Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

e-mail.

    From: Christian Grey
    Subject: Angry. You’ve not seen angry
    Date: August 26, 2011 00:42 EST
    To: Anastasia Grey
    Anastasia
Sawyer tells me that you are drinking cocktails in a bar when you said you wouldn’t.
Do you have any idea how mad I am at the moment?
I’ll see you tomorrow.
    Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
    My heart sinks. Oh shit! I really am in trouble. My subconscious glares at me, then shrugs, wearing her you-made-your-bed-you-lie-in-it face. What did I expect? I contemplate calling him, but it’s late and he’s probably asleep . . . or pacing. I decide a quick text may be enough.
    *I’M STILL IN ONE PIECE. I HAD A NICE TIME. MISSING YOU—PLEASE DON’T BE MAD*
    I gaze at my BlackBerry, willing him to respond, but it’s ominously silent. I sigh.
    Prescott pulls up outside Escala and Sawyer gets out to hold the door open for me. As we stand waiting for the elevator, I take the opportunity to quiz him.
    “What time did Christian call you?”
    Sawyer flushes. “About nine thirty, ma’am.”
    “Why didn’t you interrupt my conversation with Kate so I could speak with him?”
    “Mr. Grey told me not to.”
    I purse my lips. The elevator arrives, and we ride up in silence. I’m suddenly grateful that Christian has a whole night to recover from his snit-fit, and that he’s on the other side of the country. It gives me some time. On the other hand . . . I miss him.
    The doors to the elevator open, and for a split second I stare at the foyer table.
    What is wrong with this picture?
    The vase of flowers lies smashed into fragments all over the floor of the foyer, water and flowers and chunks of china are strewn everywhere, and the table is overturned. My scalp prickles and Sawyer grabs my arm and pulls me back into the elevator.
    “Stay there,” he hisses, drawing a gun. He steps into the foyer and disappears from my field of vision.
    I cower in the back of the elevator.
    “Luke!” I hear Ryan call from inside the great room. “Code blue!”
    Code blue ?
    “You have the perp?” Sawyer calls back. “Jesus H. Christ!”
    I flatten myself against the elevator wall. What the hell is going on? Adrenaline spikes through my body, and my heart leaps into my throat. I hear soft voices, and a moment later Sawyer reappears in the foyer, standing in the puddle of water. He holsters his gun.
    “You can come in, Mrs. Grey,” he says gently.
    “What’s happened, Luke?” My voice is barely a whisper.
    “We’ve had a visitor.” He takes my elbow, and I’m grateful for the support—my legs have turned to jelly. I walk with him through the open double doors.
    Ryan is standing at the entrance of the great room. A cut above his eye is bleeding, and there’s another on his mouth. He looks roughed up, his clothes disheveled. But what’s more shocking is Jack Hyde slumped at his feet.

My heart is pounding and blood thrums loudly in my eardrums; the alcohol flowing through my system, amplifying the sound.
    “Is he—” I gasp, unable to finish the sentence and gazing wide-eyed and terrified at Ryan. I can’t even look at the prone figure on the floor.
    “No, ma’am. Just knocked out cold.”
    Relief floods through me. Oh, thank God.
    “And you?” I ask, gazing at Ryan. I realize I don’t know his first name. He’s panting as if he’s run a marathon. He wipes the corner of his mouth, removing the trace of blood, and a faint bruise is forming on his cheek.
    “He put up one hell of a fight, but I’m okay, Mrs. Grey.” He smiles reassuringly. If I knew him better, I’d say he looked a little smug.
    “And Gail? Mrs. Jones?” Oh no . . . is she okay? Has she been harmed?
    “I’m here, Ana.” Glancing behind me, she’s in a nightdress and robe, her hair loose, her face ashen and her eyes wide—like mine, I imagine.
    “Ryan woke me. Insisted I come in here.” She points behind her into Taylor’s office. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”
    I nod briskly and realize she’s probably just come out of the panic room built adjoining Taylor’s office. Who knew we’d need it so soon? Christian had insisted on its installation shortly after our engagement—and I had rolled my eyes. Now, seeing Gail standing in the doorway, I’m grateful for his foresight.
    A creak from the door to the foyer distracts me. It’s hanging off its hinges. What the hell happened to that?
    “Was he alone?” I ask Ryan.
    “Yes, ma’am. You wouldn’t be standing here if he