Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed Read online

  “Mrs. Grey, you’re too light,” he mutters disapprovingly as he sets me gently on my feet. I sway. My legs feel like Jell-O. Christian flips the light switch, and I’m momentarily blinded by the fluorescent lamp that pings and flickers to life.

  “Sit before you fall,” he snaps, still holding me.

  Tentatively, I sit down on the toilet.

  “Go.” I try to wave him out.

  “No. Just pee, Ana.”

  Could this be any more embarrassing? “I can’t, not with you here.”

  “You might fall.”

  “Mr. Grey!”

  We both ignore the nurse.

  “Please,” I beg.

  He raises his hands in defeat. “I’ll stand outside, door open.” He takes a couple of paces back until he’s standing just outside the door with the angry nurse.

  “Turn around, please,” I ask. Why do I feel so ridiculously shy with this man? He rolls his eyes but complies. And when his back is turned … I let go, and savor the relief.

  I take stock of my injuries. My head hurts, my chest aches where Jack kicked me, and my side throbs where he pushed me to the ground. Plus I’m thirsty and hungry. Jeez, really hungry. I finish up, thankful that I don’t have to get up to wash my hands, as the sink is close. I just don’t have the strength to stand.

  “I’m done,” I call, drying my hands on the towel.

  Christian turns and comes back in and before I know it, I’m in his arms again. I have missed these arms. He pauses and buries his nose in my hair.

  “Oh, I’ve missed you, Mrs. Grey,” he whispers, and with Nurse Nora fussing behind him, he lays me back on the bed and releases me—reluctantly, I think.

  “If you’ve quite finished, Mr. Grey, I’d like to check over Mrs. Grey now.” Nurse Nora is mad.

  He stands back. “She’s all yours,” he says in a more measured tone.

  She huffs at him and then turns her attention back to me.

  Exasperating isn’t he?

  “How do you feel?” she asks me, her voice laced with sympathy and a trace of irritation, which I suspect is for Christian’s benefit.

  “Sore and thirsty. Very thirsty,” I whisper.

  “I’ll fetch you some water once I’ve checked your vitals and Dr. Bartley has examined you.”

  She reaches for a blood pressure cuff and wraps it around my upper arm. I glance anxiously up at Christian. He looks dreadful—haunted, even—as if he hasn’t slept for days. His hair is a mess, he hasn’t shaved for a long time, and his shirt is badly wrinkled. I frown.

  “How are you feeling?” Ignoring the nurse, he sits down on the bed out of arm’s reach.

  “Confused. Achy. Hungry.”

  “Hungry?” He blinks in surprise.

  I nod.

  “What do you want to eat?”

  “Anything. Soup.”

  “Mr. Grey, you’ll need the doctor’s approval before Mrs. Grey can eat.”

  He gazes at her impassively for a moment, then takes his BlackBerry out of his pants pocket and presses a number.

  “Ana wants chicken soup … Good … Thank you.” He hangs up.

  I glance at Nora, whose eyes narrow at Christian.

  “Taylor?” I ask quickly.

  Christian nods.

  “Your blood pressure is normal, Mrs. Grey. I’ll fetch the doctor.” She removes the cuff and, without so much as another word, stalks out of the room, radiating disapproval.

  “I think you made Nurse Nora mad.”

  “I have that effect on women.” He smirks.

  I laugh, then stop suddenly as pain radiates through my chest. “Yes, you do.”

  “Oh, Ana, I love to hear you laugh.”

  Nora returns with a pitcher of water. We both fall silent, gazing at each other as she pours out a glass and hands it to me.

  “Small sips now,” she warns.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I mutter and take a welcome sip of cool water. Oh my. It tastes perfect. I take another, and Christian watches me intently.

  “Mia?” I ask.

  “She’s safe. Thanks to you.”

  “They did have her?”

  “Yes.”

  All the madness was for a reason. Relief spirals through my body. Thank God, thank God, thank God she’s okay. I frown.

  “How did they get her?”

  “Elizabeth Morgan,” he says simply.

  “No!”

  He nods. “She picked her up at Mia’s gym.”

  I frown, still not understanding.

  “Ana, I’ll fill you in on the details later. Mia is fine, all things considered. She was drugged. She’s groggy now and shaken up, but by some miracle she wasn’t harmed.” Christian’s jaw clenches. “What you did”—he runs his hand through his hair—“was incredibly brave and incredibly stupid. You could have been killed.” His eyes blaze a bleak, chilling gray, and I know he’s restraining his anger.

  “I didn’t know what else to do,” I whisper.

  “You could have told me!” he says vehemently, fisting his hands in his lap.

  “He said he’d kill her if I told anyone. I couldn’t take that risk.”

  Christian closes his eyes, dread etched in his face.

  “I have died a thousand deaths since Thursday.”

  Thursday?

  “What day is it?”

  “It’s almost Saturday,” he says, checking his watch. “You’ve been unconscious for more than twenty-four hours.”

  Oh.

  “And Jack and Elizabeth?”

  “In police custody. Although Hyde is here under guard. They had to remove the bullet you left in him,” Christian says bitterly. “I don’t know where in this hospital he is, fortunately, or I’d probably kill him myself.” His face darkens.

  Oh shit. Jack is here?

  “That’s for SIP you fucking bitch!” I pale. My empty stomach convulses, tears prick my eyes, and a deep shudder runs through me.

  “Hey.” Christian scoots forward, his voice filled with concern. Taking the glass from my hand, he tenderly folds me into his arms. “You’re safe now,” he murmurs against my hair, his voice hoarse.

  “Christian, I’m so sorry.” My tears start to fall.

  “Hush.” He strokes my hair, and I weep into his neck.

  “What I said. I was never going to leave you.”

  “Hush, baby, I know.”

  “You do?” His admission halts my tears.

  “I worked it out. Eventually. Honestly, Ana, what were you thinking?” His tone is strained.

  “You took me by surprise,” I mutter into his shirt collar. “When we spoke at the bank. Thinking I was leaving you. I thought you knew me better. I’ve said to you over and over I would never leave.”

  “But after the appalling way I’ve behaved—” His voice is barely audible, and his arms tighten around me. “I thought for a short time that I’d lost you.”

  “No, Christian. Never. I didn’t want you to interfere and put Mia’s life in danger.”

  He sighs, and I don’t know if it’s from anger, exasperation, or hurt.

  “How did you work it out?” I ask quickly to distract him from his line of thought.

  He tucks my hair behind my ear. “I’d just touched down in Seattle when the bank called. Last I’d heard, you were ill and going home.”

  “So you were in Portland when Sawyer called you from the car?”

  “We were just about to take off. I was worried about you,” he says softly.

  “You were?”

  He frowns. “Of course I was.” He skirts his thumb over my bottom lip. “I spend my life worrying about you. You know that.” Oh, Christian!

  “Jack called me at the office,” I murmur. “He gave me two hours to get the money.” I shrug. “I had to leave, and it just seemed the best excuse.”

  Christian’s mouth presses into a hard line. “And you gave Sawyer the slip. He’s mad at you, as well.”

  “As well?”

  “As well as me.” />
  I tentatively touch his face, running my fingers over his stubble. He closes his eyes, leaning into my fingers.

  “Don’t be mad at me. Please,” I whisper.

  “I am so mad at you. What you did was monumentally stupid. Bordering on insane.”

  “I told you, I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “You don’t seem to have any regard for your personal safety. And it’s not just you now,” he adds angrily.

  My lip trembles. He’s thinking about our Little Blip.

  The door opens, startling us both, and a young African American woman in a white coat over gray scrubs strides in.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Grey. I’m Dr. Bartley.”

  She starts to examine me thoroughly, shining a light in my eyes, making me touch her fingers, then my nose while closing first one eye and then the other, and checking all my reflexes. But her voice is soft and her touch gentle; she has a warm bedside manner. Nurse Nora joins her, and Christian wanders to the corner of the room and makes some calls while the two of them tend to me. It’s hard to concentrate on Dr. Bartley, Nurse Nora, and Christian at the same time, but I hear him call his father, my mother, and Kate to say I’m awake. Finally, he leaves a message for Ray.

  Ray. Oh shit … A vague memory of his voice comes back to me. He was here—yes, while I was still unconscious.

  Dr. Bartley checks my ribs, her fingers probing gently but firmly.

  I wince.

  “These are bruised, not cracked or broken. You were very lucky, Mrs. Grey.”

  I scowl. Lucky? Not the word I would have chosen. Christian glowers at her, too. He mouths something at me. I think it’s foolhardy, but I’m not sure.

  “I’ll prescribe some painkillers. You’ll need them for this and for the headache you must have. But all’s looking as it should, Mrs. Grey. I suggest you get some sleep. Depending on how you feel in the morning, we may let you go home. My colleague Dr. Singh will be attending you then.”

  “Thank you.”

  There’s a knock on the door, and Taylor enters bearing a black cardboard box with Fairmont Olympic emblazoned in cream on the side.

  Holy cow!

  “Food?” Dr. Bartley says, surprised.

  “Mrs. Grey is hungry,” Christian says. “This is chicken soup.”

  Dr. Bartley smiles. “Soup will be fine, just the broth. Nothing heavy.” She looks pointedly at both of us, then exits the room with Nurse Nora.

  Christian pulls the wheeled tray over to me, and Taylor places the box on it.

  “Welcome back, Mrs. Grey.”

  “Hello, Taylor. Thank you.”

  “You’re most welcome, ma’am.” I think he wants to say more, but he holds off.

  Christian is unpacking the box, producing a thermos, soup bowl, side plate, linen napkin, soupspoon, a small basket of bread rolls, silver salt and pepper shakers … The Olympic has gone all-out.

  “This is great, Taylor.” My stomach is rumbling. I am famished.

  “Will that be all?” he asks.

  “Yes, thanks,” Christian says, dismissing him.

  Taylor nods.

  “Taylor, thank you.”

  “Anything else I can get you, Mrs. Grey?”

  I glance at Christian. “Just some clean clothes for Christian.”

  Taylor smiles. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Christian glances down at his shirt, bemused.

  “How long have you been wearing that shirt?” I ask.

  “Since Thursday morning.” He gives me a crooked smile.

  Taylor exits.

  “Taylor’s real pissed at you, too,” Christian adds grumpily, unscrewing the lid of the thermos and pouring creamy chicken soup into the bowl.

  Taylor, too! But I don’t dwell on that as my chicken soup distracts me. It smells delicious, and steam curls invitingly from its surface. I take a taste and it’s everything it promised to be.

  “Good?” Christian asks, perching on the bed again.

  I nod enthusiastically and don’t stop. My hunger is primal. I pause only to wipe my mouth with the linen napkin.

  “Tell me what happened—after you realized what was going on.”

  Christian runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Oh, Ana, it’s good to see you eat.”

  “I’m hungry. Tell me.”

  He frowns. “Well, after the bank called and I thought my world had completely fallen apart—” He can’t hide the pain in his voice.

  I stop eating. Oh shit.

  “Don’t stop eating, or I’ll stop talking,” he whispers, his tone adamant as he glares at me. I continue with my soup. Okay, okay … Damn, it tastes good. Christian’s gaze softens and after a beat, he resumes.

  “Anyway, shortly after you and I had finished our conversation, Taylor informed me that Hyde had been granted bail. How, I don’t know, I thought we’d managed to thwart any attempts at bail. But that gave me a moment to think about what you’d said … and I knew something was seriously wrong.”

  “It was never about the money,” I snap suddenly, an unexpected surge of anger flaring in my belly. My voice rises. “How could you even think that? It’s never been about your fucking money!” My head starts to pound and I wince. Christian gapes at me for a split second, surprised by my vehemence. He narrows his eyes.

  “Mind your language,” he growls. “Calm down and eat.”

  I glare mutinously at him.

  “Ana,” he warns.

  “That hurt me more than anything, Christian,” I whisper. “Almost as much as you seeing that woman.”

  He inhales sharply, as if I’ve slapped him, and all of a sudden, he looks exhausted. Closing his eyes briefly, he shakes his head, resigned.

  “I know.” He sighs. “And I’m sorry. More than you know.” His eyes are luminous with contrition. “Please, eat. While your soup is still hot.” His voice is soft and compelling, and I do as he asks. He breathes a sigh of relief.

  “Go on,” I whisper, between bites of the illicit fresh white bread roll.

  “We didn’t know Mia was missing. I thought maybe he was blackmailing you or something. I called you back, but you didn’t answer.” He scowls. “I left you a message and then called Sawyer. Taylor started tracking your cell. I knew you were at the bank, so we headed straight there.”

  “I don’t know how Sawyer found me. Was he tracking my cell, too?”

  “The Saab is fitted with a tracking device. All our cars are. By the time we got near the bank, you were already on the move, and we followed. Why are you smiling?”

  “On some level I knew you’d be stalking me.”

  “And that is amusing because?” he asks.

  “Jack had instructed me to get rid of my cell. So I borrowed Whelan’s cell, and that’s the one I threw away. I put mine into one of the duffel bags so you could track your money.”

  Christian sighs. “Our money, Ana,” he says quietly. “Eat.”

  I wipe my soup bowl with the last of my bread and pop it into my mouth. For the first time in a long while, I feel replete in spite of our conversation.

  “Finished.”

  “Good girl.”

  There’s a knock on the door and Nurse Nora enters once more, carrying a small paper cup. Christian clears away my plate and starts putting all the items back into the box.

  “Pain relief.” Nora smiles, showing me the white pill in the paper cup.

  “Is this okay to take? You know—with the baby?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Grey. It’s Lortab—it’s fine; it won’t affect the baby.”

  I nod gratefully. My head is pounding. I swallow it down with a sip of water.

  “You ought to rest, Mrs. Grey.” Nurse Nora looks pointedly at Christian.

  He nods.

  No! “You’re going?” I exclaim, panic setting in. Don’t go—we’ve just started talking!

  Christian snorts. “If you think for one moment I’m going to let you out of my sight, Mrs. Grey, you are very much mistaken.”

&n
bsp; Nora huffs but hovers over me and readjusts my pillows so that I have to lie down.

  “Good night, Mrs. Grey,” she says, and with one last censorious glance at Christian, she leaves.

  He raises an eyebrow as she closes the door.

  “I don’t think Nurse Nora approves of me.”

  He stands by the bed, looking tired, and despite the fact that I want him to stay, I know I should try to persuade him to go home.

  “You need rest, too, Christian. Go home. You look exhausted.”

  “I’m not leaving you. I’ll doze in this armchair.”

  I scowl at him, then shift onto my side.

  “Sleep with me.”

  He frowns. “No. I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t hurt me. Please, Christian.”

  “You have an IV.”

  “Christian. Please.”

  He gazes at me, and I can tell he’s tempted.

  “Please.” I lift up the blankets, inviting him into the bed.

  “Fuck it.” He slips off his shoes and socks, and gingerly climbs in beside me. Gently, he wraps his arm around me, and I lay my head on his chest. He kisses my hair.

  “I don’t think Nurse Nora will be very happy with this arrangement,” he whispers conspiratorially.

  I giggle, then stop as pain lances through my chest. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”

  “Oh, but I love that sound,” he says a little sadly, his voice low. “I’m sorry, baby, so, so sorry.” He kisses my hair again and inhales deeply, and I don’t know what he’s apologizing for … making me laugh? Or the mess we’re in? I rest my hand over his heart, and he gently places his hand on mine. We are both silent for a moment.

  “Why did you go see that woman?”

  “Oh, Ana.” He groans. “You want to discuss that now? Can’t we drop this? I regret it, okay?”

  “I need to know.”

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he mutters, irritated. “Oh, and Detective Clark wants to talk to you. Just routine. Now go to sleep.”

  He kisses my hair. I sigh heavily. I need to know why. At least he says he regrets it. That’s something, my subconscious agrees. She’s in an agreeable mood today, it seems. Ugh, Detective Clark. I shudder at the thought of reliving Thursday’s events for him.

  “Do we know why Jack was doing all this?”