Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian (Fifty Shades 6)

Oh no. My wife. My girl. My beautiful girl.

I stroke her hair and gently tuck a strand behind her ear. She looks like she’s asleep, though she has a red mark on her face. Did he fucking hit you? Did he do this to you?

Now my attention turns to Hyde, who’s still fucking screaming. A fresh shot of adrenaline-fueled rage streaks through my bloodstream.

The fucker. He put his hands on my wife, and she shot him.

My God, Ana shot him.

I stand and move so I tower over him as he writhes on the ground.

And before I know what I’m doing, I lean on the Dodge, draw back my leg, and kick him with all my might in his stomach, hard. Twice. Three times, with all my weight behind each kick.

He screams.

“You do this to my wife, you fucker?” I bellow my rage and kick him again. He drags his hands up to protect his stomach, and I stamp with all my weight on the seeping wound on his thigh. He screams again—a different, louder, feral cry of agony. Leaning down, I grab the lapels of his jacket and bounce his head off the ground. Once. Twice. His eyes are wide and wild with fear as he grips my hands, smearing his blood on me.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, you twisted, sick motherfucker!”

From the far end of the tunnel, I hear voices. “Mr. Grey! Mr. Grey! Christian! Christian, stop!” It’s Taylor. He and Sawyer are pulling me away—pulling me off the vermin that is Hyde. Taylor grabs me by both shoulders and shakes me.

“Christian! Stop! Now!” He shakes me once more.

I blink at him and shrug him off.

Don’t touch me!

Taylor puts himself between Hyde and me, watching me like I’m unhinged, lethal and ready to strike. I take a breath while the murderous red mist clears.

“I’m okay,” I whisper.

“Look after your wife, sir.” Taylor’s tone is emphatic.

I nod. And glance once more at the fucker on the ground. He’s rocking gently, sniveling like the weasel-turd he is and clutching his thigh. He’s pissed himself, disgusting fuck. “Let him bleed to death,” I mutter to Taylor, and turn away.

I kneel beside Ana and lean down to hear her breathing, but I hear nothing. Panic swamps me once more. “Is she still breathing?” I glance up at Taylor.

“Look at her chest, rising and falling.” Taylor leans down again and checks her pulse. “Still strong.”

Oh, Ana. What were you thinking? What about the baby?

Tears prick my eyes. I loathe this feeling of helplessness. I want to fold her into my arms and sob into her hair—but I can’t touch her. This is agony. Where is the fucking ambulance?

“The girl. The girl.” Elizabeth suddenly pipes up.

What girl? We all turn to look at her, prone on the ground.

“Inside,” she says. “There. That building.” She points with her chin.

Is this a trick?

I hear Taylor’s quiet command. “Sawyer, check inside.”

In the distance, sirens wail. Thank God!

“Taylor!” When I turn, Sawyer is standing in the doorway. “They have Miss Grey in here.”

“Stay here, Christian!” Taylor raises a finger in warning.

Mia? My baby sister? Fear blooms in my gut. What has that fucker done to my sister? I watch, paralyzed, as Taylor disappears into the building, Sawyer regarding him from the doorway.

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

And what Ana said all becomes clear. I stare down at her, and I know in this moment that she could have been murdered by the sick fuck. Bile rises in my throat, and time suspends, until Taylor emerges from the building. “She’s okay, I think. She’s drugged. Asleep. No obvious signs of injury or assault. She’s fully clothed. I don’t want to move her. We’ll let the paramedics do that.”

“Mia?” I ask, not quite believing the awfulness of this situation.

He nods. His mouth set in a grim line.

The sirens are louder.

What the fuck was Hyde planning to do to my sister? He’s still whimpering like a wounded dog, quieter now, and I suspect he’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t give a shit. I want to kill him, slowly, painfully—but two ambulances, two police patrol vehicles, and a fire truck pull up in blaze of flashing lights and a cacophony of sirens, shattering the peace of the neighborhood, and saving Hyde’s skin.

I’m in a waking nightmare, sitting between Mia and Ana in the ambulance as we speed through Seattle. My head is in my hands, my heart is in my mouth, as I pray for both of them. I’m not a religious man, but right now I’d do anything, even plead with God, to know that my wife, our baby, and my sister are okay.

“Vital signs are good, Mr. Grey, for both your wife and your sister,” the paramedic says, his dark eyes full of compassion.

“My wife’s pregnant.”

The paramedic looks down at Ana. “Sir, there are no obvious signs of bleeding.”