s in trouble? Fear wraps around my heart and my gut, strangling me from the inside. What could be worse than Ana leaving me? The distressing picture from my earlier dream slips into my head, drawing on older—much older—disturbing memories: a woman lifeless on the floor. I screw my eyes shut.
No. Please. No.
“We’ll find her,” Taylor says with grim determination.
“We have to.”
“I’ll track her cell,” he states.
At last the doors open and Taylor tosses me his Q7 keys. He wants me to drive?
Get a grip, Grey. You have to get your wife out of this mess.
Perhaps that fucker is blackmailing her.
We climb into the car and I switch on the ignition. The tires scream as I reverse out of the space and speed up to the garage entrance, only to wait agonizing seconds for the barrier to rise. “Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on!”
Barely clearing the barrier, we roar out onto the street in the direction of the bank.
Taylor puts his phone on the dash, waiting for a signal, cursing impatiently under his breath.
“She’s still at the bank,” he says eventually.
“Good.”
The traffic is heavier than I expected. It’s frustrating.
Come on, come on, come on!
Why does Ana do this? Keep this shit to herself? Doesn’t she trust me?
I think about my behavior over the last couple of days.
Okay, it hasn’t been exemplary, by any means, but she takes all this crap on her shoulders. Why can’t she ask for help?
“Ana Grey,” I shout into the phone’s Bluetooth system. After a few moments her phone starts to ring, and ring, and ring…then it goes to voice mail. My heart sinks.
“Hi, you’ve reached Ana. I can’t take your call right now, but please leave a message after the beep, and I’ll call you right back.”
Christ!
“Ana! What the fuck is going on?” I yell. It feels good to yell. “I’m coming to get you. Call me. Talk to me.” I hang up.
“She’s still at the bank,” Taylor says.
“Sawyer’s still there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Call Sawyer!” I shout into the hands-free, and moments later his cell is ringing.
“Mr. Grey?”
“Where’s Ana?”
“She’s just turned around and gone back into one of the offices.”
“Go get her.”
“Sir, I’m armed. I can’t go through the detectors. I’m standing by the entrance watching Anast—Mrs. Grey, and looking very suspicious. If I go back to the car to stow my gun, I may lose her.”
Fucking firearms.
“How the hell did she give you the slip?”
“She’s a very resourceful woman, Mr. Grey.” He sounds like he’s speaking through gritted teeth, and I recognize his frustration. It makes me feel slightly more sympathetic to him; she drives me crazy, too.
“I want a thorough briefing when we have her back. Jack Hyde has been granted bail, and both Taylor and I have a hunch that Ana’s actions have something to do with him.”
“Shit!” Luke says.
“Exactly. We’re about five minutes away. Don’t let her go again, Sawyer.”
“Sir.”
I hang up.
Taylor and I sit in silence as I weave through tra
ffic.
What are you up to, Anastasia Grey?
What am I going to do to you when I get you back?
Various scenarios cross my mind. I shift in my seat.
For fuck’s sake, Grey. Now is not the time.
Taylor startles me. “She’s on the move.”
“What?” My heart jump-starts as adrenaline courses through my body.
“She’s heading south, on Second.”
“Call Sawyer!” I shout. Moments later, his cell rings again.
“Mr. Grey,” he answers immediately.
“She’s on the move!”
“What? She hasn’t come out through the main entrance.” He sounds confused.
“She’s heading south on Second,” Taylor interjects.
“I’m on it. I’ll call from the car.” Sawyer is obviously running. “She’s not in her car. It’s still here.”
“Hell!” I shout.
“Still heading south on Second,” Taylor says. “Wait. She’s turned left onto Yesler.”
We pass my bank. There’s no point stopping. “That’s three blocks?” I ask him.
“Yes, sir.”
For the billionth time I thank God Taylor’s with me. He knows this city like the back of his hand—which is odd, given he’s from some rural town in the middle of nowhere in Texas.
Three minutes later, we’re heading east on Yesler.
“She’s still on Yesler,” Taylor growls, eyes glued to his phone. “She’s turned south. Onto Twenty-Third. That’s eight blocks from here.”
“I’m right behind you,” Sawyer pipes up through the hands-free.
“Stay close. I’m going to try and dodge through this traffic.” I glance at Taylor. “I wish you were driving.”
“You’re doing fine, sir.”
Where the fuck is she going? And who with?
We’re silent for several minutes. I focus on the road, while Taylor occasionally calls out directions. We head south, then east again, now through mainly residential streets.
“She’s turned south down Thirtieth.”
We follow for a few blocks, then turn east.
“It’s stopped. South Day Street. Two more blocks.”
Dread sits heavy and caustic in my stomach as I race through the back streets.
Three minutes later, I swing onto South Day Street.
“Slow down,” Taylor orders, surprising me, but I do as he says. “She’s here somewhere.” He leans forward, and we scan each side of the road. There is a row of derelict buildings on my side.
“Fuck!” There’s a potholed parking lot where a woman is standing with her hands in the air beside a black Dodge. The Dodge! I wrench the wheel and swing into the parking lot, and there she is—
On the ground. Unmoving. Eyes closed.
Ana. My Ana… No! Everything moves in slow motion as all the air is sucked from my lungs. My worst fear realized. Here. Now.
Taylor is out of the car before I’ve screeched to a halt. I follow him, leaving the engine running.
“Ana!” I shout. Please, God. Please, God. Please, God.
She is lifeless on the concrete. In front of her, that fucker Hyde is rolling on the ground, screaming in agony as he clutches his upper leg. Blood seeps through his fingers. The woman steps back, keeping her hands in the air as Taylor draws his gun.
But it’s Ana who has my whole attention. She’s lying unmoving on the cold, hard ground.
No!
This is what I’ve dreaded since I met her. This moment. I kneel beside her, terrified to touch her. Taylor picks up the gun lying beside her and orders the woman to lie facedown on the ground. “Don’t shoot me, don’t shoot me,” she gibbers.
Shit! That’s Elizabeth Morgan, from SIP.
How the hell is she involved in this clusterfuck?
Sawyer is suddenly with us. He draws his gun on Elizabeth and stands guard over her.
Hyde screams in agony. “Help me! Help me! The bitch shot me!” We ignore him.
Taylor bends and checks the pulse point beneath Ana’s jaw.
“She’s alive. Strong pulse,” he says. Thank God. Then he barks at Sawyer, “Call 911 now. Ambulance and police.”
Sawyer reaches for his phone, while Taylor quickly and gently runs his hands over Ana, checking for injuries.
“I don’t think she’s bleeding.”
“Can I touch her?”
“She may have broken something. Best leave it to the paramedics.”
Oh no. My wife. My girl. My beautiful girl.
I stroke her hair and gently tuck a strand behind her ear. She looks like she’s asleep, though she has a red mark on her face. Did he fucking hit you? Did he do this to you?
Now my attention turns to Hyde, who’s still fucking screaming. A fresh shot of adrenaline-fueled rage streaks through my bloodstream.
The fucker. He put his hands on my wife, and she shot him.
My God, Ana shot him.
I stand and move so I tower over him as he writhes on the ground.
And before I know what I’m doing, I lean on the Dodge, draw back my leg, and kick him with all my might in his stomach, hard. Twice. Three times, with all my weight behind each kick.
He screams.
“You do this to my wife, you fucker?” I bellow my rage and kick him again. He drags his hands up to protect his stomach, and I stamp with all my weight on the seeping wound on his thigh. He screams again—a different, louder, feral cry of agony. Leaning down, I grab the lapels of his jacket and bounce his head off the ground. Once. Twice. His eyes are wide and wild with fear as he grips my hands, smearing his blood on me.
“I’m going to fucking kill you, you twisted, sick motherfucker!”
From the far end of the tunnel, I hear voices. “Mr. Grey! Mr. Grey! Christian! Christian, stop!” It’s Taylor. He and Sawyer are pulling me away—pulling me off the vermin that is Hyde. Taylor grabs me by both shoulders and shakes me.
“Christian! Stop! Now!” He shakes me once more.
I blink at him and shrug him off.
Don’t touch me!
Taylor puts himself between Hyde and me, watching me like I’m unhinged, lethal and ready to strike. I take a breath while the murderous red mist clears.
“I’m okay,” I whisper.
“Look after your wife, sir.” Taylor’s tone is emphatic.
I nod. And glance once more at the fucker on the ground. He’s rocking gently, sniveling like the weasel-turd he is and clutching his thigh. He’s pissed himself, disgusting fuck. “Let him bleed to death,” I mutter to Taylor, and turn away.
I kneel beside Ana and lean down to hear her breathing, but I hear nothing. Panic swamps me once more. “Is she still breathing?” I glance up at Taylor.
“Look at her chest, rising and falling.” Taylor leans down again and checks her pulse. “Still strong.”
Oh, Ana. What were you thinking? What about the baby?
Tears prick my eyes. I loathe this feeling of helplessness. I want to fold her into my arms and sob into her hair—but I can’t touch her. This is agony. Where is the fucking ambulance?
“The girl. The girl.” Elizabeth suddenly pipes up.
What girl? We all turn to look at her, prone on the ground.
“Inside,” she says. “There. That building.” She points with her chin.
Is this a trick?
I hear Taylor’s quiet command. “Sawyer, check inside.”
In the distance, sirens wail. Thank God!
“Taylor!” When I turn, Sawyer is standing in the doorway. “They have Miss Grey in here.”
“Stay here, Christian!” Taylor raises a finger in warning.
Mia? My baby sister? Fear blooms in my gut. What has that fucker done to my sister? I watch, paralyzed, as Taylor disappe
ars into the building, Sawyer regarding him from the doorway.
“It’s for you. For your family. Please. Don’t…”
And what Ana said all becomes clear. I stare down at her, and I know in this moment that she could have been murdered by the sick fuck. Bile rises in my throat, and time suspends, until Taylor emerges from the building. “She’s okay, I think. She’s drugged. Asleep. No obvious signs of injury or assault. She’s fully clothed. I don’t want to move her. We’ll let the paramedics do that.”
“Mia?” I ask, not quite believing the awfulness of this situation.
He nods. His mouth set in a grim line.
The sirens are louder.
What the fuck was Hyde planning to do to my sister? He’s still whimpering like a wounded dog, quieter now, and I suspect he’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t give a shit. I want to kill him, slowly, painfully—but two ambulances, two police patrol vehicles, and a fire truck pull up in blaze of flashing lights and a cacophony of sirens, shattering the peace of the neighborhood, and saving Hyde’s skin.
I’m in a waking nightmare, sitting between Mia and Ana in the ambulance as we speed through Seattle. My head is in my hands, my heart is in my mouth, as I pray for both of them. I’m not a religious man, but right now I’d do anything, even plead with God, to know that my wife, our baby, and my sister are okay.
“Vital signs are good, Mr. Grey, for both your wife and your sister,” the paramedic says, his dark eyes full of compassion.
“My wife’s pregnant.”
The paramedic looks down at Ana. “Sir, there are no obvious signs of bleeding.”
I pale, knowing that he’s trying to reassure me, but it’s not working. “Why is she still unconscious?” My voice is a whisper.
“The doctors should be able to determine that when we arrive.”
Mia stirs, mumbling incoherently. She’s coming around. It’s obvious she’s been drugged. But at least she’s calm. I grasp her hand and squeeze. “It’s okay, Mia. We’re here.”
She mumbles something, but still hasn’t opened her eyes, but she squeezes my hand in return and relaxes back into what I hope is sleep.
My sister, my wife, my unborn child. I should have killed Hyde when I had the chance. Impotent rage curdles in my stomach once more and I screw up my eyes, trying to dispel it. I want to weep. I want to howl to release this pain, but I can’t.
Hell. I’m wrung out. The last words I exchanged with Ana…