Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 135

Even with its high ceilings and great views over the city, the place suddenly feels claustrophobic, and

I’m grateful when we get outside into the balmy evening heat of New York.

“Sir, the car will be a couple of minutes.”

“Okay. She’s still there? At the Zig Zag?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s go home.”

Taylor tilts his head. “Tribeca?”

“No, Seattle.”

He stares at me, his face giving nothing away, but I know he thinks I’m crazy.

I sigh. “Yes. I’m sure. I want to go home.” I answer his unspoken question.

“I’ll call Stephan,” he says.

He wanders over to the side of the main entrance and makes the call. I try Ana again, and her phone

goes to voice mail. I don’t trust myself to leave a message. I realize I could call Sawyer, but I have only

a flimsy hold on my temper.

Taylor could call him. But what would that achieve? It’s not like Sawyer can physically remove Ana from

the bar. Têxt © NôvelDrama.Org.

Could he?

Grey! Behave.

Taylor finishes his call and walks back to me, his expression grim.

What the hell?

“Sir, the Gulfstream is at Teterboro. It can be ready to fly in an hour.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

“Do you want to go back to the apartment?” he asks.

“No, I don’t need anything there. Do you need to go back there?”

“No, sir.”

“We’ll go straight to the airport.”

In the car I brood. I have a nagging suspicion that I’m behaving badly, but not as badly as my wife. Why

can’t she do what she says? Or let me know?

Hyde is out for revenge, and I’m scared.

For her.

And for me, if I lose her.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Once we’re on board, I remove my bow tie, fold it, and stuff it into the outside breast pocket of my tux.

Taylor hangs my jacket with his in the small closet, and I grab a blanket for each of us, then take a seat

in the main cabin.

I gaze out into the New Jersey darkness, tension leaching from my muscles into my bones. While we

were in the terminal waiting for the Gulfstream, I managed to restrain myself from calling Ana again.

But I can bear it no longer, and as Stephan and Beighley do their final checks, I call Sawyer.

“Mr. Grey,” he says, above the background hum of the bar. People are out, enjoying themselves. Like

Ana.

“Sawyer, good evening. Is Mrs. Grey still with you?”

“She is, sir.”

I’m tempted to ask him to hand his phone to her, but I know I will lose my shit and she’s probably

having a good time. I’m reassured that she’s under Sawyer’s watchful eye.

“Do you want to talk to her?” he asks.

“No. Stick close to her. Keep her safe.”

Hyde could be anywhere.

“Yes, sir. Prescott and I have her covered,” Sawyer replies. I hang up and glance at Taylor, who is

sitting diagonally opposite me, watching me impassively.

I look back down at my phone and I’m so mad at my wife, I didn’t even tell Sawyer that we were on our

way home. Taylor must think I’m crazy.

I am crazy—crazy for my fucking wife, who cannot be trusted to do as she says. Taylor’s seen me

sitting on the floor of my foyer, staring at the elevator, after she left me. And he had glue for the little

glider.

“Sir, she’ll be fine,” he says gently.

I look up at him again and bite my tongue.

This is none of his goddamn business.

This is between me and my wife.

Deep down I think she’s going to be fine.

But I have to be sure.

Why the hell couldn’t she do what I needed her to do?

Just once.

Just now.

My temper simmers and I fire off a quick e-mail to her.

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.

Beighley announces that we will be taking off shortly. I buckle up as Taylor does the same. “You can

take the bed, if you’d like to sleep,” I offer. “I think it will elude me.”

“I’m good, sir.”

Okay. I lay back and close my eyes, grateful that Beighley likes a nap and has slept all afternoon. She’s

going to fly us home.

I sleep fitfully, my dreams a tangled mess of dominance and submission—standing over Ana with a

cane in my hand. Elena standing with a cane over me.

It’s confusing and unsettling.

I try not to sleep.

To stay awake, I pace. Feeling like a caged animal, though that sense is exacerbated because the

Gulfstream is not exactly designed for pacing.

Hell. I want to howl at the moon.

I want to be home.

I want to curl up with Ana.

The plane landing at Boeing Field wakes me from my restless sleep. Opening my eyes, which are gritty

from lack of sleep and dry from the air-conditioning, I pick up my phone.

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