Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 99

“No.” But nearly.

“Have you been stopped?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Charm. It all comes down to charm.”

Yes, Mrs. Grey. Believe it or not, I can be charming.

“Now concentrate. Where’s the Dodge, Sawyer?” I ask.

“He’s just hit one hundred and ten, sir,” Sawyer says.

Ana gasps and she puts her foot down so the Audi picks up speed.

There’s a Ford Mustang in our way.

Fucking hell.

“Flash the headlights,” I yell.

“But that would make me an asshole.”

“So be an asshole!” I hiss, trying to keep my anger at the Mustang and my spiraling anxiety in check.

“Um, where are the headlights?” Ana asks.

“The indicator. Pull it toward you.”

The prick gets the message and moves over, giving us the finger. “He’s the asshole,” I mutter. “Get off

on Stewart,” I tell Ana. “We’re taking the Stewart Street exit,” I inform Sawyer.

“Head straight to Escala, sir.”

Ana glances in the mirror, her brow furrowed. She signals and moves across four lanes of the highway,

straight down the off-ramp, slowing down and then turning smoothly onto Stewart Street.

She’s amazing.

“We’ve been damned lucky with the traffic. But that means the Dodge has, too. Don’t slow down, Ana.

Get us home.”

“I can’t remember the way,” she squeaks.

“Head south on Stewart. Keep going until I tell you when.”

She cruises down the street.

Shit, the lights at Yale are on yellow.

“Run them, Ana,” I urge.

Ana overreacts and we’re thrown back as we speed through the intersection. The light on red.

“He’s taking Stewart,” Sawyer says.

“Stay with him, Luke.”

“Luke?”

“That’s his name.” Didn’t you know?

She glances at me.

“Eyes on the road!” I yell.

“Luke Sawyer?”

“Yes!” Why are we talking about this now?

“Ah.”

“That’s me, ma’am,” Sawyer says. “The unsub is heading down Stewart, sir. He’s really picking up

speed.”

“Go, Ana. Less of the fucking chitchat.”

“We’re stopped at the first light on Stewart,” Sawyer informs us.

“Ana—quick—in here.” I point to the parking lot on the south side of Boren Avenue. She turns sharply,

gripping the steering wheel, and the expensive tires on my magnificent R8 squeal in disapproval, but

Ana holds it, and swerves into the crowded lot.

Shit. That must have been a quarter-inch off the tread.

“Drive around. Quick.”

Ana takes us to the back of the parking lot. “In there.” I point to an empty space. Ana gives me a quick,

panicked look. “Just fucking do it,” I growl. And she does. Perfectly. As if she’d spent her whole life

driving my car.

Well done, Ana.

“We’re hidden in the parking lot between Stewart and Boren,” I tell Sawyer.

“Okay, sir. Stay where you are; we’ll follow the unsub.” He sounds a little irritated.

Tough.

I turn to Ana. “You okay?”

“Sure.” Her voice is deathly quiet, and I know she’s really shaken.

I try for humor to calm us both. “Whoever’s driving that Dodge can’t hear us, you know.”

Ana laughs. Loudly. Too loudly. She’s masking her fear. NôvelDrama.Org: text © owner.

“We’re passing Stewart and Boren now. I see the lot. He’s gone straight past you, sir.”

Thank Christ. The relief is instant, for Ana, too. I blow out a breath. “Well done, Mrs. Grey. Good

driving.” Reaching up, I startle her when I stroke my fingertips down her face. She takes a huge gulp of

air.

“Does this mean you’ll stop complaining about my driving?” she asks.

I laugh, and it’s cathartic. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”

“Thank you for letting me drive your car. Under such exciting circumstances, too.” She’s trying to stay

bright, but she sounds brittle as if she’s about to break.

I switch off the ignition, as she’s made no attempt to do so. “Maybe I should drive,” I offer.

“To be honest, I don’t think I can climb out right now, to let you sit here. My legs feel like Jell-O.” Her

hands are shaking.

“It’s the adrenaline, baby. You did amazingly well, as usual. You blow me away, Ana. You never let me

down.” I stroke her cheek again with the back of my hand because I need to touch her, to reassure her

and me that we’re safe. Tears well in her eyes, and her choked sob surprises us both as tears start

coursing down her face. “No, baby, no. Please don’t cry.” I can’t bear to see her cry. Reaching over, I

unbuckle her seat belt, grasp her waist, and pull her over the center console into my lap; her feet

remain on the driver’s seat. Smoothing her hair off her face, I kiss her eyelids, and her cheeks, then

bury my nose in her hair as she curls her arms around my neck and sobs into my throat. Cradling her

close, I let her cry it out.

Ana. Ana. Ana. You did so well.

Sawyer’s voice startles us. “The unsub has slowed outside Escala. He’s casing the joint.”

“Follow him,” I order.

Ana wipes her nose with the back of her hand, sniffles, and takes a deep breath.

“Use my shirt,” I offer, and kiss her temple.

“Sorry,” she says.

“What for? Don’t be.”

She wipes her nose again, and I hold her chin, tipping it up and kissing her tenderly. “Your lips are so

soft when you cry, my beautiful, brave girl.” I keep my voice low, conscious of our security at the other

end of the phone.

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