Home > Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3)(123)

Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3)(123)
Author: E.L. James

   Editor, SIP

   Cursing and shouty capitals, too. Two can play at that game.

   From: Christian Grey

   Subject: Here’s the Thing…

   Date: August 26 2011 13:59

   To: Anastasia Grey

   As ever, Mrs. Grey, you are forthright and challenging in e-mail.

   Perhaps we can discuss this when you get home to OUR apartment.

   You should watch your language. I am still fucking pissed, too.

   Christian Grey

   CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

   Fuck it. I don’t want an e-mail fight with Ana. I storm out of my office and into the living area. My temper eases at the sight of the cold chicken salad that Mrs. Jones has prepared for my lunch.

   Maybe I’m so mad because I’m hungry.

   “Thanks,” I mumble.

   “I’m going to the Greek deli that Mrs. Grey likes, to pick up her favorite foods from there for this evening. She’ll just have to pop them in the oven or microwave to heat them up.”

   “Great,” I say, distracted. Why are Ana and I always fighting these days?

   “Mr. Grey—” Mrs. Jones is trying to get my attention.

   “Yes.”

   “Thank you for this evening. But I must say you look tired. Have you thought about taking a quick nap?”

   I frown. A nap? I’m not a child. “No.”

   “It’s just an idea.”

   “I’ll take it under advisement,” I mutter, and bring my salad into my office.

   Welch calls while I’m eating.

   “Welch.”

   “Interesting development in the Hyde case,” he rasps in his gruff voice. “Turns out Hyde’s van in the garage was kitted out with a mattress and enough ketamine to fell a Texas rodeo.”

   “Ketamine. Shit.” I was right!

   “Yes, sir. And syringes.”

   I grimace. I loathe syringes.

   Welch continues, “Looks like our boy will be charged with attempted kidnapping, first degree. They’ll probably throw in criminal trespass, robbery, and illegal possession of a firearm, too. Also, there was a note.”

   “Clark showed me the note.”

   “Mean anything to you?”

   “No. And Hyde left it in the van. Maybe he changed his mind about that, because it’s nonsensical.”

   “Maybe. He was delivering lights to one of the new tenants in the building,” Welch growls.

   “Delivering lights? What do you mean?”

   “Yes. He was working for a courier company. The client lives at apartment sixteen.”

   “Oh, yes. I’ve met him. Young guy. That’s how Hyde got access; he’s a wily bastard.”

   “That he is, sir,” Welch agrees. “One more thing. I’ve heard from King County PD and the FBI. The prints match.”

   “We have him!”

   “It looks like it.”

   “There must be a Detroit connection, but I’m damned if I know what it is,” I mutter.

   “I’ll keep digging,” Welch responds. “That’s it for now.”

   “Thanks for the update.”

   He hangs up, and I look at the remains of my lunch. My appetite has evaporated. What the hell did that evil motherfucker have planned for my wife? Kidnap. Rape. Murder. And he had syringes. Perhaps he was going to inject her with a filthy, dirty syringe. Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it down.

   Fuck.

   I have to get out of here and get some fresh air. Abandoning my lunch, I walk out through the living room and, ignoring Gail’s anxious look, take the elevator down to the main lobby. The photographers have gone, so I slip out the front entrance and walk. And walk. And walk.

   Life in the Emerald City goes on. People are going about their business; the streets are crowded, but I manage to weave my way through the throng.

   My poor wife.

   He could have killed her.

   If I ever get my hands on that evil, twisted asshole. I will end him.

   Once more I imagine all the ways I could do that.

   Shit.

   Grey, get a grip.

   I’m outside Nordstrom. Maybe I should buy something for Ana. Anything. I check that my wallet’s in my back pocket and head in. I’m in the scarf section. A silk scarf… Yeah. That works.

   I’m calmer when I get back to the apartment.

   “You didn’t like your lunch? Would you like something else?” Gail offers.

   “No, thanks. I think I’ll take your advice. I’m going to lie down. I’m exhausted.”

   Gail’s smile is sympathetic.

   Once in our bedroom, I take off my shoes, lie down, and close my eyes.

   Ana is laid out before me, naked. She holds out her arms. You can do anything you want to me. A punishment fuck. She’s in the harness. In the playroom. What will you do to me? I stand behind her, a cane in my hand. Whatever I want. She’s on the table. Facedown. She cannot move. She’s tied. I slap a paddle against my hand. Her buttocks clench in anticipation. She’s on her knees, her forehead pressed to the floor. Her hands tied behind her back. I want your mouth. Your cunt. Your ass. Your body. Your soul. She kneels before me. I’m yours. I will always be yours, husband of mine. Mine. Yours.

   I wake. Disoriented.

   I’m at home. It’s late afternoon, by the look of the light. I check the time; it’s 5:30. Ana won’t be home yet. I rub my face and walk into the bathroom, a plan hatching in my mind. I’m anticipating one hell of a fight. Ana says she’s pissed at me. In the closet I remove my shirt, replace it with a T-shirt, and change into my playroom jeans in readiness for her return. I tuck the new scarf into my pocket.

   Maybe we can both get what we want.

   In my office, I print out her e-mail and notice that she hasn’t sent me any messages since our last exchange. My wife does not back down from a challenge. This evening will be interesting.

   Gail is absent. As is Taylor. Idly, I wonder what they are doing.

   Ryan is in Taylor’s office; he stands when I enter. “Good evening, Mr. Grey.”

   “You can hang out upstairs. I’d like to give everyone the night off. We’ll call you if we need you.”

   He hesitates before agreeing. “Okay, sir.”

   And with that I wander back into the living room and over to the piano to await my wife’s return.

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