Fifty Shades Freed

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, leaving 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 have 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.”

“Quiet,” she says, but I sense her unease.

“Does he have 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 takes a sharp left onto 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 have 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, lookee 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 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… save Mia.

“ANA!”

Darkness… peace.

23

There is only pain. My head, my chest… burning pain. My side, my arm. Pain. Pain and hushed words in the gloom. Where am I? Though I try, I cannot open my eyes. The whispered words become clearer… a beacon in the darkness.

“Her ribs are bruised, Mr. Grey, and she has a hairline fracture to her skull, but her vital signs are stable and strong.”

“Why is she still unconscious?”

“Mrs. Grey has had a major contusion to her head. But her brain activity is normal, and she has no cerebral swelling. She’ll wake when she’s ready. Just give her some time.”

“And the baby?” The words are anguished, breathless.

“The baby’s fine, Mr. Grey.”

“Oh, thank God.” The words are a litany… a prayer. “Oh, thank God.”

Oh my. He’s worried about the baby… the baby?… Little Blip. Of course. My Little Blip. I try in vain to move my hand to my belly. Nothing moves, nothing responds.

“And the baby?… Oh, thank God.”

Little Blip is safe.

“And the baby?… Oh, thank God.”

He cares about the baby.