BOOK III - Chapter XVIII - Christian and Anastasia Fanfiction

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning

CHAPTER XVIII

One of the best things about marriage is that when you wake up completely wrapped around your beautiful wife like a static filled sock, the knowledge that she’s yours even if you had a fight the night before. I feel her hand gently stroking my hair, and it’s extremely soothing. My eyelids are heavy with sleep still, and I have to blink a few times to wake up. I find my arm around her waist, and my legs are tangled around hers.

 “Hi,” I murmur and smile at Anastasia.

“Hi,” she replies with a radiant smile of her.

Did I mention that my head was right on her bare breast? I sigh and nuzzle her breasts appreciatively, groaning deeply. My hand travels down from her waist, and I skim over her cool satin nightgown.

Give me A Reason - Pink ft Nate Reuss

“What a tempting morsel you are,” I murmur. I want her in satins and silks, because she deserves the best. “But tempting though you are,” I check the time, “I have to get up.” I have a very important meeting today. Pella came from London, and if my knowledge of him is anything, he’d have been examining the evidence and assessing to give me a report. I finally stretch out, and untangle myself from my wife’s enticing body, and rise out of bed. Anastasia lies back and puts her hands behind her head watching me strip for the shower. I’m giving her a floor show.

“Admiring the view, Mrs. Grey?” I ask arching my eyebrow. I love calling her Mrs. Grey. Because, every iteration of that title affirms and confirms that she is my wife, mine. Christian Grey’s!

“It’s a mighty fine view, Mr. Grey,” she replies.

I grin at her, and bunching my pajama bottoms, I throw it at her and she catches it like a pro, giggling happily. Irresistible! I bounce by our bed in a few quick strides grinning, and yank the duvet off bed. Putting one knee on the bed, I grab Anastasia’s ankles, and drag her towards me, and her nightdress rides up to her waist revealing her bare bottoms. Yesss! Anastasia starts squealing, and resisting. I’m completely turned on with her delightfully trying to fight me off. I love it! I crawl up on her body, and start trailing little kisses on her knee, on her thigh, and the apex of her thighs. All of a sudden her hands are in my hair, pulling me in, and her legs are wrapped around my neck. And soon we’re lost in each other.

 ****❦ ♡ ❧*****

When we take our seat at the breakfast bar having showered and me, dressed in a crisp white shirt, and my very favorite silver-gray tie, Mrs. Jones greets us both.

“Good morning, Mr. Grey. Good morning, Mrs. Grey.” Her greeting makes Anastasia blush. Why? Because I just fucked her? Or, is it because she caught her kissing Taylor? Maybe I don’t want to know...

“Good morning,” Anastasia responds as Mrs. Jones hands her usual Twinings tea. Bag out.

“How are you, Mrs. Grey?” I ask Anastasia with warm love in my eyes.

“I think you know, Mr. Grey,” she replies coyly, gazing up at me through her lashes. Yes, I believe, I do. I smirk, “Eat,” I order. “You didn't eat yesterday.” She mock glares at me.

“That’s because you were being an arse,” she says, and Mrs. Jones is so shocked to hear Anastasia's address, she drops whatever she had in her hand into the sink. The cluttering noise makes Anastasia jump, but I’m completely oblivious to the noise.

“Arse or not. I want you to eat!” I repeat in a serious tone.

“Okay! Fine... Picking up spoon, eating granola,” she mutters captiously, irritated at me. She spoons some Greek yogurt on top of her granola, then adds a handful of blueberries. I watch her look up to Mrs. Jones and smile at her warmly.

I want to remind her of my upcoming trip to New York. I really need her to come with me. I don’t think it’s a good idea to be separated from each other so soon after our honeymoon. She belongs by my side.

“I may have to go to New York later in the week,” I introduce the subject.

“Oh.”

“It’ll mean an overnight. I want you to come with me.” There. That’s short and to the point. I tell her my heart’s desire.

“Christian, I won’t get the time off,” she replies exasperated. Really? How could she say that with a straight face when I’m the boss’ boss’ boss and own the company. How’s she not going to be given time off? I can give her the time off should she so desire. I stare at her, just to remind her who the boss is. She sighs in response.

“I know you own the company, but I’ve been away for three weeks. Please. How can you expect me to run the business if I’m never there? I’ll be fine here. I’m assuming you’ll take Taylor with you, but Sawyer and Ryan will be here...” she says after she finds me grinning at her ear to ear. That’s priceless Mrs. Grey. I love it how she rationalizes everything. I’m the husband; we just got married! We ought to be together. She shouldn't be giving precedence to her job over me.

She stops and snaps at me: “What?!”

“Nothing. Just you,” I reply. She frowns at me. But I don’t want to mess our good mood this morning. Her face then changes. “How are you getting to New York?” she queries.

“The company jet, why?”

“I just wanted to check if you were taking Charlie Tango,” she says in a low voice, faintly breaking down in the end. Her face pales, and I realize that Mrs. Jones has stilled and quieted in the kitchen too.

“I wouldn't fly to New York in Charlie Tango. She doesn’t have that kind of range. Besides, she won’t be back from the engineers for another two weeks,” I remind her. It also reminds me of my meeting with Pella today, once again.

“Well, I’m glad she’s nearly fixed, but...” she says stopping again. She’s very nervous, and I’m reminded how she was when I arrived back after Charlie Tango went down.

“What?” I ask softly, finishing my breakfast.

Her response is just a shrug. She can’t say it. She’s too worried.

“Ana?” I quiz her, resolutely.

“I just... you know. The last time you flew in her... I thought, we thought, you’d...” she mutters her voice breaking. Her breathing increases as she’s drifted back to that day. I look at her lovingly.

“Hey,” I say caressing her face with the back of my knuckles. “That was sabotage,” I repeat. My gaze darkens remembering the fucker who caused the sabotage is still at large.

“I couldn't bear to lose you,” she murmurs.

“Five people have been fired because of that, Ana. It won’t happen again.”

“Five?” she asks, and I nod in a serious face. Five fucking incompetent workers!

Her expression changes, and then she completely changes the topic.

“That reminds me. There’s a gun in your desk.”

How does five people getting fired remind her the gun in my desk? She says in such an accusatory tone, it makes me frown at this non sequitur. “It’s Leila’s,” I say finally.

“It’s fully loaded.”

“How do you know?” I ask in a deeper frown. I don’t want her playing with a gun and getting hurt.

“I checked it yesterday,” she replies. Do I have to keep everything under lock from her? Honestly, she’s like a little child! I don’t want her to get hurt.

“I don’t want you messing with guns. I hope you put the safety back on.”

She looks up at me blinking. Something I said makes her look at me dumbfounded. “Christian, there’s no safety on that revolver. Don’t you know anything about guns?” she asks.

Now it’s my turn to be stupefied. Of course I know nothing about guns. “Uhm...no.” I reply simply.

Taylor stands at the entrance and discreetly coughs reminding me my approaching meeting. I nod at him.

“We have to go,” I say, and stand up. I put my grey jacket on, distracted. Leila had a gun with no safety. That means she was planning to shoot her way out of the world. The thought makes me internally shudder. I make a mental note to check with Flynn to make sure she’s staying in Connecticut and following her treatment. Then the fucker Hyde is out there. The Charlie Tango sabotage is looming over my head still. I really have to see Pella. I momentarily wonder why he got into the investigation business. How he became good at it? He doesn’t need it. He can afford the best, yet, he’s the best. Was his hand forced into it, like mine is being forced into it now?

As I walk to the great room, I greet Taylor. “Good morning, Taylor.”

“Good morning, Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey,” he replies nodding at us both, but he’s averting his eyes from Anastasia, probably remembering their unexpected meeting, making jealousy rise in me. I have to make sure that my wife doesn’t stray away from the bedroom with so little clothes.

“I’m just going to brush my teeth,” Anastasia mutters, and darts in the direction of our bedroom.

When we enter into the elevator, Anastasia turns to me and says, “You should ask Taylor to teach you how to shoot. I gaze down at her for a while, amused at her sentiment. If I don’t see a gun for the rest of my life it would be too soon. I think they should all be removed from the streets.

“Should I now?” I ask dryly.

“Yes,” she replies fervently in a way only a soldier’s daughter could.

“Anastasia, I despise guns. My mom has patched up too many victims of gun crime, and my dad is vehemently anti-gun. I grew up with their ethos. I support at least two gun control initiatives here in Washington.”

“Oh,” she says mulling over what I had just stated. “Does Taylor carry a gun?” she asks changing tact.  He may carry a gun on occasion but that’s completely against my better judgment. I have to begrudgingly consent to it, because Taylor is my best security guy, and I have to cut him slack sometimes and let him exercise his best judgment; like I had to allow him to carry a gun during our wedding. My mouth thins grimly remembering, and I only consented because Taylor is a trained professional, ex-military, and he’s spent a good deal of his life learning how to carefully handle weapons.

“Sometimes,” I reply Anastasia monosyllabic.

“You don’t approve?” she asks me with wide eyes as I usher her out of the elevator on the ground floor.

“No,” reply, still tight lipped. “Let’s just say that Taylor and I hold very different view with regards to gun control.” Just because I know Taylor can handle guns, and he’s trained in them doesn’t mean I approve them. I open the foyer door open for her and we head out to her car. As Sawyer holds the door open for us to climb in, he gives us a pleasant smile.

Once we’re in the vehicle, Anastasia reaches out and holds my hand tightly, “Please,” she utters.

“Please what?” I ask tersely after our conversation.

“Learn how to shoot.”

God! Are we still going on with this discussion? “No! End of discussion, Anastasia,” I scold her. Why are we fighting about this? It’s a difference of opinion, an opinion I firmly believe in. Anastasia opens her mouth to rebuttal, but wisely closes it back again. I notice that Taylor is also regarding us in the rearview mirror and lightly shakes his head as he concentrates on the road.

I turn my head and look out the window just as Anastasia asks, “Where is Leila?” I turn to glance at her. Why is she asking this?

“I told you. She’s in Connecticut with her folks.”

“Did you check? After all, she does have long hair. It could have been her driving the Dodge.”

“Yes, I checked. She’s enrolled in an art school in Hamden. She started this week,” I reply turning back to look out the window.

“ You've spoken to her?” she asks in a horrified whisper. I whip my head around to the tone of her voice. All the blood drains from Anastasia’s face as if I said her puppy died. Does she think that I call her regularly?

“No. Flynn has,” I reply. I search her face. Does it bother her that Flynn contacts her? I have to keep tabs on her so I can keep Anastasia safe here.

“I see,” she murmurs.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she replies. I give out an exasperated sigh. When a woman... no, let me correct that, when my woman, my Anastasia says ‘nothing’, it’s never just nothing. It means she’s concealing something.

“Ana. What is it?” She shrugs. I search her face, and I can now recognize the telltale signs of her jealousy. I remember it from Elena bouts. She has the same look. Ana is jealous.

“I’m keeping tabs on her, checking that she stays on her side of the continent. She’s better, Ana,” I try to reassure her. “Flynn has referred her to a shrink in New Haven, and all the reports are very positive. She’s always been interest in art, so...” I say and I have said too much. She’s going to know that I’m paying for her expenses. But, it has nothing to do with how I’m feeling for Ana. It’s this guilt, this urge that I had had something to do with her breaking down, and I feel a sense of responsibility that it ought to be me to care for her needs until she can get back on her feet. It’s only my atonement! She sighs and distances herself from me emotionally. I can’t bear it. I reach out for her hand, and clasp it in mine.

“Don’t sweat this, Anastasia,” I murmur, squeezing her hand reassuringly. There’s only one woman for me. She’s here with me in this car. She searches my face, and sees the sincerity in my expression and finally returns a reassuring squeeze.

                                                            ****❦ ♡ ❧*****

“Hold the elevator Grey!” I hear my name shouted. Both Taylor and I turn back towards the voice at the same time. Alex Pella's eyes glint at me, reflecting his content mood as he reaches up to us with his own security Anthony Decimus in confident, almost arrogant strides. He has a scorching gaze that is nearly identical with mine that I recognize him to be another powerful man. Not a rival, but a rare friend. We both exude the same magnitude of tangible, incessant, electrifying power which takes the command of any given group of people or place.

“Great seeing you, Pella!” I say extending my hand. He has always had this unusual way of shaking hands with me; his handshakes are more of a forearm shake. It’s always been that way. We've been in the same rowing team back in Harvard, and his reasoning was, “forearms shakes are more hygienic.” I thought that was the case for him, since I had my reasons of not being touched until I watched a particular soccer game he was participating. The field was muddy after the rain, and one particular player had the misfortune of having the soccer ball land his face, breaking his nose and he wiped the blood on his arms. Pella pulled him up off the field and after checking his buddy, gave him a forearm shake on that muddy and bloody arm.

“What’s the deal with the forearms shake? Clearly it’s not the hygiene you’re worried about,” I cornered him at the time. He was another loner, like me in a way, but keeping people distant was his personal choice as was mine. He shrugged then.

“Call it habit. That’s the only way a real man shakes hands. The Vikings, Huns, cowboys, ancient Romans, and Greeks, Knights of the Round Table... Hell, even the troops who stormed Normandy! Of course, I’m also a mountain climber. If you get into the habit of forearm shake, you don’t have to think twice on how to save a falling climber. You grasp them on the forearm,” he said.

Shaking the memories off, I smile at him.

“Great seeing you as well, Grey,” he says and firmly does his forearm shake and releases my arm. He greets Taylor, and Taylor nods, “Mr. Pella. Nice to see you, sir.”

“I suppose you’re still into climbing,” I say wryly after the forearm shake.

“I am. Recently got back from K2,” he replies and we enter into the elevator.

“K2? Impressive! Isn't that a mountain with a high death to climber ratio?” I ask. He smiles in response.

“For every four climber who have reached the summit, one has died trying.”

“Well, be careful then. I wouldn't want to hear that you were the unfortunate fifth climber.”

“Always am,” he says smiling and changes topics. “I believe congratulations are in order. I wish you a lifetime of happiness with Mrs. Christian Grey.”

“Thank you,” I say and warmly smile with the respectful recognition of Anastasia as my wife.  The elevator doors ding open. Taylor and Pella's security detail hold the doors as we exit the elevator. Both Andrea and Olivia dash to their feet. Seeing my smiling face, I swear they both give a sigh of relief.

Andrea collects herself first.

“Good morning Mr. Grey. Welcome to GEH, Mr. Pella, Mr. Decimus,” she says and turns to me. “Shall we take your guests to the meeting room, sir? Mr. Welch, and Barney are already waiting for you there.”

“Yes, thank you, Andrea,” I reply. Olivia jumps and leads them towards the meeting room.

 “Great haircut, by the way Mr. Grey,” Andrea says stopping me in my track. I’ve never been complimented on my hair before.

I frown, and “thank you,” I mutter, pleasantly surprised. Andrea goes over my schedule in my room for the day, and hands me the documents Welch has left for me to review before the meeting. I glance over them, and take a few notes, and nod to Taylor as we head out to the meeting room. Olivia is walking back from the meeting room with an empty tray. She smiles, “nice haircut, Mr. Grey,” she compliments. I feel an imperceptible smile on Taylor’s lips.

When Taylor opens the door to the meeting room, Welch, Barney and Pella are sitting around the table while Decimus is standing at ease stand in one corner of the room, staring ahead.

The very large flat screen on the wall comes alive after everyone greets each other.

"We have thus far confirmed that Jack Hyde is the man behind the Grey House arson," he says. A grainy image of him pops on the large screen, frozen. Since the image is way overblown, it looks digitized, and not quite clear. Mrs. Grey identified him, and our own face recognition software confirms that it is in fact Jack Hyde. The police have been thus far informed that Jack Hyde has been identified through the face recognition software, but due to the 20% margin of error, the police will check his whereabouts, look into his apartment, but as far as an arrest warrant is concerned, they need something more than a grainy image; a more concrete evidence that ties him to the arson. The best they can do is to check to see if he's in his apartment, and if he is, all they would be able to do is to hold him for questioning. But since we already know that he's not to be found there, they will not be much of help. And Mr. Pella will take from here..." he says and turns to Alex.

Alex rises to his considerable height graceful like a predator. He moves around his chair quietly.

"If you gentlemen don't mind," he says and takes his jacket off. He's left with his crisp white shirt, and carefully places his custom-made navy blue jacket around his chair. He unbuttons his cuff-links  and places them into his pants' pocket and rolls his sleeves up.

"We've had a long night piecing together some of the puzzle pieces, but a general picture started to emerge," he says smiling, and looks like he had uninterrupted eight hours of sleep. He takes a sip of his black, unsweetened coffee, and then places the cup back on the coaster.

"Our focal point at this moment, is this man," he says and points to the screen with a laser pointer. "Jack Hyde. This is the image from his employee file at SIP. We have carefully examined his apartment and paid careful attention to not to disturb any evidence, however, we've collected all we can and taken images and videos of his apartment," he says, and the video of a dirty apartment pops onto the screen. It does look exactly like Welch had described last night.

"Clearly, this man is angry," he says and an image of shattered whiskey bottles by the walls and dried liquor stains on the walls pop up. Another image of coaxial cables ripped from the walls forcefully in such a way that the drywall has also been ripped exposing studs behind. There are images of walls punched in with blood stains on them. "But he is also calculating. He made the effort to vacate his premises because he expected that someone might sniff his trail. Namely Welch and me..."

"But, we don't believe he's the only one, sir," says Welch dropping the bomb.

"What?"

"Let me correct what Welch had said,” says Alex looking pointedly at Welch. “The conclusion we reached is that he is the perp and the mastermind, but he cannot achieve it alone. He had to have help. He’s withdrawn all his cash four weeks ago. He had about eight thousand Dollars. He needs to live somewhere, he needs to eat, he needed to rent the Dodge he’s using, or steal it. All of a sudden all his cell phone activities seized. Either he just dropped from the face of the earth or he’s using someone else to get his work done. Clearly he hasn't been a lovable man. So the option that someone else owing him big and doing him an enormous favor is out. He’s blackmailing someone to get some of his work done...” he says and looks at me.

“Two questions: How can you be absolutely sure that he is the mastermind? And who would he be blackmailing?”

Pella looks at Welch, and nods.

“As you know, Hyde had convictions in Detroit as a minor. His records are sealed, but, we've called in some favors and his prints are a match with the partial from Charlie Tango.” I immediately lean forward.

“What?” I seethe with anger. “I suspected it after his identification on Sunday, but now that it’s confirmed, we can inform the police that he is in fact the perp, and that proves that he attempted to murder me and Ros Bailey!”

“Not quite my friend,” says Pella holding his hands up.

“What the hell do you mean, not quite?” I direct the intensity of my glacial gaze towards Pella. “Fingerprints match with the partial. What else do they need?”

He puts both his hands on the table and lean in with a gaze matching mine.

“You are too hasty, Grey. The means we have used to check his records aren't exactly legal. Once a juvenile record is sealed, it cannot be opened again without the individual’s permission, or until his or her death. Sealed court proceedings will be treated as they never took place. The only response we will get is ‘we have no records of that matter’.”

“So, we just sit and twiddle our fingers while my family is in danger? I won't allow it!” I hiss through gritted teeth.

“Not quite, and I expect nothing less from you,” he says with a satisfied smile. “I spoke to an associate at the police department to have Hyde’s sealed records checked calling in a favor. When it comes to felonies, the key age is 14 in juvenile records. Hyde boosted a car two weeks after his fourteenth birthday, and had the record sealed a few years ago. You see, in the Great State of Michigan, Grand Theft Auto is a felony. For such a record to be sealed after the age of 14, a prosecutorial waiver had to be exercised at the time. It wasn’t his first grand theft auto. It was a subsequent felony charge. I found the loophole to have them compare the prints. But a partial still not enough for a conviction,” he says grimly. “It only makes Hyde a person of interest.”

“Who then is aiding and abetting a criminal like Hyde?”

“Ahhh... And that’s the million Dollar question, isn't it? Who has so much at stake? And what does he know about him or her? Welch and his men will check on his acquaintances.  His former PAs are a dead end so far. Welch has interviewed them, and they’re all dead silent...Uniformly silent with the same fucking story! When everyone reads the same scripted line, it’s the signature of a lie. Welch’s men staked out all of the PAs. He’s not staying with any of them. But I am willing to bet that he has eyes and ears close by,” he says and that revelation brings my nerves on high alert.

“Hyde just didn't drop out of the face of the earth! Where is he?” I ask around the room.

“I am periodically scanning the city cams, sir, and the face recognition software is constantly running. There are no leads so far,” says Barney for the first time.

“All the security measures you've put in place are the ones I would have recommended. The only thing I would add to that is that any information you have on this investigation should be kept absolutely secret; not be shared with anyone other than the police. Need to know, only. That way, information leakage can be prevented, and nothing will reach to Hyde’s ears if he has friends in your circles, or your family’s circles,” he says, and I know he’s referring to Anastasia’s work circles. Well, need to know is my motto, and so far, Ana doesn’t need to know.  The less she knows, the less she will worry, and the better I can protect her.

The meeting goes on for another thirty minutes. When it’s over, I feel a sense of control. I’m getting the reins back in my hands again which I felt were lost and driving me crazy lately. Now, I know who the perp is. All the security personnel are aware of his description. The enemy has a face. But the questions raised by Pella bring up an unpalatable idea as well. Jack has an accomplice or accomplices. Unknown faces. We still have to be vigilant. Very vigilant. Our moves have to be coordinated with the security well. Especially Anastasia’s and she isn't going to like that.

Pella shakes my hand in his usual way on his way out.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice. Send me your bill.”

“Don’t worry about that. It’s already included in the first page of the report,” he says grinning.

By the time I get back into my office. I open the report Pella gives me to see what he’s charging me. He doesn’t have set rates. This ought to be a very expensive detour. What I see in the first page makes me grin. The paper he’s written his note has my company logo. He wrote this when Welch was closing up the meeting!

“Well Grey, I was unable to attend your wedding, and your gift got lost in the mail. But then again, maybe not. Consider this visit a wedding present my friend. After all, there’s no bigger present than the security of a man’s family.

Oh, I also have this piece of rock for you as a token which I have recently acquired and have been carrying around since. I’d like to pass it on to you as a reminder perhaps. Unimpressive I know, but if you consider where it came from, it gains its full value back up; in fact all the way to the summit of K2! Dealing with steeper and icier slopes, snow, avalanches, rocks, the unpredictable weather, a most treacherous ascent which significantly reduces any climber’s lifespan, K2 is deadlier than Everest. It is the holy grail of mountaineering making this little piece of rock, one of my most important recently acquired possessions. Because, it is the proof that during a life and death situation, I mastered my senses by listening to my environment, conquering my fears, surviving the unknown, and the unpredictable ordeals.  You see Grey, the value of your rock is actually significantly higher, because all the members of my climbing party have survived and ascended a summit with nearly 30% of fatality rate. That is despite the fact that we had to carry down three of the very injured climbers and saved their lives while putting our own in danger. So, this signifies the gift of life at the end of a challenge which I’m now passing onto you. Congratulations my friend!

Alex,”

I hold the thin jagged edged rock now preserved in thin acrylic. I closely examine it, and see a bloody fingerprint on it making me wonder who it belonged to. On the flip side of the rock a faintly scribbled handwriting in pencil: "13 went up the summit. 13 came down the summit" 

I put it on my desk, making a mental note to have a small display made. All of a sudden I’m missing my wife, her presence. I write her an e-mail:

___________________________________________________

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Flattery

Date: August 23, 2011 09: 54

To: Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey

I have received three compliments on my new haircut. Compliments from my staff are new. It must be the ridiculous smile I’m wearing whenever I think about last night. You are indeed a wonderful, talented, beautiful woman. And all mine.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

___________________________________________________

She doesn’t reply immediately, and I dive into work. There are lots to accomplish before I go to New York. Her message pings in about an hour.

___________________________________________________

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Trying to concentrate here.

Date: August 23, 2011 10: 48

To: Christian Grey

Mr. Grey

I am trying to work and don’t want to be distracted by delicious memories. Is now the time to confess that I used to cut Ray’s hair regularly? I had no idea it would be such useful training. And yes, I am yours and you, my dear overbearing husband who refuses to exercise his constitutional right under the second amendment to bear arms, are mine. But don’t worry because I shall protect you. Always.

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

___________________________________________________

I can’t imagine my wife as a gun toting woman. A regular cowgirl!

___________________________________________________

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Annie Oakley

Date: August 23, 2011 10: 53

To: Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey

I am delighted to see you have spoken to the IT dept. and changed your name. :D

I shall sleep safe in my bed knowing that my gun-toting wife sleeps beside me.

Christian Grey

CEO & Hoplophobe, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

___________________________________________________

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Long words

Date: August 23, 2011 10: 58

To: Christian Grey

Mr. Grey

Once more you dazzle me with your linguistic prowess. In fact, your prowess in general, and I think you know what I’m referring to.

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

___________________________________________________

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Gasp!

Date: August 23, 2011 11: 01

To: Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey Are you flirting with me?

Christian Grey

Shocked CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

___________________________________________________

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Would you rather  .  .  .

Date: August 23, 2011 11: 04

To: Christian Grey

I flirted with someone else?

Anastasia Grey

Brave Commissioning Editor, SIP

___________________________________________________

Yes, you’re quite brave Mrs. Grey! This remark clearly deserves a spanking! Is she really that obtuse that I’m a possessive man, or is she trying to get a rise out of me?

___________________________________________________

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Grrrrr

Date: August 23, 2011 11: 09

To: Anastasia Grey

NO!

Christian Grey

Possessive CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

___________________________________________________

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Wow  .  .  .

Date: August 23, 2011 11: 14

To: Christian Grey

Are you growling at me? ’Cause that’s kinda hot.

Anastasia Grey

Squirming (in a good way) Commissioning Editor, SIP

___________________________________________________

Shit! She’s toying with me! She does have an office of her own, and the doors lock. Maybe I can pay her a visit today.

___________________________________________________

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Beware

 Date: August 23, 2011 11: 16

To: Anastasia Grey

Flirting and toying with me, Mrs. Grey? I may pay you a visit this afternoon.

Christian Grey

Priapic CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

___________________________________________________

 From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Oh No!

Date: August 23, 2011 11: 20

To: Christian Grey

I’ll behave. I wouldn’t want my boss’s boss’s boss getting on top of me at work. ;) Now let me get on with my job. My boss’s boss’s boss may fire my ass.

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

___________________________________________________

Fuck! I think I just spurted out all my coffee onto my monitor! What I wouldn't do to that ass right now!

___________________________________________________

From: Christian Grey Subject: &*% $&*&*

Date: August 23, 2011 11: 23

To: Anastasia Grey

Believe me when I say there are a great many things he’d like to do to your ass right now. Firing you is not one of them.

Christian Grey

CEO & Ass man, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

___________________________________________________

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Go Away!

Date: August 23, 2011 11: 26

To: Christian Grey

Don’t you have an empire to run?

Stop bothering me.

My next appointment is here.

I thought you were a breast man  .  .  .

Think about my ass, and I’ll think about yours  .  .  .

ILY x

Anastasia Grey

Now Moist Commissioning Editor, SIP

___________________________________________________

Early Thursday morning I’m up at 4:00 a.m. quickly take my shower and get dressed to leave with Taylor. Anastasia is still sleeping. I watch her sleep, and slowly rub her hair and then lean in and kiss her softly. After breakfast, Taylor and I leave to go to the airport. I quickly type Anastasia an e-mail on the way to the airport. I’m uneasy, because this is the first time we are going to sleep apart since our wedding. The only time we slept apart since she moved in was the night before our wedding.

___________________________________________________

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Miss you already

Date: August 25, 2011 04: 32

To: Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey

You were adorable this morning.

Behave while I’m away.

I love you.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

___________________________________________________

Stephan and his co-pilot Beighley are standing by the cockpit ready to greet me. I get settled in, and tell Taylor that I will sleep for a few hours. I didn't sleep much last night knowing I was going to spend the time apart from Anastasia, and we didn't do much sleeping in bed. Stephan said that the flight will take an estimated six hours and four minutes. That should give me plenty of time to rest.

After four hours of sleep, I feel rested, but not as well rested as I sleep next to Anastasia. I take my briefcase and go to the seating area to look over some documents and have something to drink. Taylor is sitting in a chair and reading a Louis L’amour book.

“Mr. Grey,” he nods his acknowledgement.

“Taylor,” I nod.  I go over the meeting details, and take notes on my laptop as the flight attendant serves us our lunch and refreshments. By the time the flight attendant picks up the remnants of our lunch, we hear Stephan’s voice in the jet’s PA system.

“Good afternoon. This is your captain speaking. Due to some unexpected turbulence we are going to be able to land at JFK fifteen minutes behind schedule at local time 1:32 p.m.”

As soon as we land on JFK, and still sitting on the tarmac, I turn my Blackberry on and find Anastasia’s reply to my earlier e-mail.

___________________________________________________

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Behave Yourself!

Date: August 25, 2011 09: 03

To: Christian Grey

Let me know when you land— I’ll worry until you do.

And I shall behave. I mean how much trouble can I get into with Kate?

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

___________________________________________________

What is she doing with Kate? And why didn't she tell me she’s doing something with her? Why does she always wait till we have some distance between us until she reveals something?

I immediately dial her work phone.

“Ana St... Grey,” she replies making me smile. Still getting used to my name.

“Hi,” I say in a soft, warm voice.

“Hi! How was your flight?” she replies in a voiced laced with relief and her joy. She must be grinning.

“Long. What are you doing with Kate?” I ask coming right to the point. I want to find out if Kate is coming to the apartment.

“We’re just going out for a quiet drink,” she replies. I immediately tense. I don’t want her to go out. Why didn't she tell me before I left? It’s not safe for her to break protocol right after I have gone through all these new security protocols. There’s danger out there, and I have told her that for the time being we must all follow the prescribed protocols. I say nothing. She continues.

“Sawyer and the new woman...Prescott...are coming to watch over us,” she replies.

“I thought Kate was coming to the apartment.”

“She is after a quick drink,” she replies and I sigh heavily. She always conceals what she wants to do. She’s done it since she’s met me. She waited till she got to Georgia to tell me what she feels, her name change, and now this...

“Why didn't you tell me?” I ask in a very quiet, very controlled voice.

“Christian, we’ll be fine. I have Ryan, Sawyer and Prescott here. It’s only a quick drink.” She’s still trying to negotiate. It’s breaking the protocol. She needs to follow the rules until Jack and his possible abettors are caught. I don’t trust myself to say anything without losing control, and I’m not in Seattle to set it right. I breathe heavily, counting to ten. Ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...

“I’ve only seen her a few times since you and I met. Please. She’s my best friend.”

“Ana, I don’t want to keep you from your friends. But I thought she was coming back to the apartment.”

“Okay,” she says petulantly, acquiescing. “We’ll stay in.”

“Only while this lunatic is out there. Please.”

“I’ve said okay,” she mutters exasperated. When she begrudgingly acquiesces, she always rolls her eyes.

I snort knowing this. “I always know when you’re rolling your eyes at me.”

She scowls into the phone, “Look I’m sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. I’ll tell Kate.”

“Good,” I give a sigh of relief. I’m only going to be gone for a day. She should be able to manage a day, but this is Anastasia we’re talking about.

“Where are you?”

“On the tarmac at JFK.”

“Oh, so you just landed,” she says. Of course I just landed. She asked me to call her as soon as I landed. I intend to listen.

“You asked me to call the moment I landed.”

“Well, Mr. Grey, I’m glad one of us is punctilious,” she says making me laugh.

“Mrs. Grey, your gift for hyperbole knows no bounds. What am I going to do with you?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something imaginative. You usually do,” she says in a seductive voice.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Yes.” Her brazen reply makes me grin.

I hear Taylor’s discreet cough behind me.

“I’d better go. Ana, do as you’re told, please. The security team knows what they’re doing.”

“Yes, Christian, I will,” she replies agitated.

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening. I’ll call you later.”

“To check up on me?”

“Yes,” I reply truthfully. There is nothing wrong for a man loving and protecting the love of his life.

“Oh, Christian!” she scold me.

“Au revoir, Mrs. Grey.”

“Au revoir, Christian. I love you,” she says. Though I know she loves me, her sudden declaration right after her scolding makes me take a sharp inhale of breath.

“And I you, Ana,” I say hanging onto the line. I love my wife, and this first separation is just too hard.

“Hang up, Christian,” she orders in a whisper.

“You’re a bossy little thing, aren't you?”

“Your bossy little thing,” she declares. I melt inside.

“Mine,” I breathe my answer. “Do as you’re told. Hang up.”

“Yes, Sir,” she says hanging up.

I immediately type an email message.

___________________________________________________

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Twitching Palms

Date: August 25, 2011 13: 42 EDT

To: Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey

You are as entertaining as ever on the phone.

I mean it. Do as you’re told.

I need to know you’re safe.

I love you.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

___________________________________________________

I sling my laptop bag onto my shoulder, and Taylor takes the carry-on bags. The driver is holding a sign simply says Mr. Taylor.  I smile. Yellow taxis, airport buses and a steady flow of cars of all sorts and makes flood through, and the ever present wail of an ambulance or a police car can also be heard in the background right outside. The driver helps Taylor to load the bags into the trunk, and Taylor opens the door for me. Then he sits in the front seat next to the driver. The driver whose name tag says Mark Easton eases into never stopping but constant running, jam packed New York traffic. He navigates through the one-way streets, and easily merging on to the various lanes to get me to my apartment Manhattan’s Upper East Side. When we reach my apartment, the doorman opens my door, and I ease out of the SUV.

The doorman tips his hat to me, and says, “Good afternoon, Mr. Grey. Welcome back to New York, sir.”

“Thank you, Donald,” I reply as he holds the door to the foyer. I have barely enough time to take a shower, rest, and review the contracts. I have a business dinner to attend. Taylor presses the button to call the elevator. It’s been several months since I haven’t been to this apartment. I really was hoping that Anastasia would come with me. But maybe I can bring her to a weekend getaway. Taylor presses the number, and I enter my key; as always, I have a penthouse in this building as well. I like my privacy very well. It’s worth the extra buck.

“Taylor, do we have time to work out?”

He checks his watch, and replies. “Yes, sir, we should have about an hour.”

                                                           ****❦ ♡ ❧*****

I am showered, and dressed in my black tuxedo. It’s 8:30 p.m. I stand before the mirror and tie the bow-tie into a perfect knot. On my way out I call Anastasia. She should have left work by now. But she doesn’t answer the phone. Maybe she’s too busy with Kate to hear the phone. I’ll give her some time to get settled at home. When we arrive at the Peninsula Hotel for the billionaires’ party, it’s about nine-thirty. It’s not called this of course, but most of the attendees are the wealthiest people around the globe. Taylor is also in a Tuxedo, and he immediately exits the vehicle before the valet and opens my door. We make our way to the terrace of the Peninsula which is decked out for the event.

I call Anastasia again, and there’s no answer.

I go through a meeting and rubbing elbows with countless boring and equally wealthy businessmen and women.

An elegant, confident woman parts the crowd and her gaze is fixed on me. Taylor stands as close to me as possible, looking impassive. The woman has long dark hair to her back, and pale blue eyes. She tucks a strand of unseen dark hair behind her ear, lifts her chin in an elegant fashion indicating her class and breeding, and extends her hand to me as she comes to face to face with me.

“Mr. Grey. How nice to see you in New York again,” she says in a cultured New York accent. I don’t recognize her, but she recognizes me.

“To what do we owe this rare visit?”

“Business, as you can see...” I indicate with my hand.

“Ah, but I wouldn't know. My father drags me to these events often. I only seek pleasure,” she says with meaning. I let go of her hand, but she holds onto mine, and I pull it back, making and releasing a fist.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs.?” As I don’t remember who the hell she is, and neither do I care.

“Miss Blackburn. It’s Miss,” she reiterates. “I’ve read that you have recently been married. I was hoping to meet Mrs. Grey, tonight.”

“Mrs. Grey is unable to attend tonight,” I reply tersely.

“I’m so sorry. That soon?” she asks with a packed meaning.

“That soon what?” I ask in a harsh tone.

“When wives are bored with their husbands’ business dinners, it usually takes a few years, not a few weeks. Perhaps she’s not made of our stock...” she says with much implication.

“Miss Blackburn,” I hiss, “my wife and I are happily married. I don’t intend to take marriage advice from someone who is unhappily single.”

“I apologize Mr. Grey. It was kindly meant. But whenever you’re not happy, here’s my card... Call me,” she says as she smiles with a knowing glint in her eyes and shoves her business card into my palm, and then walks away which I crumple and toss.

I check my Blackberry and no phone calls, no text messages, and no e-mails from Anastasia. I have an uneasy feeling. I call Anastasia for the third time, and still no answer. I turn my back and quickly type a text.

*WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?*

“Mr. Grey? Pierce DuPont, three o’clock, sir. He’s coming towards you,” Taylor gives me a heads up, to gain my composure. I turn around and meet another business associate.

Once the small impromptu meeting is over, I check my Blackberry, and it’s silent as ever. I call Anastasia again, and it goes to voice mail. I take a shot of whiskey from a passing waiter, and wine. I drink the whiskey in one shot, and wash the taste down with wine. I am seething with anger. I feel helpless, restless, and with a maniac at large, I am also fearful for Anastasia’s safety.

“Any calls of distress Taylor?”

“Nothing sir,” he replies.

A flamboyantly gay designer whose names escapes me approaches as he’s been eye-fucking me all evening. Letting go of the two fashion models decorating his arms, he comes and stands about four feet away from me, then puts his left hand folded on the wrist right over the waist of his red silk shirt, and waves the other one in a grand gesture. 

“Oh my God! I thought you were Christian Grey!” he says and places his hand over his heart. “You my dear is just a sweet piece of eye-candy! Pleased to meet you, Mr. Grey! I’m Michael Kraus, but you probably already know that...”

“I didn't,” I reply with little patience left in me. 

“You know, Mr. Grey, if you weren't already independently wealthy, and successful in your chosen field, I would have signed you up as a runway model already!”

“Thank you for the flattery Mr. Kraus. If you’ll excuse me,” I say with a forced smile, and Taylor standing behind me as he's blocking Kraus' way. "You're not bad looking yourself honey. Have you ever thought of modeling?" 

"Waving my ass to the crowds never appealed to me, sir," I hear Taylor's reply. 

"Oh, God! An old fashioned gentleman too! Call me!" he says stuffing his number into Taylor pocket. I would have ordinarily felt sorry for Taylor, but as it happens I'm a volcano ready to erupt. I make my way in the opposite direction of the designer. I call Anastasia one last time, because she still hasn't called me back yet. It’s nearly 9:30 p.m. in Seattle. She should have had dinner, and had her girl talk and still had time to call me, or at least have the courtesy to return one of my calls or my text! No answer. Again! 

I dial Sawyer’s phone. He answers immediately. There’s loud music and noise in the background, and my heart sinks with my wife’s betrayal. She broke her promise!

“Sawyer,” I say in a tight voice. “Where is Mrs. Grey?” I can hear him swallow over the phone.

“Mrs. Grey is with Miss Kavanagh at the Zig Zag Café having drinks. Would you like to talk to her sir?” He asks immediately.

“No! Who else is with you?”

“Prescott, sir.”

“And Ryan?”

“He’s at Escala.”

“You guys broke the protocol?”

“I apologize Mr. Grey. Mrs. Grey was most insistent to have a drink with Miss Kavanagh.”

“You didn't think to call me?”

“We didn't want to disturb you sir. Everything is fine.”

“I will talk to you when I get back. We have a protocol. Anytime you deviate from that, you have to inform Taylor. He has not received any phone calls from anyone. Has Ryan even been informed?”

“Yes, sir. He has. I apologize sir, Prescott reminded Mrs. Grey that we were instructed to get back to Escala, but when she insisted going, I didn't think we were allowed to embarrass Mrs. Grey in front of Miss Kavanagh by causing a scene, sir. Miss Kavanagh has already made reservations before she came to SIP and she didn't want to come to Escala. It was my fault that I made a judgment call and followed Mrs. Grey’s persistent instructions, sir,” he says. I am seething with rage. Uncontrollable, enormous, relentless rage... My wife can't resist her friend's instructions, and persistence, but she can completely ignore mine! Who takes precedence for her? Kate Kavanagh, the former roommate, or Christian Grey, her husband? Inadvertently, she made a choice here. She chose her friend over me!  

“Fine, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say with much promise in my tone, and hang up.

“Taylor, call Stephan. We’re heading back to Seattle?”

His eyebrows shot up.

“Is everything alright back home sir?”

“No.”

He looks at me worried, and expectant.

“Mrs. Grey broke the protocol, and she’s out with her friend. We’re getting back home. Now!”

“Yes, sir,” he says, and he is already dialing.

I quickly type an e-mail to Anastasia.

___________________________________________________

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.

___________________________________________________

“Mr. Grey? Are we picking up...” Taylor starts asking, but seeing the rage on my face, he holds his hands up in a giving up gesture. “Never mind, sir. I’ll have our luggage shipped. The SUV is ready to take us to the airport, whenever you are ready. The pilots are on their way, and the plane has already been fueled and cleaned since we have landed. We should be ready to leave in the hour, sir.”

                                                           ****❦ ♡ ❧*****

"Can you drive this fucking SUV any faster to get to JFK?" I shout at the driver.  

"I apologize sir, we have speed limits!" 

"It's nearly 1:00 a.m. and there are hardly any cars on the fucking freeway! You can drive a little faster! I will triple your fine should you be stopped, and you can keep the rest!"  He looks at Taylor, who nods at him in the affirmative. 

"Yes, sir," says the driver and finally speeds up.  

I am fuming; rage and anger is coming out of my pores. I want to punish Anastasia badly. Whip her! I really want to beat the shit out of her for disobeying so brazenly, so quickly after she promised me one thing. God! I feel so fucking helpless! I feel like I'm skydiving with no parachute, nothing to catch me, nothing to hold, nothing to keep me safe, not even a fucking bird in the air! She takes all my power and leaves me incompetent, and helpless. If I punish her, she'll leave me. She won't cut me any slack! If I was in Seattle, I'd have gone to the bar, and brought her back home. She waits until I'm across the country, and defies me, knowing I can't do anything about it! The security is divided. That's not safe at all. There is a reason why we have protocols in place!  

I hear the tires screeching as we reach the airport, and both the driver and Taylor lets out a sigh of relief at the same time. 

"It's about fucking time!" I seethe, and Taylor jumps out to open the door, and tosses a couple of $100 bills to tip the driver as he runs after me.  

Twenty-seven minutes since I sent Anastasia her e-mail, I set foot inside my jet. Stephan and Beighley are dressed and waiting at the door.  

"How fast can you get us up in the air?" I ask before he greets me.

"As soon as we are in the queue for take-off." 

"It shouldn't be very long at this hour of the night. I want you to get me in the air as if you're being chased by the hell-hounds and get us to Seattle!" I order. 

"Yes, sir," he says and they both quickly take their seats in the cockpit as I make my way into the cabin. I sit in one of the leather chairs, and buckle up. Taylor follows suit silently.  

It takes another ten minutes for us to get moving to get in line for take-off. I close my eyes in an attempt to control my anger, and try to breathe in and out. This feeling of helplessness is making me restless. I want to be in Seattle instantly. I find my fingers tapping on my seat like the four horsemen of the apocalypse.  

"Sir? Did you get a hold of Sawyer, or Ryan?" 

"I spoke to Sawyer. You need to have a talk with him and the rest of the security team that no one breaks the protocol! They have to follow the rules!"  

"Yes, sir. May I be frank with your permission, sir?" he says. I sigh.  

"Go ahead," I hiss. 

"You and Mrs. Grey are our bosses. If there is no perceived danger, and you or Mrs. Grey are directing us to do something else, we have to follow your orders, sir." 

"They have to learn to say 'No!' to her! My orders cannot be overridden by Anastasia!"  

"Mr. Grey, I'm not disagreeing with you, sir. But with all due respect, Mrs. Grey is also our boss by default, sir, not our captive. Taking her home against her will can cause an incident. We want Mrs. Grey to trust us. Having her mistrust us, or fear us by making her feel she has no free will, would make it impossible for us to work with her, sir. She wouldn't want to be around us. We, as your security team want to make Mrs. Grey feel safe and secure, even if her last minute decisions are out of protocol. Our job is to protect her, sir. We aren't allowed to make decisions for her unless it's an emergency situation."   

I shove my hand into my hair in exasperation. 

"If I give an order for her to be taken home, I want her to be taken home! If she decides to go elsewhere, convince her otherwise! If she's not listening, I want them to call me! That's the protocol!" 

"Yes, sir." Taylor acquiesces nervously. I get up and pace around, making Taylor even more nervous. Unable to contain myself, feeling helpless, feeling desperate. I really want to punish Anastasia! Taylor is right of course. Anastasia makes everybody feel nervous and helpless by disobeying simple orders. I really, desperately want to punish her with a cane or a paddle or a whip! God help me! Give me patience! If I punish her, she'll leave me! Why? Why? Why does she defy me at every turn?  

This is the longest flight of my life! It can't be over soon enough. I can't concentrate, I can't read, I can't fucking think! I feel like tied up, with sights, sounds, and scents cut off and the reigns of my life is given to an amateur who is whipping me inside out!  

                                                           ****❦ ♡ ❧*****

"We are now approaching Seattle. We will be landing at SEA-TAC airport shortly. Please fasten your seatbelts. The local time is 4:22 a.m." 

I feel a sigh of relief for arriving in Seattle finally. As soon as we land and the jet is on the tarmac, I turn my Blackberry on. I have new text messages. Probably from Anastasia. My heart stops with the first message: 

*Panic Room Activated* 

Three simple words manages to stop my heart, and I feel my world crumbling around me. I think I'm having a heart attack! 

"Mr. Grey!" utters Taylor having received the same message. His eyes are wide, and he looks as worried and scared as I do. 

He's already dialing home.  

"Ryan! Is everyone safe?" I hear him ask.  

"Speaker," I utter. 

"Yes. Everyone is safe." Those four words deliver the best news I've heard all my life. Yes. Everyone is safe. Everyone is safe. Everyone is safe. My wife is safe. My reason for being is safe. My Ana is safe. Thank God! Thank God!  

"Where's Ana?" I ask. 

"Mrs. Grey is sleeping sir." 

"What the hell happened?" 

"Jack Hyde broke in, sir," he says. 

"What?" Taylor and I both yell at the same time. All of a sudden, my jet is shaking violently, rattling. I realize that it's me, shaking and rattling.  

"Tell me he's captured!" I hear Taylor utter. 

"Yes, sir. He's in police custody." 

“We’re on our way...” I say sternly when I can get a grip on my physical reaction.

“How’s Gail?” I hear Taylor asking.

“She’s fine, man. She’s sleeping right now,” Ryan says, and Taylor sags in relief.

“We’re at SEA-TAC sitting at the tarmac. We’ll be home soon!”

“You’re here? I’ll be on my way to pick you up.”

“No! We’ll get ourselves there. I don’t need to waste time waiting!” I bark.

“As you wish, sir.  Listen, Taylor. There may still be some reporters outside of Escala. If you don’t want us to pick you up, use the delivery entrance, please.”

I check the rest of my messages on the way to Escala.

*I’M STILL IN ONE PIECE. I HAD A NICE TIME. MISSING YOU – PLEASE DON’T BE MAD*

There’s also a voice mail from Anastasia:

“Hi. It’s me. Please don’t be mad. We've had an incident at the apartment. But it’s under control, so don’t worry. No one is hurt. Call me.”

Hearing her voice safe and sound relives me immensely. I want to know what happened. I want to beat the shit out of someone! God! If I was here, I could have killed Hyde! Rage is seeping though every cell of my being. I feel like someone fed me hot lava, and I’m about to erupt, incinerating myself and everything around me. I’m angry at everyone! I’m burning inside with an all-consuming fire. I’m angry at myself for consenting to leave Anastasia here in Seattle! I should have made her come with me. I hold my head in my hands, and then run both hands through my hair forcefully. What will I find when we get home? For the first time in my life, I feel rage that I cannot contain despite having learned and exercised control. But, what I would have lost... God help me! What I would have lost! I’d have lost the love of my existence! God, I couldn't have lived with myself! I hate me now for consenting her to remain behind! Unable to protect her... What good am I as a husband if I can’t simply protect my wife from my personal enemies? This is eating me up alive... I want to kill him! This is a blinding rage!

The truth at the core of my existence here and now is pure, undiluted anger, rage, and a desire to kill the man who deemed to destroy the one person who meant anything and everything to me. I am angry at everyone, including myself!

                                                            ****❦ ♡ ❧*****

Taylor and I both stand in the foyer, our jaws dropped to the floor. A puddle of water on the floor, broken vase, flowers strewn...  There are telltale signs of a fight that took place all around. One of the doors hinges came off and it’s hanging limply like the veteran of a war. Both Ryan and Sawyer meet us. Ryan is bandaged up and he’s getting a black eye and bruises are forming on his face.

“What happened?” I ask in an utterly soft, utterly cold, soulless voice.

“When Mrs. Grey was out with Miss Kavanagh under the protection of Sawyer and Prescott, I saw Jack Hyde on the security cameras’ monitor. He was wearing a uniform...coveralls for a delivery company and he had gloves on. That raised my suspicion and I’ve run the facial recognition on him comparing with the images we've been provided. It was Hyde. I put Mrs. Jones in the panic room, and gave him access.”

“ Didn't you ever think that he might overpower you and take over the apartment, put you in danger and make Mrs. Jones come out of the panic room and have her call Ana by putting a bullet through your head? Didn't you think of the ramifications if he had overpowered you, or shot you?” I seethe with boiling, simpering with ferocity, my voice raising in several octaves.

“Yes, sir. It was a calculated risk. I knew Mrs. Grey and Mrs. Jones were both safe, and we may never have gotten another chance to be this close to Hyde. If I missed the opportunity to capture him, he would have continued to create danger for you outside. It was a risk that had to be taken, sir.”

“And you!” I point an accusatory finger into Sawyer’s chest. “You allowed Mrs. Grey to break the protocol! If Ryan was overpowered...” I can’t bring the rest of the sentence.

“Where the hell is Jack now?”

“He’s taken to the hospital for his injuries; he was unconscious when he left here and then he’ll be taken to the county jail. Detective Clark has come and surveyed the apartment, and they will come tomorrow again. And...” says Sawyer visibly swallowing. “Hyde came here with intent to kidnap Mrs. Grey. He had a gun and duct tape with him, sir.”

“What?!?” I ask, my eyes darkening. Hyde wanted to prolong my pain by giving pain to my wife! I’m going to kill him!

I need a drink. Taylor and the other security guys remain behind as Taylor is gathering the rest of the information. I go to the kitchen, and open up a bottle of Scotch and pour myself a double and tip the glass letting the amber liquid to go down in one gulp making my throat burn. Pain is good. I need pain to get over this numbness, these unnamed emotions that are ravaging my soul, tearing me apart inside. I pour triple, and slowly walk into my bedroom.  Anastasia is curled up in my t-shirt and snuggled on my pillow on my side of the bed.

I pull the bedroom chair, pull the unraveled bow-tie and stuff it into my tuxedo pocket. I sit in the dark with my drink in my hand, and watch my wife in her slumber. Innocent, yet the cause of everything. She could have been hurt, and it would have been her fault because she never listens! Never thinks of the ramifications of her behavior! My gaze doesn’t leave her body. I want to get in the bed with her, but I know I won’t be able to restrain myself, and punish her somehow. I may not be able to control myself and stop. I don't trust myself. I will hurt her, and she’ll leave. She will really leave me this time! I hate it! I hate this feeling of helplessness, of being tied up and teased to no end. I take another sip of my drink. I lower the cup, and drape my left arm on the chair. My leg is cross at the ankle. Finally a new day is dawning. The first lights start seeping through the windows. I rest my right hand on the arm of the chair, raising my hand up to my chin; I absently start running my index finger back and forth over my lower lip.

Anastasia stir in the bed. My eyes widen, but I don’t make a move. I remain in the seat. This is the only position I can be sure of controlling myself. Anastasia turns, rubs her eyes.

“Hi,” a sleepy whisper of greeting comes through her lips.

I say nothing, just continue to watch her coolly, expressionless. I move my index finger away from my lip, and take the tumbled glass up to my mouth and toss the remainder of my drink, placing the glass on the bedside table.

“Hello,” I reply in a hushed tone. That’s the only way I can reign in my rage, and wrath.

“You’re back.”

“It would appear so.”

She pulls herself up into a sitting position, with her gaze locked on me. “How long have you been sitting there watching me sleep?”

“Long enough,” I say my tone emotionless.

“You’re still mad,” she says her voice breaking.

I finally gaze at my disobedient, I’ll-do-what-I-want-and-yank-your-chain-and-you’ll-come-like-a-freight-train wife considering her usage of the word, ‘mad’. Mad doesn’t even cover what I feel. When Nero burned down the city of Rome he was mad! I am beyond mad! The vehement rage I feel has created a black hole inside my soul and nothing other than an equal force will stop its turmoil.

“Mad...” I say gazing at her... “No, Ana. I am way, way beyond mad.”

She tries to swallow visibly, her eyes large.

“Far beyond mad... that doesn’t sound good.”

I continue to gaze at her without moving, covering all searing emotions inside. Hell is brewing, and it’s right in my soul. The stark silence stretches between us. She reaches out to the glass of water and takes a sip. Placing the cup back on the side table, she says, “Ryan caught Jack.”

“I know!” I say, my voice is a sharp shard of ice.

“Are you going to be monosyllabic for long?” she asks surprising me. I raise my eyebrows.

“Yes,” I reply.

“I’m sorry I stayed out.” Yeah, I’ll believe that when she actually listens to me for a change!

“Are you?” I ask.

“No,” she mutters pausing.

“Why say it then?” I ask exasperated. I don’t want empty words, promises, empty apologies. I want her to be sincere, truthful, and honest. That’s what I give her. Why can’t she do the same for me? When did honesty become such a hard thing to come by?

I Need to Know - Marc Anthony

“Because I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

I sigh heavily. The tension is straining my body, constricting my heart.

“I think Detective Clark wants to talk to you.”

“I’m sure he does.”

“Christian, please...”

“Please what?” I ask. What am I supposed to do? Congratulate her for making me question my own fucking judgment? For disobeying? Her simple action, the action she gave a fake apology for put everyone’s lives in danger here! Everyone’s, including her own! And now she treats me as if I am overreacting.  

“Don’t be so cold.”

Cold? My eyebrows rise in surprise once again. “Anastasia, cold is not what I’m feeling at the moment. I’m burning. Burning with rage. I don’t know how to deal with these...” I wave my hand around for a proper word to express the shit killing me inside, “...feelings,” I say acerbically.

She pushes the duvet cover away from her, drops her feet to the floor and walks towards me quickly, climbing into my lap, curling up. I swallow hard. I’ve missed her. I was angry all evening, and I died a thousand deaths since I landed. And here she is, sitting on my lap, holding me. I find my arms embracing her closely, and I bury my nose into her hair. She wraps her arms around my neck and nuzzle my throat. I sigh deeply, holding her tight. I am relieved to have her in my arms, but still full of anger.

“Oh, Mrs. Grey. What am I going to do with you?” I ask kissing the top of her head.

“How much have you had to drink?” she asks. I still. I think I deserve a drink or two after this ordeal.

“Why?” I ask.

“You don’t normally drink hard liquor.”

“This is my second glass. I’ve had a trying night, Anastasia. Give a man a break.”

She smiles in response. “If you insist, Mr. Grey,” she says breathing into my neck. “You smell heavenly. I slept on your side of the bed because your pillow smells of you.”

I nuzzle her hair. “Did you now? I wondered why you were on this side. I’m still mad at you,” I remind her.

“I know.”

My hand rhythmically stroke her back.

“And I’m mad at you,” she whispers. That makes me pause. She is the one who has done all the possible transgressions, and she’s mad at me?

“And what, pray, have I done to deserve your ire?”

“I’ll tell you later you you’re no longer burning with rage,” she replies kissing my throat. I close my eyes relishing in the feeling, of her contact, but I don’t want kiss her. It will lead me to bed, and I won’t be able to control my urge to punish her. I just tighten my arms around her, squeezing, and feeling her presence in my arms.

“When I think of what might have happened...” I say in a whispering broken, raw voice.

“I’m okay.”

“Oh, Ana,” I sob, barely controlling myself. I would die! If anything happened to her, I’d rip the man into pieces, and just die.

“I’m okay. We’re all okay. A bit shaken. But Gail is fine. Ryan is fine. And Jack is gone.”

I shake my head, “No thanks to you,” I mutter.

She leans back and glares at me. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to argue about it right now, Ana.” I say. She lifts her head up, and looks at me blinking. Finally, without responding, she rests her head on my chest once again. My fingers move into her hair, and I start playing with her.

“I want to punish you,” I whisper. I can’t help it. I’m losing control, and it’s killing me. “Really beat the shit out of you,” I add.

“I know,” she whispers.

“Maybe I will,” I test the waters.

“I hope not,” she answers fervently. I hug her tighter.

“Ana, Ana, Ana. You’d try the patience of a saint.”

“I could accuse you of many things, Mr. Grey, but being a saint isn't one of them,” she assesses me correctly.

“Fair point well made as ever, Mrs. Grey, I say, kissing her forehead.

“Back to bed. You had a late night, too.” I stand up with Anastasia in my arms, and deposit her on top of the bed.

“Lie down with me?”

“No. I have things to do,” I say and pick up my glass. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you in a couple of hours.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll go back to sleep, then.”

“Good,” I reply and cover her with the duvet and kiss her forehead once again. “Sleep.”

I make my back to the security team room. Everyone stands up. Taylor’s missing.

“Where’s Taylor?”

“The police is here, searching the garage sir...” says Ryan.

“What is it you’re not telling me?”

“Uhm...” replies Sawyer, swallowing hard. “They found Hyde’s van in the garage.”

“And?”

“There’s a mattress, enough horse tranquilizer to take out couple of elephants, and a note addressed to you, sir.”

Blood drains from my face. I feel frozen. The confirmation of the fact that he came here with the sole purpose of kidnapping my wife and the intent to rape her right here, in my own fucking garage!

“Where’s the note?”

“The police has it, but Taylor has a copy of it. Took a picture...” he says and shows me the text.

“Do you know who I am? Because I know who you are, Baby Bird.”

What the hell does this mean? He knows me? I’ve never met the guy in my life until I came to pick Anastasia from the 50’s Bar!

“I want to see it!” I say, and Ryan runs after me as I make my way to the elevator. I am radiating with tension, anger, murderous rage, and this feeling of not having any control. The helplessness of it is drowning me.

When we reach downstairs, I follow the uniforms to find the van in the garage. My gaze is a volcano covered with ice. The rage burning inside me is only concealed with my icy gaze. Taylor walks to me, and introduces me to the investigating Detective. I see the moving van with darkened windows with metal wires. A dirty mattress in the back of the van, ropes, duct-tapes, pain objects I am familiar with, and boxes and boxes of horse tranquilizers! Fuck! He came ready to take down with enough supply that could have killed my wife! I can’t blink, I can’t form a word. All I feel is this immense urge to kill Hyde, inflict the agony on him he intended to inflict me! All I want to do is deliver Hyde his final judgment!

“Mr. Grey?” asks the detective.

“What?” I snap at him with the intensity of my rage directed at him. To his credit, he manages to keep calm.

I want to beat Hyde with my bare hands. I want to leave my knuckle print all over his fucking, body, his nuts and dick! And stick his own dick into his ass! Today is the day, I’m not to be trifled with.

“Detective, I suggest you complete your search and investigation before you question me. I’m not going to be giving you an impromptu interview here, in the garage. Hyde has been known to you. We've made it quite clear that he was a danger to me, and my family. Yet, despite the fact that my security team provided you with credible evidence of the danger, you have done nothing to protect. Come to me with some answers, for a change,” I say and turn my back to go beat the shit out of something.

There’s a punching bag in the basement gym with my name all over it!

Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered were, ‘Ana!’

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, ‘Ana!’

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

Edgar Allan Poe

Metallica - Unforgiven