Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 221

“Is five million enough?” How will I live without Ana?

“Yes.”

“And the baby?” She’ll take our baby away? The knife twists in my soul. Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“I’ll take care of the baby.”

“This is what you want?”

“Yes.” Her voice is barely audible. But I hear her. The pain is crippling. She wants me off the phone—I

can tell. She wants it done. She wants away from me.

“Take it all,” I whisper.

“Christian,” she sobs. “It’s for you. For your family. Please. Don’t.”

I can’t stand this.

“Take it all, Anastasia,” I snarl and tilt my head back and silently howl at the gray sky above me.

“Christian—” Her desperation is laced through every syllable of my name. I can’t bear to hear her.

“I’ll always love you,” I murmur, because it’s true. They’re the last words of a condemned man. I hang

up and take a deep, steadying breath, feeling hollow…nothing more than a husk.

I told her that once.

In a shower.

And then I told her I loved her.

“Mr. Grey?” Taylor’s trying to attract my attention. Ignoring him, I call Whelan again.

“Troy Whelan.”

“It’s Christian Grey. Give my wife the money. Whatever she wants.”

“Mr. Grey, I can’t—”

“I know you hold the reserve for the Pacific Northwest. Just transfer it from the main holding account.

Or liquidate some of my assets. I don’t care. Give her the money.”

“Mr. Grey, this is highly irregular.”

“Just fucking do it, Whelan. Find a way, or I’ll close all the accounts and move GEH’s business

elsewhere. Understand?”

He’s silent on the other end of the phone.

“We’ll sort the fucking paperwork out later,” I add, in a more conciliatory tone.

“Yes, Mr. Grey.”

“Just give her whatever she wants.”

“Yes, Mr. Grey.” I hang up.

I want to cry. I want to break down here on the roof and weep. But I can’t. I close my eyes and wish that

I were here on my own.

“Mr. Grey.” Taylor’s voice cuts through my pain.

I turn to face him, and he blanches. “What?” I snarl.

“Hyde has been granted bail. He’s free.”

I glare at him. What fresh hell is this?

Hyde is free? How? I thought we’d dealt with that.

Taylor and I eyeball each other, wondering, What the hell?

“You’re leaving me?”

“No!”

“It’s for you. For your family. Please. Don’t.”

“Ana!” I whisper. “She’s trying to withdraw five million dollars.”

Taylor’s eyes widen. “Shit!” he says.

We reach the same conclusion at the same instant. Whatever the hell she’s doing, deep down I know it

has something to do with that fucker Hyde. I punch the elevator button, as my utter despair congeals

into fear. Fear for my wife. “Where’s Sawyer?”

“He’s at the bank. He tracked her car.” We leap into the elevator and I jab the button for the garage as

Charlie Tango’s rotors start again. It’s deafening.

“You have the car keys?” I shout to Taylor as the doors close.

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s get to the bank. Do we know where Hyde is?”

“No. I’ll text Welch.”

“He left a message. Shit—it must have been the news about Hyde.”

The elevator takes forever to descend to the garage. What is Ana playing at? Why can’t she tell me if

she’s in trouble? Fear wraps around my heart and my gut, strangling me from the inside. What could be

worse than Ana leaving me? The distressing picture from my earlier dream slips into my head, drawing

on older—much older—disturbing memories: a woman lifeless on the floor. I screw my eyes shut.

No. Please. No.

“We’ll find her,” Taylor says with grim determination.

“We have to.”

“I’ll track her cell,” he states.

At last the doors open and Taylor tosses me his Q7 keys. He wants me to drive?

Get a grip, Grey. You have to get your wife out of this mess.

Perhaps that fucker is blackmailing her.

We climb into the car and I switch on the ignition. The tires scream as I reverse out of the space and

speed up to the garage entrance, only to wait agonizing seconds for the barrier to rise. “Come on.

Come on. Come on. Come on!”

Barely clearing the barrier, we roar out onto the street in the direction of the bank.

Taylor puts his phone on the dash, waiting for a signal, cursing impatiently under his breath.

“She’s still at the bank,” he says eventually.

“Good.”

The traffic is heavier than I expected. It’s frustrating.

Come on, come on, come on!

Why does Ana do this? Keep this shit to herself? Doesn’t she trust me?

I think about my behavior over the last couple of days.

Okay, it hasn’t been exemplary, by any means, but she takes all this crap on her shoulders. Why can’t

she ask for help?

“Ana Grey,” I shout into the phone’s Bluetooth system. After a few moments her phone starts to ring,

and ring, and ring…then it goes to voice mail. My heart sinks.

“Hi, you’ve reached Ana. I can’t take your call right now, but please leave a message after the beep,

and I’ll call you right back.”

Christ!

“Ana! What the fuck is going on?” I yell. It feels good to yell. “I’m coming to get you. Call me. Talk to

me.” I hang up.

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