Here it is, Folks. The final chapter of Book II. Enjoy!
I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.
His lips and tongue are hot on my core, licking and probing, rubbing me into sweat abandon. God, it seems like it’s been forever, though I know it’s only been a few days. I have been relieved of my panties and sleep shorts and my night shirt is unbuttoned to expose my body. My thighs are on his shoulders and his arms are around my hips so that his hands reach up and torture my aching, hungry nipples. His face is buried deep, deep into my valley so that when I look down, I can only see his copper locks moving sensually between my thighs.
“Christian, please!” He’s tormenting me, sucking deeply on my tender, pulsing clit in a manner that causes pleasure and pain—sucking so deeply that I want to grind into his mouth and pull away from him at the same time.
“Christian!” I cry out, my hands thrusting into his hair, trying to make him stop—give me a reprieve, let me breathe, please! The pain and the pleasure are both intense and he won’t stop. No matter how much I plead, he goes on and on, sucking and rubbing and grinding until…
“Aaaaaaaahhhaaaahhaaaaaaaaaaaa Gooooooooooooooooodddd!” My chest is pumping and my shoulders are shaking. I’m making crying sounds, but no tears are falling. He groans and I can actually feel my clit harden against his tongue. He clamps down harder on my clit as if he could and the explosion is ginormous! My hips are on fire and I’m trembling from head to toe. He continues to suck my clit and torture my nipples until he is sure that I have ridden out every wave of my orgasm, although my walls as still pulsing uncontrollably.
Having already divested himself of his boxers, he climbs on top of me and let my feet fall on his thighs, my legs still open and welcoming him. He positions himself at my opening and only allows the head to breach its walls. Secure in the fact that he won’t slip out, he slides his hands under my arms and shoulders again and rests his weight on me so that he is looking right into my eyes. Without taking his eyes off of me, he slides slowly and deeply into me. I gasp at the fullness and he trembles.
“God, your muscles are still quivering,” he says, his voice thick with desire. He pulls out slowly and deliciously slides back into me so that the only part of him moving is his hips. His body rubs delectably against mine and causes me to shiver in the closeness. He groans deep with his next stroke and I open my mouth and breath deeply, absorbing the intensity of our closeness. I’m sure that I won’t come again after that cosmic orgasm he just gave me, but the closeness is overwhelming and strong, and as I take another breath, he thrusts his tongue into my mouth and kisses me… deep… hot… passionate…
Mmmm. I taste good on his tongue. I want more.
I grab his hair and press his mouth harder against mine, tasting my juices in every crevice. He moans deep in his chest and deepens his stroke. Fuck, this is so hot. He bites my lip and I release my grip and my kiss, panting with satisfaction.
“Baby… fuck, Baby, you’re so hot.” He’s grinding into me again and again, fighting not to come. He groans and shakes with every other stroke, telling me how soft, warm and tight I am. He’s making hot, tortured sex faces and it’s turning me on to know what he’s feeling. I clench my muscles around him as he pushes into me. The pressure is delicious.
“Oh, fuck, Baby,” he groans as he grinds and thrusts into me again and again. I feel him shaking and sweating, in that way that he does when he hasn’t come for a while. He’s stressed. He needs to release.
“Come for me, Baby,” I whisper into his ear. He groans loudly.
“Uuuugh! No. Too good… it feels too good… I don’t… want it do end yet,” he pants.
“I’m yours,” I breathe. “You can have me all night… over and over again.” He moves with long controlled strokes, drawing out his pleasure and groaning deep in his chest with the pleasure of every long, slow grind. He’s pushing me again—his body adulating against mine; his breath on my neck; his tortured sex groans in my ear; his hands cupped under my arms, but over my shoulders, pulling me down harder on his sex with every slow thrust; the occasional kiss wherever his lips fall… I’m rising, slowly, but oh, so intensely.
“Christian,” I moan, unable to orate the pleasure I feel with him pinning me to the bed with his body, rubbing against me everywhere. I raise my feet from his thighs right at the moment he’s thrusting in. The penetration is deep… so deep…
“Ffffffffffuuuuuck!” he exclaims as he stills and grinds deeper into me. The pleasure is blinding! His pelvis is stimulating me intensely and I don’t want him to stop, but I know his orgasm will wane soon.
Or so I thought.
That wasn’t his orgasm. That was him stopping himself from coming. Fuck, he’s still hard as a rock and he’s starting to move again. This stimulation is agony. I raise my legs high and lock my ankles behind his back. He groans another expletive as his thrusts quicken a bit. I’m so hot and wet that I can hear the splashing and slapping of the meeting of our sex. It’s so fucking hot—mentally and physically!
Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck!
“Christian!” I cry as I feel my orgasm begin to burn deep and my muscles clench.
“Yes! Oh, yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes…” He grinds deep into me, his hands now gripping the bed on either side of my head and he clings to it for leverage. A few more strokes and my orgasm strikes with force and intensity, causing all of my muscles to lock around him as I cry out in pleasure, including my fingers in his hair. His knees bend on the bed and he begins to pound into me, still gripping the sheets on either side of my head. I’m weak and tingling, still pulsing everywhere from my orgasm when his climax begins.
“Aah! Ah, shit! Aah! Aah! Aaaahhh! Uuuuuggghhhh! Aaaaahhhh!” With each long groan, he grinds into me—back and forth, or in a circle. I’m still pulsing so hard that the aftershocks send me into what I think is another orgasm. If it wasn’t, those were the most intense aftershocks I’ve ever felt. He is wheezing and out of breath, lying on my shoulder and I can’t even think straight. His full weight is pressing down on me as I drift off to sleep.
I wake up in my own bed in my condo and the sun is shining in my face. For a moment, I swear that I dreamed last night—except that my clit and pussy are still deliciously sore, and there’s a heavy ass arm around me and heavy breathing on my neck. I just lay here, because it seems so long since I’ve felt this that I don’t want it to end. It’s only been two days, but when you know something’s not right, it feels so much longer. I let his warmth cocoon me for several minutes and when it feels like I’m just about to slip back off to sleep…
“I saw you on the Hello Magazine website. You looked so beautiful… and so unhappy. No one else would have known because your smile is so vibrant—until that asshole asked you about the prenup. You looked absolutely edible in that dress, Baby, but I knew. You were hiding something deep down and I knew. I had to get to you… I had to see you…” I sigh.
“I hadn’t seen you for two days, Christian. We had a lovely night on Monday and when I woke on Tuesday, you were gone. I brought you something to eat and saw you for about three minutes, during which time you told me not to come to Grey House. Then, I didn’t see you Tuesday night or Wednesday morning, and I didn’t expect to see you last night. So I felt like you left early and stayed late, so I couldn’t see you at home. Then you told me to stay away from Grey House, so I couldn’t see you at work. I felt like shit, Christian, and I just wanted to feel like myself again, whatever that meant.”
“Is that why you went shopping?” he asks.
“No, I went shopping because nothing fits me but my maxi-dresses. That’s why I wore the dress. It made me feel… pretty.”
“Pretty?” he asks, surprised. “Butterfly, dresses don’t make you pretty. You’re already very beautiful.”
“But my husband wasn’t there to tell me that,” I say, and I can feel his energy change. “So, I wanted to look in the mirror and see someone pretty.” I won’t tell him about the “Ana Steele” part. I think I should keep that one to myself.
“Well, it worked,” he says, “because that dress was hot!” He rolls me over onto my back and looks down at me. “But it couldn’t hide the fact that you were unhappy. Even the tabloids said that you were hot, but you looked ‘off’ and they blamed it on the stress of the trial. I knew better.” I look away.
“It’s just that… we’ve always been so close, and then it seems you were shutting me out. I didn’t know what to do or how to feel.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t shutting you out, but I do have a lot on my plate right now. And it really is a lot, so that means that I’ll be leaving early and staying late. I promise that I’ll try to keep the nights as short as possible, but you have to let me do this. This is my life’s work and you have to let me take care of it.” Of course, I do.
“Okay,” I say without another word. I just have to prepare myself for a few lonely nights and try not to let my imagination run away with me, although this couldn’t have come at a worse time. I’m about to have this man’s children and Grey House chooses now to fall apart. Great, just great.
“I’m going to tell you something, Butterfly, but I don’t want you to panic.” Why do men always do that? Don’t they know that statement is a sure guarantee that we’ll panic? “I’ve sent you an email with a ridiculous story about two boys riding down a hill on a sled. When you read it, there’s a series of numbers in the story—in order. That’s the combination to the safe in my study. In the safe, there are keys to 10 safety deposit boxes at six different banks and the information to four more offshore accounts.”
“Christian, you’re scaring me,” I say. I don’t like the sound of this at all.
“Don’t be afraid, Baby. It’s just an insurance policy. There is $47 million in cash and liquid assets between those accounts and safety deposit boxes. I just want you to know should you ever need it.”
“Why would I need it, Christian?” I demand. Something is going on Grey House that has him staying all hours of the night and day and now he’s telling me about getaway money! “Are you in some kind of trouble? Is someone after you?”
“No, Butterfly. Nothing like that. I’ve always had money separate from my main funds. I just want you to know where it is.”
“Why do I need to know? You know—why do I need to know?” I’m certainly panicking now. Something is wrong and he’s not telling me, but he is telling me where I can find large sums of his money.
“Baby, listen to me.” We’re sitting up in bed and he’s holding my arms. “Every man of any wealth has money stashed. If he doesn’t tell somebody where it is, and it’s never claimed, it goes to whatever government has jurisdiction. If something happens to me, nobody can open those safety deposit boxes and nobody can get to those offshore accounts. I’m just telling you where this stuff is so that you’ll know.”
“But what’s going to happen to you? Why are you telling me now?”
“Because we’re married now!” he says, a little perturbed. I don’t know how to take this. I’m panic-stricken and he’s losing his patience with me? He takes a deep breath. “Please listen to me and stop thinking the worse. Nothing is going to happen to me. Nobody’s trying to kill me that I know of, I’m not going to drop dead, and I have no intention of mysteriously and quietly leaving town. However, something is going on at Grey House that requires that I comb through accounts. As I’m combing through them, I realized that I didn’t tell you about these!” He says it a little forcefully. “There is more than likely going to be some more that pop up while I’m going through the accounts because I honestly don’t know how many I have. But Baby, if you’re going to freak out every time I have to give you crucial information, how often am I going to want to give you crucial information?”
He’s right. I can’t freak out, but his eyes are hiding something. I know him too well. I already know that he’s hush-hush about whatever is going on at Grey House, so I’m going to take it that this is what he’s hiding. I know that he would never intentionally deceive me… and yet…
“I’m going to trust you, because this is your business and you know what you’re doing. When this is all over, Christian, I want the whole story. I deserve that, because it’s affecting my life, too, and you’re asking for my patience and understanding, which I will give you. For now, I won’t give you a hard time.” I don’t feel the conviction of my words. I’m scared shitless not knowing what this is all about. I’m trying to be strong… for him, for us, and for the babies, but I feel impending doom like I have never felt before. I’m trying to calm myself, but it’s not working.
“You’re shaking,” he says softly.
“It’s adrenaline,” I say, trying to downplay the seriousness of the situation.
“Are you going to cry?” he asks, his gray eyes boring into mine. No, not while you’re watching.
“I don’t think so,” I reply, but I can’t stop shaking. He props himself up on the headboard of my bed and takes me in his arms cuddling me close to him. I lay my head on his chest and close my eyes. I have no idea what to prepare for. He has given me two really shabby things to hold on—an ominous scenario with no concrete answers, and access to an obscene amount of money “in case something happens to him.” I think I’m going to vomit.
“Please, Baby, trust me. Nothing’s going to happen to me. I wish I hadn’t told you about the insurance policy now. You’re shaking like a leaf.”
“I can’t help it,” I say finally, the damn bursting and tears falling onto his bare chest. “I’m scared and I can’t help it!”
“Sssshhhh,” he soothes. “Don’t cry, Butterfly. It’s going to be alright, I promise.” I want to believe him, but my soul says that something is wrong and I can’t stop it. I hate that I wasn’t able to be strong at least until he left.
“I’m sorry, it’s the hormones,” I lie. “I don’t have control of my feelings anymore. I’ll be fine.”
“No, you won’t,” he says, and he sees right through me. “You’re so scared that you’re shaking. That’s not hormones, Butterfly, that’s unmitigated fear.” He’s rubbing my arms trying to calm me.
“I don’t want you to think that you can’t tell me something important. I hate not knowing what’s going on.”
“That’s part of the problem. My timing sucks. I stay away from home and from you—though unintentionally—then I spring on you that there’s a problem at Grey House and, because of the sensitivity of the issue and my business, I can’t tell anyone outside of the immediate issue what it is. The information has to be as contained as possible, so it’s strictly a ‘need-to-know’ basis. Right after I tell you that, I tell you where my storm-cellar fund is hidden. That’s not a good combination of information to drop on your newlywed, pregnant wife.” I look up at him, and I don’t know what my expression says, but I know I want to slap him right now. “What?” he asks.
“That’s not what you told me,” I scold him. “If you had put it that way, I would have understood more clearly.”
“That is what I told you,” he says, slightly chastised. I sit up in the bed and look at him.
“Do you remember Flynngate and the whole issue of interpretation?” I ask him with no malice. “This is the same thing.”
“How?” he asks, bemused.
“Your first words were ‘I need you to stay away from Grey House.’ Flat. No explanations, and then you weren’t home for me to ask you what was going on. Your elaboration was ‘There are some things going on at Grey House. I can’t talk about them right now, but for my own peace of mind, I need you to stay away from Grey House for a while.’ That makes it sound like there’s a bomb in the building! Like you’re going to go traipsing in there, but you don’t want me in there because you don’t know when the damn thing is going to go off. Then you basically follow that up with ‘if something happens to me, here’s $47 million.’ Can you see how that looks?”
“Um…” he pauses, chastised again, “yeah.”
“Now, a minute ago, you told me that there is a very sensitive issue going on at Grey House and because of the nature and the sensitivity of the issue, information can only be shared on a need-to-know basis. This most likely means that anyone on the inside of the issue is not going home discussing this stuff with their wives. Do you see how different that presentation is? I can’t tell you anything about my patients because of doctor/patient confidentiality. I’m the first one to understand the concept of sensitive information.” He’s really looking a bit beaten now.
“Yeah, I… I see what you mean, now.”
“I’ll admit that the whole ‘stay away from Grey House’ and the ‘storm-cellar fund’ thing still has me a bit worried, but not as much as I was before.” I add. “And what’s with the term ‘storm-cellar fund?’ That’s the first time I’ve ever heard of that. It reminds me of Dorothy being swept away to the Land of Oz!” He laughs at me and wipes my cheek with his thumb.
“When you squirrel away $47 million, you’ve gone beyond a ‘rainy day’ fund. You’ve about put away enough to cover a fucking tsunami.” I nod.
“I get it.” I stretch. “I guess I should get dressed and make you some breakfast. You’re going to have to go into the office soon. This is the latest you’ve gone in all week.” He twists his lips.
“Yes, it is, and I don’t think I have time for breakfast, Baby. I need a shower and a change of clothes and I need to get into the office for some very important meetings.” I throw the covers off of me and step into my sleep shorts.
“You can have breakfast if you get in the shower now. Your Anderson Sheppard is still in the closet. It smelled a bit stale, so I had it cleaned a while back. Your shirt is there, too, although you will be sans one burgundy tie.” I blush a bit, remembering that the tie had to be cut off of me last year when I nearly hanged myself with it in a wine-drunken-stupor. He smiles and nods.
“I’ll have Jason bring me a tie,” he says as he goes to the closet. I put on my pajama shirt and button it.
“Is Chuck still here?” I ask him, but he doesn’t answer. “Christian?” He comes out of the closet holding his Anderson Sheppard, a bemused look on his face.
“I thought you moved most of your clothes to Escala,” he says, his voice slightly accusing.
“I… did. Those are the things I bought yesterday.” He puts his suit on the chair.
“It’s quite a bit. Why did you hang them here? You’ll only be wearing those things for the next few months before you have to buy more things to accommodate your growing belly. Some of those things actually look like they can accommodate your growing belly.” He’s pointing at the closet with his thumb. His brow is furrowed and his eyes are full of questions.
“I…” I don’t have an immediate answer for him. It was all part of the “feeling like my old self” day, I think, even though there’s truly no way that I could possibly be my old self. I understand that now. Everything’s changed and dealing with the changes are frightening. I just… lack some of the confidence I used to feel and I don’t like it.
“Were you leaving me?” he asks, and I have to restrain myself from rolling my eyes.
“No, Christian,” I say in an almost defeated voice. “We established that I can’t very well leave you to an apartment where you have the key.” His face doesn’t change. He wants answers. He deserves them. I have a whole new wardrobe hanging in the closet of my condo. “I… I couldn’t take being alone in the penthouse. You weren’t coming home; I don’t even know if you came home last night. If I was going to be lonely, I at least wanted to do it in a place where I didn’t expect you to walk in any second… even though that’s what you did.”
“Did you prefer I didn’t?” he asks impassively.
“Of course not! It’s just… the hoping hurts.” I never raise my eyes to him.
“So you were leaving me.”
“I wasn’t leaving you, Christian. I don’t know what I was thinking when I hung the clothes in the closet. It just… felt right.”
“And when you changed your clothes and climbed into bed—here instead of Escala?”
“I knew that if I woke in this bed, I wouldn’t look for you, and it wouldn’t hurt as much.” I still never raise my eyes. I can see him walking away from the closet. His hand rises and I assume that he is thrusting his fingers in his hair.
“That’s a temporary fix, Ana, unless you planned to stay for a while.”
“I don’t know what I was planning,” I say honestly. “I just… wanted to rest for a night and not wake up searching for you.” He sits at the foot of my bed.
“I’m trying to understand here,” he says. “It’s not that you’ve done anything wrong, because you haven’t. You have every right to buy clothes and put them wherever you want them. It’s just… the implications, Ana.” He’s struggling with his words. He really wants to scold me, but he has to know that he contributed to if not completely caused the way that I feel right now.
“There are no implications,” I tell him. “I bought new clothes and I came here instead of back to the penthouse, so the clothes are here. I didn’t want to go home and be there alone, waiting for you, and still don’t get to see you, so I decided to stay here. I didn’t even think you would notice that I was gone. It’s that simple—nothing implied, no hidden meaning or agenda. There’s everything on the table.”
“You need to tell me when you feel this way,” he says, his voice uncertain. “If I didn’t have advanced notice that you had bought new clothes, I would have thought you had moved out. Now, you have them all here. Do you intend not to wear them or now take them all out and move them to Escala… or…” He trails off.
“I’ll have them moved to Escala,” I say. “I just… I don’t know. If I was doing anything sneaky, Christian, I wouldn’t have let you go in there and get your suit.” I finally raise my eyes to him.
“Yes… there is that,” he says. He can’t hide from me. He’s afraid of something, and I don’t know if it’s what just happened with the clothes or if it’s what’s going on at Grey House that he can’t tell me about, but I really don’t like it.
“Go shower. I’ll get breakfast going.” I try to make the situation lighter, but there’s nothing light about it. He’s afraid and it’s written all over his face. He leans in and kisses me, then goes to my bathroom. I shake my head as he leaves. He never answered me when I asked if Chuck was still here, so I’ll have to explore on my own. Al’s door is open and the apartment in quiet, completely unoccupied. I go into the kitchen and quickly get started on breakfast sandwich—bacon, fresh scrambled eggs, cheese, and a toasted English muffin. I take two travel cups and fill one with fresh brewed coffee and the other with orange juice. I have a little fruit salad in the refrigerator, so I put some in a bowl with a snapping top. He can eat the sandwich on the way to work if he wants and eat the salad when he gets there. I’m looking for a bag or one of my lunch boxes to put the salad in and I see him standing at the doorway of the kitchen, in that Andersen Shepherd and shirt, sans one tie. He looks marvelous, and I am having flashbacks of the first time I saw him in that suit.
“Come here,” he says. I walk over to him in my pajamas and bare feet and him looking every bit of superhuman handsome. When I get him, he doesn’t touch me at first. He just stands there looking at me. He looks like he’s ten feet tall and I feel the air leaving the room as we stand there gazing into each other’s eyes. He brings his hands to my shoulders and strokes down both arms to my hands, then around my waist, pulling me close to him and pressing me hard against his body. He’s kissing me passionately and I taste his urgency, his uncertainty, and his fear.
Christian… what is it? Is it because of the clothes?
When he pulls away from me, we are both breathless and I can barely stand.
“I love you so much. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I reply, “I know.” His forehead is touching mine when he briefly closes his eyes. He sighs, then steps back from me.
“Jason will be here in a moment,” he says. I nod.
“I made you a breakfast sandwich that you can eat now. I didn’t know if you wanted coffee or orange juice, so here’s both, and here’s some fruit salad to eat when you get to the office and you’re sitting down. I was trying to find one of my old lunchboxes, but…” Before I can finish the sentence, he has slammed me against the wall, reaching under my shirt and kissing me passionately again. My arms are around his neck and I’m clinging to him. I’m starting to feel his same angst and urgency.
“Christian… please… tell me what’s wrong,” I breathe when he releases my lips this time.
“I just don’t ever want to lose you,” he mumbles into my neck.
“You’re not going to lose me, Christian. I’m not going anywhere. What’s this about?” He brings his lips to mine and kisses me urgently, but softly.
“I just… have everything that I want now… almost,” he says, placing his hand gently on my stomach, causing butterflies to flutter about inside. “I’m just… I just don’t want to lose it.”
“You’re not,” I reinforce. “I don’t know what has you thinking this way, but please, stop. If this is about the clothes, they’ll be at Escala before days’ end, so please stop worrying.”
“It’s not the clothes, Baby… Just… I’m glad that I have you,” he says, holding my face and closing his eyes.
“I’m glad I have you, too, Christian.” I close my eyes and inhale his scent. He kisses me again gently on the lips.
“I have to go.”
“I know.” He releases me and somehow, I don’t know how, balances the food and both cups easily in his hands before kissing me again. I hold the door open and he walks out, throwing a last look and a smile back at me. He mouths “I love you” and I throw him a kiss before he goes to the elevator. I close the door and lean against it. It was almost just like our first date, if you can call it that. Having gotten him off to work, I sigh heavily and go to my room to start repacking my new clothes.
I look at her picture on the website again. She’s absolutely stunning. She looks really beautiful even though I know that she’s troubled and I know why. She put all of her clothes in the closet at her condo. She planned on staying—maybe not staying indefinitely, but she planned on staying. I can’t lose her and possibly lose my company, too. Fuck, Grey, what are you saying? You’re not going to lose your company! You have some of the best technical minds around working on this issue. They’re going to find this asshole. Have a little faith.
Shit, faith never got me anywhere. Just blood, sweat, and tears… never faith.
Until you met her. You have faith in her.
Yes, I have faith in her. I told her not to panic, but if she knew what I knew, she has every reason to panic. I can’t tell her the whole story, yet, because I need her to be level-headed in case she needs to make some snap decisions. This will only serve to distract her and she’s already distracted enough waiting to find out if a jury of his fucking peers is going to let that fucker David walk.
I lied to her today, about the getaway money, as she called it. I’ve always only had about $10 million stashed away in the storm cellar fund. It’s $47 mil now because of her and the babies and I’m hoping to get to $60 mil by the end of the day. Moving the assets to untouchable accounts without my regular resources is a little harder than I thought it would be, and the bankers are looking at me like I’m committing some kind of criminal act. They probably want to report me to the IRS. Sorry, boys, this money is all accounted for and completely legal and it’s mine to move. So get over it.
I guess it really wasn’t a lie. I just wasn’t completely forthcoming. I can’t be yet. I’ll tell her everything once I have a handle on this whole thing, but for now, I have to just hold tight and get to the bottom of it.
James has put his “seek and identify” software on my network and it’s running in the background trying to tag our culprit. I hope it’s as good as he says it is, because I think we are quickly running out of options. I’m sure that everyone else is as panicky if not more panicked than I am that this asshole has gotten into GEH’s finances and is actually doing something tangibly dangerous. While Jason and Welch are working on compiling information about the people on the lists I gave them, James and Barney are nose-to-the-grindstone in sniffing out our culprit while Ros is eliminating possibilities in-house and I’m still trying to keep the deals rolling. I’m so damn exhausted when my blackberry rings and it’s an unknown number. Normally, I ignore them and let them go to voicemail, but this time I answer.
“Grey.” Nothing. Just some kind of clicking sound in the background. “Hello?” Still nothing but clicking. I end the call and continue with the documents that I’m reading. I’ve never felt so wiped out and it’s still early in the afternoon—just after three. This shit is really getting to me. I’m rubbing my eyes and when I look up, I see Allen standing at the door.
“Allen, what’s up?” The look on his face tells me that he has news.
“You should probably head home, Christian.” Head home? Why? What the fuck is wrong? Is it Butterfly?
“Why? What’s going on?” I’m trying to keep the raging anxiety and fear at bay.
“I just got word and so did Jewel. The verdict is in.” Shit! The verdict is in! I’m out of my seat and snatching my suit coat while calling Jason at the name time.
“Car. Now! We need to get back to Escala!” I bark into the phone…
When I get there, she’s sitting on the sofa—our sofa—with the fireplace going… in July. We’re really going to have to get this aquarium thing going.
“Baby?” She looks up at me. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she says softly before turning back to the fire. “I have to go back to court tomorrow. The verdict is in.” She shifts on the sofa. “Why can’t they just read it tonight?”
“Because the court isn’t open tonight, Butterfly,” I tell her, snuggling next to her on the sofa. “Listen to me, we’re going to go to court tomorrow, and when they find that fucker guilty on all charges, we’re going to celebrate!”
“And if they find him ‘not guilty?’” she says, her voice betraying her doubt.
“That won’t happen,” I tell her. “The system is going to work for you—for us.” I squeeze her close to me. “And Butterfly, if for some reason the system is as fucked up as you think it is, don’t worry about David. He’ll get what’s coming to him by sundown.” She looks up at me questioning for a long while, then snuggles back into my side.
“Okay,” she says without another word. She truly doesn’t care anymore. That makes me a little nervous, because I don’t want her to not care, but after what that lady lawyer did to her on the stand, she’d probably watch whatever plans I have for David’s demise with glee. She has moved beyond the need for justice and straight to the need for revenge.
“You know that you don’t have to go, right?” I say into her hair.
“I know,” she says, “but I’m meeting this fate head on. I’m not going to hide. On the off-chance that the injustice system works, I want to see his face when they tell his ass that he’s guilty. And if it turns out as I suspect and they let him off, I want to look in his face and see that false sense of security before you unleash whatever hell you have planned for him.” I hug her close and kiss her hair.
“That’s my girl.”
Butterfly and I are sitting behind the prosecutor’s table. She has a bit of a far off look, but she looks the picture of calm. She’s wearing a sexy black two-button skirt suit with peeptoe stilettos. Her hair is in big waves cascading down her back. Her make-up is subtle but beautiful and she’s wearing a pair of teardrop earrings. Her eyes are fixed in front of her until we see a door open and David is once again led into the courtroom in shackles. She turns her head only moving her neck and looks him square in the eyes. Her expression says nothing. She doesn’t even blink. When he notices that she is looking at him, he puckers his lips and blows her a kiss. She doesn’t even flinch. His smirk is soon replaced with a scowl and Butterfly pushes her sleeves up to just below her elbows, folds her arms, and crosses her legs. Good God, those legs look hot. They almost make me forget that I want to choke this bastard with my bare hands…
He doesn’t dare look at me as they remove his shackles, only at her. He knows better than to look at me. He knows that if he does, I might destroy him with one look. I want to tell him with my eyes that I would kill him single-handedly just to watch him die slowly, but he won’t look at me.
“All rise.” We stand and remain standing as the judge and the jury are escorted back into the courtroom. Butterfly’s eyes finally move from David and on to the judge who is now announcing what is about to happen in terms of the verdict, directing the occupants of the courtroom to remember courtroom decorum and refrain from emotional or dramatic outbursts during the reading of the verdict.
She asks for the verdicts of the jury and several pieces of paper are handed to the bailiff who takes them to the judge. She looks over the pieces of paper.
“The verdicts appear to be in order. Mr. David, please rise and face the jury.” She hands the forms back to the bailiff who hands the forms back to one of the jurors. David stands looking sorrowful at the members of the jury, none of which—I noticed—looked at him when they were brought back into the courtroom.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict in all counts.”
“We have, Your Honor,” one of the jurors, a young man, stands and speaks clearly.
“Very well, in the matter of case #08082012546821XS-54FE, the State of Washington vs Edward Robert David…” I had forgotten his middle name was the same as that sick fuck’s first name. “…Verdict as to count one, first degree kidnapping, what say you?” After the judge asks the question, the young man speaks in a loud and clear voice.
“We the jury find the defendant…”
Guilty… guilty… guilty… guilty. The word plays over and over in my head until I almost can’t hear anything else that is said in the courtroom. They have to find him guilty. They have to believe me. He kidnapped me. He’s a psychopath. He was behind all of this. He was the bankroll and Harris found the Intel and the resources. Oh, God, they have to believe me… please believe me… please…
“We, the jury, find the defendant guilty of first degree kidnapping.”
Stay in your seat Ana… don’t move… don’t scream… don’t run into the middle of the courtroom a dance a jig like you really want to… stay put, Anastasia… class and decorum…
“Verdict as to count two, unlawful imprisonment, what say you?” Her Honor asks.
“We, the jury, find the defendant guilty of unlawful imprisonment.” Lady Smug actually looks like she’s sinking down into the seat.
“Verdict as to count three, assault and battery, what say you?”
“We, the jury, find the defendant guilty of assault and battery…”
This continued with the assault with a weapon and the robbery. Guilty! Guilty on all charges! They believed me. Oh Dear Lord, they believed me. I feel a little light-headed from the adrenaline rush, but I maintain my impassive demeanor as the clerk polls the jury.
“Juror number one, are these your true and correct verdicts?”
“Juror number two…”
With each “yes,” I feel more and more vindicated, like the system may not always work, but this time it did. This fucker kidnapped me, drugged me, held me against my will, allowed the other fucker to beat me and planned to take me to a deserted house to live with him after I had fallen in love with someone else. He destroyed me in every way that he could and when I wouldn’t allow him to destroy me further, he violated me physically. He even almost raped me.
Christian touches my elbow to bring me back to the here and now. Lady Smug looks like she wants the ground to open up and swallow her whole. I listen half-heartedly while the judge gives the jury instructions and thanks them before they leave.
“You said we had this! You said we had this!” David protests as the officers begin to shackle and cuff him again. “You said we had this! I never touched her! You said we had this!”
“Edward, I’m sorry! We’ll appeal!” Lady Smug says.
“Mr. David, control yourself!” Her Honor says.
“You said we had this! You stupid bitch! You said we had this!” He’s coming unglued. His eyes meet mine as the officers restrain him. “Rosie! Please! I didn’t tell her to do that to you!”
“Mr. David!” Her Honor scolds again.
“Rosie! Rosie, please! Tell them this is a mistake. Please, Rosie! Please!”
I stand up and without a word, I fish my Jackie-O’s out of my purse. Still looking at him, I slide them on my face and walk out of the courtroom, leaving him behind me still screaming that name that once made my heart stop.
“She hasn’t said a word since we’ve been back,” I say to Jason as we watch Butterfly standing next to the glass wall and staring out at the Seattle skyline.
“It’s only been about an hour, Boss. It’s been a pretty tough morning for her.”
“It’s been a pretty tough week,” I say, rubbing my lip and thinking about the surprise I have for her that I wanted to wait until this weekend, but I think today is a better day for it. “Get the car ready. We’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Are you taking her to…?” I nod.
“If you see us come to the garage together, you’ll know where to take us.” He nods and leaves the great room as I begin to walk towards Butterfly. She looks like one of those highly paid women executives, staring at the world at her feet in a sexy black business suit, only she’s so much hotter. Her arms are folded and I can tell that she’s contemplating something. She’s not just lost in some random thought—she’s picking something apart hard.
My shoes fall on the marble floor announcing my presence, so I know that I won’t startle her. I put my hands on both her arms and kiss her hair. The worst part is over now, Butterfly, at least this phase of it. Why so glum? As if to answer my question, she speaks.
“I loved him once,” she says softly. Those are hard words to hear. “I thought I loved him with my whole being, but I didn’t. I know that now.” Because that’s how you love me? “But I did love him once, and I’d like to think that at one time, part of him loved me.” She drops her head. I don’t know where she’s going with this and I wonder if I should back away and let her get it out without interference. “Forgive me,” she continues, “I would just… hope that I didn’t waste those years of my life on someone who was completely psychopathic the entire time.”
I hate to tell you this, Butterfly, but he was. You dodged a bullet! He was a womanizer and he put women in the hospital long before he met you, and continued after you left him.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” is all that comes out of my mouth. She sighs.
“He never took responsibility,” she says, shaking her head. “Even after five guilty verdicts, having to be basically carried from the courtroom in shackles, he still screamed for me to make it all go away—like I was the one in control. No ‘I’m sorry,’ no ‘Please, forgive me,’ just “Rosie, Rosie, make it all go away.’” She mocks his voice in a very unflattering way. “He still thinks it’s my fault. He’s always blamed me from the very beginning. He blamed me for all of the problems in our relationship; he blamed me for his cheated on me; he blamed me on the stand for his kidnapping me…” She shudders a bit and I rub her arms again. “I guess expecting ‘I’m sorry’ was way too much. At least I got the guilty verdicts that I didn’t even expect. I don’t want to believe that there are people who completely have no redeeming qualities. I mean, I’ve met some real characters, but I was still hoping that there was something in them that would be worth something in some way, but…” She shakes her head again. “Some people are just not worth the skin they live in.”
That’s pretty deep. I feel kind of bad for her because I don’t know what to tell her. Unfortunately, she’s right and there’s nothing she can do about it. We had this same conversation at Christmas about the Green Valley lot.
“We need to forget about this,” I tell her as I kiss her hair again. “Sentencing isn’t for a whole month. We kill all things David until that time. He a worthless son-of-a-bitch and he doesn’t deserve your consideration. If he’s deserving of anything, it’s pity, because his life is over for what he did to you and he’ll never redeem himself because—like you said—he’ll never take responsibility for it.” I turn her around to face me.
“It’s very likely that he’ll never see the light of day again as a free man. If you need to vent about him, I’m here for you. I love you, but we’re going to squash this for now because I have something that I want to show you and I hope you’ll be pleased when you see it. Do you mind a little road trip?” She looks at me questioning, then nods and allows me to take her hand.
“Christian, how did you know?” I frown for a moment.
“How did I know what?” I ask. She examines me and most likely, the utter bemusement on my face.
“You didn’t know, did you?” she asks in amazement.
“Um…” I pause. “I’m not going to know what I didn’t know until you tell me what I’m supposed to know.” She turns away from me and examines the granite countertop of the center kitchen island and breakfast bar, so smooth and buffed to a high gloss so shiny that it generates a reflection from across the room. A single tear makes a trek down her cheek.
“I wanted this house,” she says, as she brushes the tear away. “The moment I saw the pictures in the email, I wanted this house. We’d have to get rid of some of these Grecian columns because there’s just too many… but I knew this was it the second I looked at it.” She continues around the kitchen, fondling the stainless steel appliances. I never thought I’d feel jealous of a stove. “This house has everything. The property is huge, guest houses and pool houses and gym houses—it’s fucking fantastic! More bedrooms than we’ll ever need and the decorating and renovating possibilities are endless!” I walk over to it.
“Why didn’t you just tell me this was what you wanted? We could have already had the place.”
“We had so much going on… I was lost in wallowing and you had the issues at Grey House, then the verdict. I only just saw this house in the email a couple of days ago. It’s so much more than we asked for but so much better than those huts she kept sending us!”
I laugh at her description. They were hardly huts, but they were significantly smaller than we requested. They only had two or three shoebox bedrooms when we asked for four or five, the square footage was laughable, and most of them were inland when we specifically asked for waterfront. She even sent us a property that backed up to a small, man-made lake with 10 other properties—like a fucking commune! Oh yeah, Christian Grey who lives in a secluded penthouse tower in the sky wants to live in a fucking commune… real smart, Lady!
When I told her that she had 24 hours to find me something like what I asked for, we got this.
“So, should I make an offer?” She whirls around to look at me.
“Make an offer??” she asks in a horrified, but hushed tone. “I don’t care what the seller is asking, I want this house!” I chuckle again.
“You never give asking price, Baby. It’s always a negotiation.” She narrows her eyes at me.
“I know that, Christian. I own a condo. If I had lost negotiations, I could have found another condo. I don’t want another house.” I put my arms around her waist and pull her close to me.
“I don’t lose negotiations, Butterfly. You can start looking for a decorator and we can get Elliot out to look at the place for renovations. This house is yours.” Her eyes widen.
“You already bought it,” she says, a statement, not a question.
“I did,” I tell her. “It fit the description of what you described in Napa and I couldn’t let it go. If you didn’t like it, I would have tried to convince you. If you totally hated it, I would have put it back on the market. I checked it out and this place is hot, so I could have easily sold it and gotten my money back—but I couldn’t let it slip out of my fingers if it turned out to be the same dream for you that it was when I saw it.” Her lips form a thin line, then she wraps her arms around my neck and takes me in a warm embrace.
“Oh, Christian,” she says into my neck, “you fell in love with the house! There’s no way I wouldn’t love it if you loved it that much, even if I hadn’t seen it and fell in love with it myself. We’re going to have a wonderful life here.”
I pull her in close to me. Yes, Baby, a wonderful life indeed.
I stand on the patio watching her walk in her bare feet across the endless back lawn that stretches all the way to Lake Washington. I can see her running, surrounded by children—three or four, at least. They’re all giggling and laughing in the breeze while the sun bounces off the lake. They tire and fall on the grass, laughing and panting wildly while lying on their backs and staring at the clouds. They’re safe here because the property not only has a natural barrier of Western Hemlock, Douglas fir, and spruce trees, but the trees also camouflage a tall, security wall around the perimeter of the property.
Access is only granted through two massive wrought iron fences at the end of an impressively long driveway. The front lawn puts most football fields to shame. Even the stealthiest of intruders would be easily picked off before getting to the main house. Access from the water is restricted to residents who own property around this part of the lake. With the proper surveillance equipment and security team, this place could be a veritable fortress, just what I need to protect my family. Nobody is going to hurt them while I’m alive.
I open the photos on my phone and the first thing that I see is the ultrasound picture of the beans. I couldn’t tell what I was looking at when I first saw the picture. Now, it’s as clear as day—two little miracles created from Ana’s and my love. My heart tightens for a moment due to the force of the love that I feel for them already, and she’s carrying them in her body… magnificent!
After our tour and my wife’s blaring seal of approval on what will be our new home, Butterfly goes back to Escala to jot down some of the ideas that she has in mind for the house and I have begrudgingly come back to Grey House to get a handle on the things I neglected by leaving early and when my presence was required in court this morning. I really need to do something special for Butterfly to help her decompress. Maybe another spa day? I’m not sure. My thoughts are interrupted when my phone rings.
“Grey.” Nothing—just this clicking noise again. What the hell is this? I look at the call and it’s unknown again. Another unknown call at about the same time it came in yesterday and nobody is on the line, just this damn clicking.
“Hello?” Still nothing. Something or someone is dialing the wrong number. I end the call and rub my eyes, trying to refocus from the interruption when my phone rings again.
“Goddammit!” I answer the phone. “Who the fuck is this!?” I bark.
“Christian! It’s your father!” Oh, shit. I didn’t even bother to look at the caller ID.
“Oh. Dad, I’m sorry. I didn’t look at the number. What’s up?”
“I should be asking you the same thing,” he says. “What was that about?”
“My phone number is in some automatic dialer of some kind. It’s just irritating. I’m sorry, Dad. What can I do for you?”
“Well, I have some sad news.” Oh, shit, just what I need.
“The test results have all come back. None of us are a match for a kidney for Dad.” I sink into my chair and loosen my tie. This can’t be.
“None of us, Dad?” I ask, deflated. I had only just made it to the hospital a little while ago to get tested and we were still waiting to hear if anyone else from the family was a match.
“Unfortunately not, Son. We were hoping that at least one of us would be able to help him, but unfortunately, not even Ana was a match.” Ana!? When did Ana get tested? Why didn’t she tell me?
Exactly when did she have time to tell you? During those nights when you stared longingly into her eyes while you held her close overlooking the Seattle skyline from the penthouse bedroom window? Or maybe it was during those deep and meaningful breakfast conversations that you’ve been having every morning at the Escala breakfast bar…
“Okay, okay. I get it.”
“No need to get snappy, Christian. We’re all frustrated about this, you know.” Shit, I did say that out loud, didn’t I?
“I’m sorry, Dad. That wasn’t for you. When did Ana get tested?” The line falls silent for a moment.
“I’m not sure, Son. I thought you two might have gone together.”
“No. I had no idea she got tested. I love Pops dearly, but I wouldn’t want to put Ana or my children in jeopardy by having her donate a kidney while she’s pregnant,” or at all as far as I’m concerned.
“Well, maybe they would have waited until she had the babies. Either way, it’s a moot point. She’s not a match.” She didn’t tell me. She probably would have given him the damn kidney and not told me until the very last minute to keep me from stopping her. She’s kind and selfless and hard-headed that way.
“Dad… we’re both very wealthy and powerful men…”
“I know what you’re going to say Christian, and the answer is No!” he cuts me off before I could finish my thought. “I don’t even know if you can still do that anymore, but if you could, we could all end up in jail for something like that. There’s no telling where the kidney would come from; we wouldn’t know the donor’s medical history in that kind of exchange; the possible complications from that scenario are endless! There is no way in hell we are buying my father a kidney. He wouldn’t accept it anyway. He’s a proud man and has already told me that he would rather die quietly than take an illegal kidney and he has no way how it was acquired.” I shrug.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m desperate.” Wait a minute… if Pops said that he wouldn’t take an illegal kidney, then that means… “You considered it, too, huh?” He’s silent for a moment.
“Yeah, I considered it. I lied. There is a way to make it happen, completely safe for both parties, but highly unethical and could land all parties—donor, patient, hospital and ‘broker’—into deep shit. I tried to find a way to do it ethically, but there is none. We just have to wait for UNOS… and pray.” I sigh. This really sucks.
Our weekend was fairly busy, interviewing decorators and banging out ideas with Elliot on what changes we want made on the house. Butterfly wants to get rid of some of the Grecian columns that are part of the architecture of the house and make it more American. I have to agree that some of the columns make the house look more like a museum than a home. While I like some of them, I’m with Butterfly that there are just too many.
It turns out that the decorating and picking color schemes and deciding what stays and what goes and eliminating decorators that seemed more concerned about working for the Greys—particularly me—than what we really wanted for our home was just what the doctor ordered to help lift Butterfly’s spirits from the stress of the trial and the fact that her beloved husband couldn’t seem to find his way home several nights last week. It was a definite “no” on the spa day as she indicated that she would much rather work out at this moment than be pampered. I don’t know how I feel about that, but she says that Dr. Culley indicates it’s okay as long as she sticks to her usual regimen and no Krav Magna.
I’m still not so sure.
We’ve narrowed our choices down to four decorators—two men and two women. I’m already sure that I don’t want any men working that closely with my wife, but she seems hell-bent on the designs and ideas of one of the guys. I’m trying to remember what I promised Jason before I left Greece…
She’s feeling the same way about the women, but is more able to control her possessive tendencies than I am. Either way, we’ll be choosing one of them by week’s end so that we can get on with the work.
We spent the days tangled in blueprints and color swatches and furniture ideas. We spent the nights tangled in each other’s bodies, re-exploring each other and getting to know our skin once again, having several of those massive orgasms where my dick knows the difference.
Monday brought all of the dreary truths back to haunt us once more, and with a vengeance. Though I had managed to sign the papers on two of the acquisitions that I had been working on since before the wedding, our computer culprit has become more brazen. According to James, he has the ability to get into the system, bounce around several times and then just disappear. This is why we haven’t been able to identify his access point.
Not only that, but he has also begun moving larger sums of money and we’ve discovered that it’s a diversionary tactic. While we’re tracking down the larger sums of money, smaller sums are disappearing—into thin air. They get transferred out of one account and into nowhere—no holding account, no dummy account, no nothing. We would have to rewrite our entire financial allocation program to stop him. By the time we did that, it would not only cost us a fortune, but we would also have to basically shut GEH down to get it done. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Jason comes into my office with more bad news.
“Sir, Myrick is off the grid.” Myrick? There’s two Myricks… which Myrick? As if reading my mind, he clarifies. “Robin Myrick, Sir.”
“How did we lose this fucker?”
“We didn’t,” he says. “It’s like he disappeared into thin air, literally. He’s been doing nothing but going to his little job and coming back home to his little apartment. When he didn’t leave the apartment to go to his little job this morning, the team investigated. He disappeared much like David did. His apartment hasn’t been touched—yes, we checked. His employer doesn’t know where he is. He didn’t even call in to work this morning. It’s like he got up, went to the 7-Eleven for a beer without us seeing him, and never came back. His apartment looks like he’s coming back to it, most likely trying to throw anyone looking for him off the scent. He hasn’t packed; nothing is missing; but he’s gone.”
“How do you know he’s gone? He really could just be at the 7-Eleven and you all just blew your cover.” I ask.
“His car is still here. The television is still on. He even had the coffee maker still running. It’s like he just got up and walked out of his life, leaving everything behind—except the picture of his father and anything that could link him to Robin Myrick. Louis Millfeld is all over the place, but Robin Myrick is nowhere to be found. Most likely, he’s about to kill Millfeld off again.”
“How the fuck can he do that and not get caught? Didn’t we turn this guy in to the FBI or something?” I ask, frustrated.
“Somehow, he has covered himself well enough that they can’t link the two. You only found him because he wanted you to find him, Sir. He’s playing games with you. I believe he has much more resources than we know of.” The wheels in my head are turning. Of course, I never saw him as a real threat. He kept himself in plain sight—the best place to hide.
“Myrick! Of course!” I hiss. Robin Myrick. He has something to do with this. I know he does. “That’s why he’s dropping off the fucking grid. He’s playing with me like a fucking cat plays with a mouse before he eats it.” I rise from my desk to go in search of James. “He’s not in this alone. He never is and he never has been. First, it was Lincoln. Now, it’s someone that is—or was—inside my goddamn company. I just don’t know who.”
I burst into the IT department, startling the shit out of James and Barney.
“I know who it is,” I say, triumphantly, but then my sails are deflated again. “I just don’t know where he is or how he’s doing it…”
Three nights have come and gone with me not seeing my husband again before I fall asleep. I’m trying to be understanding about all this, but I’m still in the dark about what’s happening at Grey House, and now he’s staying all hours at work again. Tuesday morning, he did make sure that I saw him before he left for work, but he was wound tight as a top and ready to break. I hate not knowing what’s going on, but I hate more not seeing my husband. I’m getting more and more irritable and finding myself snapping at people more than I should and apologizing all the time. I blame it on my hormones and just ask people to please be patient with me while I try to get a grip on things. I dare not tell anyone that I’m uptight because my husband isn’t coming home.
He works for Christian, so I can vent to him without betraying any confidences, but he can’t reciprocate or even empathize without possibly violating his NDA with GEH. Fucking great—I don’t have my husband and now I don’t have my best friend either.
Two weeks have gone by and things don’t seem to be getting any better. If anything, they’re getting worse. Christian is snapping at me now, losing his patience on the slightest little things. We decided to go with Aaron as our decorator, and Christian insists that I’m too comfortable with him. I have to be comfortable with him. He’s decorating my house! What am I supposed to do—run when I see him coming? We had a pretty big fight about it over the weekend and didn’t speak to each other for the whole day—which was pretty easy since I rarely see him anyway.
Things seem to be falling apart quickly and there’s nothing I can do about it. Part of me wants to march into Grey House and demand to know what’s going on, but security is probably instructed to detain me the moment I step inside the doors. I’m tired of sleeping in this bed alone. I’m tired of being on the outside looking in. Is this how it’s going to be every time there’s some major catastrophe at GEH—I’m left to fend for myself and possibly our children while we all wonder where Daddy is?
I’m sitting in the middle of our bed in the dead of night, weeping and having a massive pity party when he comes in and begs me to forgive him. He admits that he wants to give me something, but right now, he still can’t because he’s still in the dark. My heart aches because that means there’s no foreseeable end to this and I just don’t have the strength to keep wondering if for some reason, my world is collapsing around me.
Right now, I don’t want to ask or answer any questions. I just need him. More and more time passes between our sexual encounters and I need him in the worst way. Reading me the way that he does, he brings me to several orgasms—loving me, fucking me, licking me, kissing me—doing everything that I so desperately need right now until I fall into a coma-like sleep and save my questions and issues for another day. I’ll have to trust him. I know that he would never hurt me or leave me and everything he does is for the safety and security of me and the babies.
It’s still very hard trying to be patient, trying to understand what’s going on without knowing what’s going on—but in the end, I’m going to trust him. I gave him my life and my heart and he swore that he would take good care of them. I just have to trust that he’s going to keep his promise.
There’s an old saying—“it’s always quiet before the storm.”
It’s really a very technical reason why it’s so calm before a storm. Technically, warm air is pulled into the storm system and fuels the storms, but it is pushed up and over the storm cloud and falls back to the earth, creating a calming effect. The problem is that this calming is actually what fueled the storm in the first place, making it more powerful and possibly deadly in the case of a hurricane. So while the air may be calm, warm, and comfortable, it’s actually a trick to lull you into a false sense of security before the storm comes and destroys your life.
And so it goes…
I have a beautiful wife. We are creating a beautiful home. She’s pregnant with my children—twins! I’m about to be a father! I never would have thought in a million years that this would be the life that I wanted. I was happy as a rich miser, beating little brown-haired girls to get my kicks and satisfy my need for control and then go back and rule the world from my palace in the sky. I was content to be master of all that I touched—and then, I met her.
She showed me a different life, a different future, a different tale for Christian Grey, and more than anything in the world, I want that story. I want that different life where we raise our children in our beautiful palace by the lake, surrounded by love and family and sunshine. More than anything, I want the peace and the love that she has shown me that I can have. I want to provide for them everything their hearts desire.
Just when it seems that I’m finally going to get what I want, that the son of a crack whore is finally going to start his true fairy tale life, something or someone comes in trying to snatch it all away from me…. someone is after me and wants to take away the things that I love the most. What’s worse is that he’s close… he’s so close, yet I have no idea where he is or even when or where he’s going to strike.
He’s taunting me, exploiting my weaknesses, and showing me that he can cripple me at any given moment.
But I can’t find him. He’s always a step ahead of me, and by the time I figure out where he is, he’s already gone. The most sophisticated security systems in the world can’t seem to protect me… and now, he has made his purpose clear.
I’m sitting at my desk in my study, watching a slideshow—if you can call it that—of my beautiful wife; an ultrasound of our babies; the house on Mercer Island; the wedding picture released to the press the night we went on our honeymoon; a picture of my mother and father at the Adopt-A-Family affair; a picture of me, Elliot, and Mia at some outing we attended; a picture of Pops and Uncle Herman at the wedding reception; the front door and the doorman at Escala. Most of these are private pictures not even released to the public. No one but immediate family even knows about the babies. This slideshow is playing behind eerie green words flashing on the screen that remain on a black screen when the slideshow stops playing…
What if one day you lost everything that you hold dear? Everything that you have come to love, gone in a second? The clock is ticking, Grey. Think you can stop me? Give it your best shot!
A/N: That’s it, the final chapter of “Mending Dr. Steele.” Thank you all for taking this journey with me and hopefully, you’ll stick around for the next legs of the journey. My next endeavor will be to publish the original story, which means the backstory–“Journey of Miles”–will be going through an overhaul. During the editing process and after having another set of eyes look at the story, I realized that the rewrite was waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too close to the original. To stay that they were extremely linear is an understatement. To that end, I had to change a few scenes, M.O.’s, and outcomes, which means I need to redo that story, too, since I refer to it quite a bit in shaping the book.
I will keep you all posted and I will try not to be away too long. I will send you emails from time to time and there may be some one shots in the future, I don’t know. In the meantime, thank you again for your support and I will talk to you all again soon.
Love and Handcuffs!
Lynn x ❤