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

“Find a back way out, and have Sawyer meet us there with the car.”

“Will do.” He strides off, and I reach for my phone to call Welch.

“Mr. Grey,” he answers.

“Welch. Any news?”

“Yes. I’m waiting to board my plane. Let me find a quiet corner.” There’s rustling, and I hear a muffled airline departure announcement—but not to Seattle. “Right,” he grunts. “I have uncovered some information about Hyde. I’ll bring that to you. I’d rather you see it in person than have me go through it over the phone.”

“Can’t you tell me now?”

“I’d rather not. It’s a little public here, and this is not a secure line.”

What the hell could it be?

“Also, the police discovered several USB sticks in Hyde’s apartment during their fingertip search. Sex tapes. All of them. With his old assistants. With Morgan. It’s some pretty heavy stuff.”

Fuck. My scalp crawls.

“My guess is he used the footage to buy their silence, and also to blackmail Morgan.” Welch’s gruff voice drives the point home.

I knew about Morgan—but his former assistants?

Thank God I stopped Ana from going to New York with him.

“They’ll probably charge him with that, too,” Welch continues. “But they’re still building their case.”

“I see. Any word on who posted bail yet?’

“Nothing certain. But I’ll get into that when I’m back.”

“What time can I expect you?”

“I’ll be there around five p.m.”

“See you then.” I hang up and wonder what he’s found that connects me to Hyde.

Ana is subdued as we head down to the rear entrance of the hospital. I think she’s been chastened by the reunion with her father, and even though I’m with her dad all the way on this, a very small part of me feels sorry for her. I would not like to be on the receiving end of Raymond Steele’s ire.

Once in the car, Ana calls her mother. “Hi, Mom…” Her voice is husky with controlled emotion; Carla, on the other hand, I can hear through the phone as she sobs and wails.

“Mom!”

Ana doesn’t stand a chance. Her eyes fill, and I reach over to take her hand and give her a supportive squeeze, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. But I tune their conversation out as my thoughts turn to Welch and what he might have discovered. I’m irritated that he didn’t give me a clue over the phone.

Do I even want to know?

I stare out of the window and wonder.

“What’s wrong?” Ana asks, and I realize she’s finished her call with her mom.

“Welch wants to see me.”

“Welch? Why?”

“He’s found something out about that fucker Hyde.” My lips form a snarl around his name. I loathe the man with every fiber of my being. Loathe is not strong enough. Hate is not strong enough. I detest him and everything he’s done. Ana is still looking at me expectantly. “He didn’t want to tell me on the phone.”

“Oh.”

“He’s coming here this afternoon from Detroit.”

“You think he’s found a connection?”

I nod.

“What do you think it is?”

“I have no idea.” It’s frustrating, but I shelve the thought, as right now, I need to concentrate on my wife.

“Glad to be home?” I ask Ana, as we step into the elevator at Escala.

“Yes.” Ana’s reply is pin-drop quiet, and I watch as the blood slowly drains from her face. She raises glazed eyes to me and starts to tremble.

Hell. It’s finally hitting her.

She’s traumatized.

“Hey—” I gather her into my arms. “You’re home. You’re safe.” I kiss her hair, thankful that she smells more like Ana, without the synthetic tang of drugs and disinfectant.

“Oh, Christian.” A sob bubbles up through her lips, and she starts to weep.

“Hush, now.” I cradle her head against my chest, wanting to chase away the hurt and fear. She must have been holding all this emotion inside.

For my benefit?

I hope not.

I hate to see her cry—but I understand the need right now.

Let it all out, baby. I’m here.

When the elevator doors slide open, I lift her into my arms, and she clings to me, sobbing still, each sound a lesion in my heart. I carry her through the foyer, down the corridor, and into our en suite, where I deposit her on the white chair as if she’s made of glass. “Bath?”

Ana shakes her head, then winces.

Shit. Her head aches.

“Shower?”

She nods, tears still streaming down her face. The sight claws at my soul, and I suck in a breath to contain my warring emotions—rage at Hyde, and fury at myself for letting this happen. I switch on the shower, and when I turn back, Ana’s rocking slowly, keening into her hands. “Hey.” I kneel at her feet and cover each of her hands in mine, easing them away from her tearstained cheeks. I cradle her face, and she blinks away her tears as we gaze into each other’s eyes. “You’re safe. You both are,” I murmur.