Fifty Shades Darker

are meant to be.

The cigarette end glows brightly in the darkness as he takes a deep pull. He blows the smoke out in a long exhale, finishing with two smoke rings that dissolve in front of him, pale and ghostly in the moonlight. He shifts in his seat, bored, and takes a quick shot of cheap bourbon from a bottle wrapped in shabby brown paper before resting it back between his thighs.

He can’t believe he’s still on the trail. His mouth twists in a sardonic sneer. The helicopter had been a rash and bold move. One of the most exhilarating things he’d ever done in his life. But to no avail. He rolls his eyes ironically. Who would have thought the son-of-a-bitch could actually fly the fucker?

He snorts.

They have underestimated him. If Grey thought for one minute he’d go whimpering quietly into the dusk, that prick didn’t know jack shit.

It had been the same all his life. People constantly underestimating him-just a man who reads books. Fuck that! A man with a photographic memory who reads books. Oh, the things he’s learned, the things he knows. He snorts again-Yeah, about you, Grey. The things I know about you.

Not bad for a kid from the gutter end of Detroit.

Not bad for the kid who won a scholarship to Princeton.

Not bad for the kid who worked his ass off through college and got into publishing.

And now all of that’s fucked, fucked because of Grey and his little bitch. He scowls at the house as if it represents everything he despises. But there’s nothing doing. The only drama had been the stacked, blond broad in black, teetering down the driveway in tears before she climbed into the white CLK and fucked off.

He chuckles mirthlessly, then winces. Fuck, his ribs. Still sore from the swift kicking Grey’s henchman delivered.

He replays the scene in his mind. “You fucking touch Miss Steele again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

That motherfucker will get it good, too. Yeah-get what’s coming to him.

He settles back in his seat. Looks like it’s going to be a long night. He’ll stay, watch, and wait. He takes another toke of his Marlboro red. His chance will come. His chance will come soon.

About the Author

E L James is a TV executive, wife, and mother of two, based in West London. Since early childhood, she dreamt of writing stories that readers would fall in love with, but put those dreams on hold to focus on her family and her career. She finally plucked up the courage to put pen to paper with her first novel, Fifty Shades of Grey.

E L James is currently working on the sequel to Fifty Shades Darker and a new romantic thriller with a supernatural twist.

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[1] Emily Dickinson, “I’m Nobody! Who are you?” first stanza.

[2] de Saint-Exupery, Antoine. Night Flight. Translated by Stuart Gilbert. New Jersey: Prentice Hall, June 1932. (First published in 1931 under the original title of Vol de nuit.)