Chapter Twenty-two
“Jack.” My voice has disappeared, choked by fear. What does he want?
How is he out of jail? Why does he ha一ve Mia’s phone? The blood drains from
my face, and I feel dizzy.
“You do remember me,” he says, his tone soft. I sense his bitter smile.
“Yes. Of course.” My answer is automatic as my mind races.
“You’re probably wondering why I called you.”
“Yes.”
Hang up.
“Don’t hang up. I’ve been ha一ving a chat with your little sister-inlaw.”
What? Mia! No! “What ha一ve you done?” I whisper, trying to quell my fear.
“Listen here, you prick-teasing, gold-digging whore. You fucked up my life.
Grey fucked up my life. You owe me. I ha一ve the little bitch with me now. And
you, that cock-sucker you married, and his whole fucking family are going to
pay.”
Hyde’s contempt and bile shock me. His family? What the hell?
“What do you want?”
“I want his money. I really want his fucking money. If things had been different,
it could ha一ve been me. So you’re going to get it for me. I want five million
dollars, today.”
“Jack, I don’t ha一ve access to that kind of money.”
He snorts his derision. “You ha一ve two hours to get it. That’s it—two hours. Tell
no one or this little bitch gets it. Not the cops. Not your prick of a husband.
Not his security team. I will know if you do. Understand?” He pauses and I try
to respond, but my panic and fear seal my throat.
“You understand!” he shouts.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Or I will kill her.”
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I gasp.
“Keep your phone with you. Tell no one or I’ll fuck her up before I kill her. You
ha一ve two hours.”
“Jack, I need longer. Three hours. How do I know that you ha一ve her?”
The line goes dead. I gape in horror at the phone my mouth parched with
fear, lea一ving the nasty metallic taste of terror. Mia , he has Mia. Or does he?
My mind whirrs at the obscene possibility, and my stomach roils again. I think
I’m going to be sick, but I inhale deeply, trying to steady my panic, and the
nausea passes. My mind rockets through the possibilities. Tell Christian?
Tell Taylor? Call the police? How will Jack know? Does he actually ha一ve
Mia? I need time, time to think—but I can only accomplish that by following
his instructions. I grab my purse and head for the door.
“Hannah, I ha一ve to go out. I am not sure how long I’ll be. Cancel my
appointments this afternoon. Let Elizabeth know I ha一ve to deal with an
emergency.”
“Sure, Ana. Everything okay?” Hannah frowns, concern etched on her face as
she watches me flee.
“Yes,” I call back distractedly, hurrying toward reception where Sawyer is
waiting.
“Sawyer.” He leaps up from the armchair at the sound of my voice, and
frowns when he sees my face.
“I’m not feeling well. Please take me home.”
“Sure, ma’am. Do you want to wait here while I get the car?”
“No, I’ll come with you. I’m in a hurry to get home.”
I gaze out the window in stark terror, running through my plan. Get home.
Change. Find checkbook. Escape from Ryan and Sawyer somehow. Go to
bank. Hell, how much room does five million dollars take up? What will it
weigh? Will I need a suitcase? Should I telephone the bank in advance? Mia.
Mia. What if he doesn’t ha一ve Mia? How can I check? If I call Grace it will
raise her suspicions, and possibly endanger Mia. He said he would know. I
glance out the back of the SUV. Am I being followed? My heart races as I
examine the cars following us. They look innocuous enough. Oh, Sawyer,
drive faster. 414 | P a g e
E L JAMES
Please. My eyes flicker to meet his in the rearview mirror and his brow
creases.
Sawyer presses a button on his Bluetooth headset to answer a call.
“T . . . I wanted to let you know Mrs. Grey is with me.” Sawyer’s eyes meet
mine once more before he looks back at the road and continues.
“She’s unwell. I’m taking her back to Escala . . . I see . . . sir.”
Sawyer’s eyes flick from the road to mine in the rearview mirror again.
“Yes,” he agrees, and hangs up.
“Taylor?” I whisper.
He nods.
“He’s with Mr. Grey?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sawyer’s look softens in sympathy.
“Are they still in Portland?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Good. I ha一ve to keep Christian safe. My hand strays down to my belly, and I
rub it consciously. And you, Little Blip. Keep you both safe.
“Can we hurry please? I’m not feeling well.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sawyer presses the accelerator and our car glides through the
traffic.
Mrs. Jones is nowhere to be seen when Sawyer and I arrive at the
apartment. Since her car is missing from the garage, I assume she’s running
errands with Ryan. Sawyer heads for Taylor’s office while I bolt to Christian’s
study. Scuttling in panic around his desk, I wrench open the drawer to find the
checkbooks. Leila’s gun slides forward into view. I feel an incongruous
twinge of annoyance that Christian has not secured this weapon. He knows
nothing about guns—jeez, he could get hurt.
After a moment’s hesitation, I grab the pistol, check to ensure it’s loaded,
and tuck it into the waistband of my black slacks. I may need it. I swallow
hard. I’ve only ever practiced on targets. I’ve never fired a gun at anyone; I
hope Ray will forgive me . I turn my attention to tracking down the right
checkbook. There are five, and only one is in the names of C. Grey and Mrs.
A. Grey. I ha一ve about fifty-four thousand dollars in my own account. I ha一ve no
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is in this one. But Christian must be good for five million dollars, surely.
Perhaps there’s money in the safe? Crap. I ha一ve no idea of the number.
Didn’t he mention the combination was it his filing cabinet? I try the cabinet,
but it’s locked. Shit. I’ll ha一ve to stick to plan A. I take a deep breath and, in a
more composed but determined manner, stride to our bedroom. The bed
has been made, and for a moment, I feel a pang. Perhaps I should ha一ve slept
here last night. What is the point of arguing with someone who, by their own
admission, is fifty shades? He’s not even talking to me now. No—I do not
ha一ve time to think about this.
Quickly, I change out of my slacks, pulling on jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and
a pair of sneakers and put the gun in the waistband of my jeans, at my back.
From the closet I fish out a large soft duffle bag. Will five million dollars fit into
this? Christian’s gym bag is lying there on the floor. I open it, expecting to
find it full of dirty laundry, but no—
his gym kit is clean and fresh. Mrs. Jones does indeed get everywhere. I
dump the contents onto the floor and stuff his gym bag into my duffle. There,
that should do it. I check that I ha一ve my driver’s license as identification for
the bank and check the time. It’s been thirty-one minutes since Jack called.
Now I just ha一ve to get out of Escala without Sawyer seeing me.
I make my way slowly and quietly to the foyer, aware of the CCTV
camera which is trained on the elevator. I think Sawyer’s still in Taylor’s
office. Cautiously, I open the foyer door, making as little noise as possible.
Shutting it quietly behind me, I stand on the very threshold, up against the
door, out of the view of the CCTV lens. I fish my cell phone out of my purse
and call Sawyer.
“Mrs. Grey.”
“Sawyer, I’m in the room upstairs, will you give me a hand with something?” I
keep my voice low, knowing he’s just down the hallway on the other side of
this door.
“I’ll be right with you, ma’am,” he says, and I hear his confusion. I’ve never
telephoned him for help before. My heart is in my throat, pounding in a
jarring, frenetic rhythm. Will this work? I hang up and listen as his footsteps
cross the hallway and go up the stairs. I take another deep steadying breath
and briefly contemplate the irony of escaping from my own home like a felon.
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Once Sawyer’s reached the upstairs landing, I race to the elevator and punch
the call button. The doors slide open with the too-loud ping that announces
the elevator is ready. I dash inside and frantically stab the button for the
basement garage. After an agonizing pause, the doors slowly start to slide
shut, and as they do I hear Sawyer’s cries.
“Mrs. Grey!” Just as the elevator doors close, I see him skid into the foyer.
“Ana!” he shouts in disbelief. But he’s too late, and he disappears from view.
The elevator sinks smoothly down to the garage level. I ha一ve a couple of
minutes’ start on Sawyer, and I know he’ll try to stop me. I glance longingly at
my R8 as I rush to the Saab, open the door, toss the duffel bag onto the
passenger seat, and slide into the driver’s seat. I start the Saab, and the tires
squeal as I race to the entrance and wait eleven agonizing seconds for the
barrier to lift. The instant it’s clear I drive out, catching sight of Sawyer in my
rearview mirror as he dashes out of service elevator into the garage. His
bewildered, injured expression haunts me as I turn off the ramp onto Fourth
Avenue. I let out my long held breath. I know Sawyer will call Christian or
Taylor, but I’ll deal with that when I ha一ve to—I don’t ha一ve time to dwell on it
now. I squirm uncomfortably in my seat, knowing in my heart of hearts that
Sawyer’s probably lost his job. Don’t dwell. I ha一ve to sa一ve Mia. I ha一ve to get
to the bank and collect five million dollars. I glance in the rearview mirror,
nervously anticipating the sight of the SUV bursting forth from the garage, but
as I drive away, there’s no sign of Sawyer.
The bank is sleek, modern, and understated. There are hushed tones,
echoing floors, and pale green etched glass everywhere. I stride to the
information desk.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” The young woman gives me a bright, insincere
smile, and for a moment I regret changing into jeans.
“I’d like to withdraw a large sum of money.”
Ms. Insincere Smile arches an even more insincere eyebrow.
“You ha一ve an account with us?” She fails to hide her sarcasm.
“Yes,” I snap. “My husband and I ha一ve several accounts here. His name is
Christian Grey.”
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Her eyes widen fractionally and insincerity gives way to shock. Her eyes
sweep up and down me once more, this time with a combination of disbelief
and awe.
“This way, ma’am,” she whispers, and leads me to a small, sparsely
furnished office walled with more green-etched glass.
“Please take a seat.” She gestures to a black leather chair by a glass desk
bearing a state-of-the-art computer and phone. “How much will you be
withdrawing today, Mrs. Grey?” she asks pleasantly.
“Five million dollars.” I look her straight in the eye as if I ask for this amount of
cash every day.
She blanches. “I see. I’ll fetch the manager. Oh, forgive me for asking, but do
you ha一ve ID?”
“I do. But I’d like to speak to the manager.”
“Of course, Mrs. Grey.” She scurries out. I sink into the seat, and a wa一ve of
nausea washes over me as the gun presses uncomfortably into the small of
my back . Not now. I can’t be sick now. I take a deep cleansing breath, and
the wa一ve passes. Nervously, I check my watch. Twenty-five past two.
A middle-aged man enters the room. He has a receding hairline, but wears a
sharp, expensive charcoal suit and matching tie. He holds out his hand.
“Mrs. Grey. I’m Troy Whelan.” He smiles, we shake, and he sits down at the
desk opposite me.
“My colleague tells me you’d like to withdraw a large amount of money.”
“That’s correct. Five million dollars.”
He turns to his sleek computer and taps in a few numbers.
“We normally ask for some notice for large amounts of money.” He pauses,
and flashes me a reassuring but supercilious smile.
“Fortunately, however, we hold the cash reserve for the entire Pacific
Northwest,” he boasts. Jeez, is he trying to impress me?
“Mr. Whelan, I’m in a hurry. What do I need to do? I ha一ve my driver’s license,
and our joint account checkbook. Do I just write a check?”
“First things first, Mrs. Grey. May I see the ID?” He switches from jovial showoff
to serious banker.
“Here.” I hand over my license.
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“Mrs. Grey . . . this says Anastasia Steele.”
Oh shit.
“Oh . . . yes. Um.”
“I’ll call Mr. Grey.”
“Oh no, that won’t be necessary.” Shit! “I must ha一ve something with my
married name.” I rifle through my purse. What do I ha一ve with my name on it? I
pull out my wallet, open it and find a photograph of Christian and me, on the
bed in Fair Lady’s cabin. I can’t show him that! I dig out my black Amex.
“Here.”
“Mrs. Anastasia Grey,” Whelan reads. “Yes, that should do.” He frowns. “This
is highly irregular, Mrs. Grey.
“Do you want me to let my husband know that your bank has been less than
cooperative?” I square my shoulders and give him my most forbidding stare.
He pauses, momentarily reassessing me, I think. “You’ll need to write a
check, Mrs. Grey.”
“Sure. This account?” I show him my checkbook, trying to quell my pounding
heart
“That’ll be fine. I’ll also need you to complete some additional paperwork. If
you’ll excuse me for a moment?”
I nod, and he rises and stalks out of the office. Again, I release my held
breath. I had no idea this would be so difficult. Clumsily, I open my
checkbook and pull a pen out of my purse. Do I just make it out to cash? I
ha一ve no idea. With shaking fingers I write: Five million dollars.
$5,000,000.
Oh God, I hope I’m doing the right thing. Mia, think of Mia. I can’t tell
anyone.
Jack’s chilling, repugnant words haunt me. “Tell no one or I’ll fuck her up
before I kill her.”
Mr. Whelan returns, pale-faced and sheepish.
“Mrs. Grey? Your husband wants to speak with you,” he murmurs and points
to the phone on the glass table between us. What? No.
“He’s on line one. Just press the button. I’ll be outside.” He has the grace to
look embarrassed. Benedict Arnold has nothing on Whelan. I scowl at him,
feeling the blood drain from my face again as he shuffles 419 | P a g e
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out of the office.
Shit! Shit! Shit! What am I going to say to Christian? He’ll know. He’ll
intervene. He’s a danger to his sister. My hand trembles as I reach for the
phone. I hold it against my ear, trying to calm my erratic breathing, and press
the button for line one.
“Hi,” I murmur, trying in vain to steady my nerves.
“You’re lea一ving me?” Christian’s words are an agonized, breathless whisper.
What?
“No!” My voice mirrors his. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no—how can he think that?
The money? He thinks I’m going because of the money?
And in moment of horrific clarity, I realize the only way I’m going to keep
Christian at arm’s length, out of harm’s way, and to sa一ve his sister . . . is to
lie.
“Yes,” I whisper. And searing pain lances through me, tears springing to my
eyes.
He gasps, almost a sob. “Ana, I—” He chokes.
No! My hand clutches my mouth as I stifle my warring emotions.
“Christian, please. Don’t.” I fight back tears.
“You’re going?” he says.
“Yes.”
“But why the cash? Was it always the money?” His tortured voice is barely
audible.
No! Tears roll down my face. “No,” I whisper.
“Is five million enough?”
Oh please, stop!
“Yes.”
“And the baby?” His voice is a breathless echo.
What? My hand moves from my mouth to my belly. “I’ll take care of the baby,”
I murmur. My Little Blip . . . our Little Blip.
“This is what you want?”
No!
“Yes.”
He inhales sharply. “Take it all,” he hisses.
“Christian,” I sob. “It’s for you. For your family. Please. Don’t.”
“Take it all, Anastasia.”
“Christian—” And I nearly ca一ve. Nearly tell him—about Jack, about 420 | P a
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Mia, about the ransom. Just trust me, please! I silently beg him.
“I’ll always love you.” His voice is hoarse. He hangs up.
“Christian! No . . . I love you, too.” And all the stupid shit that we put each
other through over the last few days fades into insignificance. I promised I’d
never lea一ve him. I am not lea一ving you. I am sa一ving your sister. I slump into the
chair, weeping copiously into my hands. I am interrupted by a timid knock on
the door. Whelan enters, though I ha一ven’t acknowledged him. He looks
everywhere but at me. He’s mortified.
You called him, you bastard! I glare at him.
“You ha一ve carte blanche, Mrs. Grey,” he says. “Mr. Grey has agreed to liquefy
some of his assets. He says you can ha一ve whatever you need.”
“I just need five million dollars,” I mutter through gritted teeth.
“Yes ma’am. Are you all right?”
“Do I look all right?” I snap.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Some water?”
I nod, sullenly. I ha一ve just left my husband. Well, Christian thinks I ha一ve. My
subconscious purses her lips. Because you told him so. But I don’t want to
lea一ve him. I love him.
“I’ll ha一ve my colleague bring you some while I prepare the money. If you could
just sign here, ma’am . . . and make the check out to cash and sign that, too.”
He places a form on the table. I scrawl my signature along the dotted line of
the check, then the form. Anastasia Grey. Teardrops fall on the desk,
narrowly missing the paperwork.
“I’ll take those, ma’am. It will take us about half an hour to prepare the
money.”
I quickly check my watch. Jack said two hours—that should take us to two
hours. I nod to Whelan, and he tiptoes out of the office, lea一ving me to my
misery.
A few moments, minutes, hours later—I don’t know—Miss Insincere Smile
reenters with a carafe of water and a glass.
“Mrs. Grey,” she says softly as she places the glass on the desk and fills it.
“Thank you.” I take the glass and drink gratefully. She exits, lea一ving me with
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Christian somehow . . . if it’s not too late. At least he’s out of the picture.
Right now I ha一ve to concentrate on Mia. Suppose Jack is lying?
Suppose he doesn’t ha一ve her? Surely I should call the police.
“Tell no one or I’ll fuck her up before I kill her.” I can’t. I sit back in the chair,
feeling the reassuring presence of Leila’s pistol at my waist, digging into my
back. Who would ha一ve thought I’d ever feel grateful that Leila once pulled a
gun on me? Oh, Ray, I’m so glad you taught me how to shoot.
Ray! I gasp. He’ll be expecting me to visit this evening. Perhaps I can simply
dump the money with Jack. He can run while I take Mia home. Oh, this
sounds absurd!
My BlackBerry jumps to life, “Your Love is King” filling the room. Oh no! What
does Christian want? To twist the knife in my wounds?
“Was it always the money?”
Oh, Christian—how could you think that? Anger flares in my gut. Yes, anger. It
helps. I send the call to voice mail. I’ll deal with my husband later.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Mrs. Grey.” It’s Whelan. “The money is ready.”
“Thank you.” I stand up and the room spins momentarily. I clutch the chair.
“Mrs. Grey, are you feeling okay?”
I nod and give him a back-off-now-mister stare. I take another deep calming
breath. I ha一ve to do this. I ha一ve to do this. I must sa一ve Mia. I pull the hem of
my hooded sweatshirt down, concealing the butt of the pistol in the back of
my jeans.
Mr. Whelan frowns but holds open the door, and I propel myself forward on
my shaking limbs.
Sawyer is waiting at the entrance, scanning the public area. Shit!
Our eyes meet, and he frowns at me, gauging my reaction. Oh, he’s mad. I
hold up my index finger in a with-you-in-a-minute gesture. He nods and
answers a call on his cell phone. Shit! I bet that’s Christian. I turn abruptly,
almost colliding with Whelan right behind me, and bolt back into the little
office.
“Mrs. Grey?” Whelan sounds confused as he follows me back in. Sawyer
could blow this whole plan. I gaze up at Whelan.
“There’s someone out there I don’t want to see. Someone following 422 | P a
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me.”
Whelan’s eyes widen.
“Do you want me to call the police?”
“No!” Holy fuck, no. What am I going to do? I glance at my watch. It’s nearly
three fifteen. Jack will call any moment. Think, Ana, think!
Whelan gazes at me in growing desperation and bewilderment. He must
think I’m crazy. You are crazy, my subconscious snaps.
“I need to make a call. Could you give me some privacy, please?”
“Certainly,” Whelan answers—grateful, I think, to lea一ve the room. When he’s
closed the door, I call Mia’s cell phone with trembling fingers.
“Well, if it isn’t my paycheck,” Jack answers scornfully. I don’t ha一ve time for
his bullshit. “I ha一ve a problem.”
“I know. Your security followed you to the bank.”
What? How the hell does he know?
“You’ll ha一ve to lose him. I ha一ve a car waiting at the back of the bank. Black
SUV, a Dodge. You ha一ve three minutes to get there.” The Dodge!
“It may take longer than three minutes.” My heart leaps into my throat once
more.
“You’re bright for a gold-digging whore, Grey. You figure it out. And dump
your cell phone once you reach the vehicle. Got it, bitch?”
“Yes.”
“Say it!” he snaps.
“I’ve got it.”
He hangs up.
Shit! I open the door to find Whelan waiting patiently outside.
“Mr. Whelan, I’ll need some help taking the bags to my car. It’s parked
outside, at the back of the bank. Do you ha一ve an exit at the rear?”
He frowns.
“We do, yes. For staff.”
“Can we lea一ve that way? I can a一void the unwelcome attention at the door.”
“As you wish, Mrs. Grey. I’ll ha一ve two clerks help with the bags and two
security guards to supervise. If you could follow me?”
“I ha一ve one more fa一vor to ask you.”
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“By all means, Mrs. Grey.”
Two minutes later my entourage and I are out on the street, heading over to
the Dodge. Its windows are blacked out, and I can’t tell who’s at the wheel.
But as we approach, the driver’s door swings open, and a woman clad in
black with a black cap pulled low over her face climbs gracefully out of the
car. Elizabeth! She moves to the rear of the SUV
and opens the trunk. The two young bank clerks carrying the money sling the
hea一vy bags into the back.
“Mrs. Grey.” She has the nerve to smile as if we are off on a friendly jaunt.
“Elizabeth.” My greeting is arctic. “Nice to see you outside work.”
Mr. Whelan clears this throat.
“Well, it’s been an interesting afternoon, Mrs. Grey,” he says. And I am forced
to observe the social niceties of shaking his hand and thanking him while my
mind reels. Elizabeth? What the hell? Why is she mixed up with Jack?
Whelan and his team disappear back into the bank, lea一ving me alone with
the head of personnel at SIP who’s involved in kidnapping, extortion, and
very possibly other felonies. Why?
Elizabeth opens the rear passenger door and ushers me in.
“Your phone, Mrs. Grey?” she asks, watching me warily. I hand it to her, and
she tosses it into a nearby trashcan.
“That will throw the dogs off the scent,” she says smugly. Who is this woman?
Elizabeth slams my door shut and climbs into the driver’s seat. I glance
anxiously behind me as she pulls out into the traffic, going east. Sawyer is
nowhere to be seen.
“Elizabeth, you ha一ve the money. Call Jack. Tell him to let Mia go.”
“I think he wants to thank you in person.”
Shit! I glare at her stonily in the rearview mirror. She pales and an anxious
scowl mars her otherwise lovely face.
“Why are you doing this, Elizabeth? I thought you didn’t like Jack.”
She glances at me again briefly in the mirror, and I see a fleeting look of pain
in her eyes.
“Ana, we’ll get along just fine if you keep your mouth shut.”
“But you can’t do this. This is so wrong.”
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“Quiet,” she says, but I sense her unease.
“Does he ha一ve some kind of hold on you?” I ask. Her eyes shoot to mine and
she slams on the brakes, throwing me forward so hard I hit my face against
the headrest of the front seat.
“I said be quiet,” she snarls. “And I suggest you put on your seatbelt.”
And in that moment I know that he does. Something so awful that she’s
prepared to do this for him. I wonder briefly what that could be. Theft from the
company? Something from her private life? Something sexual? I shudder at
the thought. Christian said that none of Jack’s PAs would talk. Perhaps it’s
the same story with all of them. That’s why he wanted to fuck me, too. Bile
rises in my throat with revulsion at the thought.
Elizabeth heads away from downtown Seattle and up into the hills to the east.
Before long we’re driving through residential streets. I catch sight of one of
the street signs: SOUTH IRVING STREET. She turns sharp left at a junction
into a deserted street with a dilapidated children’s playground on one side
and a large concrete parking lot flanked by a row of squat, empty brick
buildings on the other. Elizabeth pulls into the parking lot and stops outside
the last of the brick units. She turns to me. “Showtime,” she murmurs. My
scalp prickles as fear and adrenaline course through my body.
“You don’t ha一ve to do this,” I whisper back. Her mouth flattens into a grim line,
and she climbs out of the car . This is for Mia. This is for Mia. I quickly pray,
Please let her be okay, please let her be okay.
“Get out,” Elizabeth snaps, yanking the rear passenger door open. Shit.
As I clamber out, my legs are shaking so hard I wonder if I can stand. The
cool late-afternoon breeze carries the scent of the coming fall and the chalky,
dusty smell of derelict buildings.
“Well, lookie here.” Jack emerges from a small, boarded-up doorway on the
left of the building. His hair is short. He’s removed his earrings and he’s
wearing a suit. A suit? He ambles toward me, oozing arrogance and hate.
My heart rate spikes.
“Where’s Mia?” I stammer, my mouth so dry I can hardly form the words.
“First things first, bitch,” Jack sneers, coming to a halt in front of 425 | P a g e
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me. I can practically taste his contempt. “The money?”
Elizabeth is checking the bags in the trunk.
“There’s a hell of a lot of cash here,” she says in awe, zipping and unzipping
each bag.
“And her cell?”
“In the trash.”
“Good,” Jack snarls, and from nowhere he lashes out, backhanding me hard
across the face. The ferocious, unprovoked blow knocks me to the ground,
and my head bounces with a sickening thud off the concrete. Pain explodes
in my head, my eyes fill with tears, and my vision blurs as the shock of the
impact resonates, unleashing agony that pulses through my skull.
I scream a silent cry of suffering and shocked terror. Oh no— Little Blip. Jack
follows through with a swift, vicious kick to my ribs, and my breath is blasted
from my lungs by the force of the blow. Scrunching my eyes tightly, I try to fight
the nausea and pain, to fight for a precious breath. Little Blip, Little Blip, oh
my Little Blip—
“That’s for SIP, you fucking bitch!” Jack screams.
I pull my legs up, huddling into a ball and anticipating the next blow. No. No.
No.
“Jack!” Elizabeth screeches. “Not here. Not in broad daylight for fuck’s
sake!”
He pauses.
“The bitch deserves it!” he gloats to Elizabeth. And it gives me one precious
second to reach around and pull the gun from the waistband of my jeans.
Shakily, I aim at him, squeeze the trigger, and fire. The bullet hits him just
above the knee, and he collapses in front of me, crying out in agony,
clutching his thigh as his fingers redden with his blood.
“Fuck! ” Jack bellows. I turn to face Elizabeth, and she’s gaping at me in
horror and raising her hands above her head. She blurs . . . darkness closes
in. Shit . . . She’s at the end of a tunnel. Darkness consuming her.
Consuming me. From far away, all hell breaks loose. Cars screeching . . .
brakes . . . doors . . . shouting . . . running . . . footsteps. The gun drops from
my hand.
“Ana! ” Christian’s voice . . . Christian’s voice . . . Christian’s agonized voice.
Mia . . . sa一ve Mia.
“ANA!”
426 | P a g e
E L JAMES
Darkness . . . peace.
427 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed