Cover.html

I scream a silent cry of suffering and shocked terror. Oh no— Little Blip. Jack follows through with a swift, vicious kick to my ribs, and my breath is blasted from my lungs by the force of the blow. Scrunching my eyes tightly, I try to fight the nausea and pain, to fight for a precious breath. Little Blip, Little Blip, oh my Little Blip—

“That’s for SIP, you fucking bitch!” Jack screams.

I pull my legs up, huddling into a ball and anticipating the next blow. No. No.

No.

“Jack!” Elizabeth screeches. “Not here. Not in broad daylight for fuck’s sake!”

He pauses.

“The bitch deserves it!” he gloats to Elizabeth. And it gives me one precious second to reach around and pull the gun from the waistband of my jeans. Shakily, I aim at him, squeeze the trigger, and fire. The bullet hits him just above the knee, and he collapses in front of me, crying out in agony, clutching his thigh as his fingers redden with his blood.

“Fuck! ” Jack bellows. I turn to face Elizabeth, and she’s gaping at me in horror and raising her hands above her head. She blurs . . . darkness closes in. Shit . . .

She’s at the end of a tunnel. Darkness consuming her. Consuming me. From far away, all hell breaks loose. Cars screeching . . . brakes . . . doors . . . shouting . . .

running . . . footsteps. The gun drops from my hand.

“Ana!” Christian’s voice . . . Christian’s voice . . . Christian’s agonized voice.

Mia . . . save Mia.

“ANA!”

Darkness . . . peace.

There is only pain. My head, my chest . . . burning pain. My side, my arm. Pain.

Pain and hushed words in the gloom. Where am I? Though I try, I cannot open my eyes. The whispered words become clearer . . . a beacon in the darkness.

“Her ribs are bruised, Mr. Grey, and she has a hairline fracture to her skull, but her vital signs are stable and strong.”

“Why is she still unconscious?”

“Mrs. Grey has had a major contusion to her head. But her brain activity is normal, and she has no cerebral swelling. She’ll wake when she’s ready. Just give her some time.”

440/551

“And the baby?” The words are anguished, breathless.

“The baby’s fine, Mr. Grey.”

“Oh, thank God.” The words are a litany . . . a prayer. “Oh, thank God.” Oh my. He’s worried about the baby . . . the baby? . . . Little Blip. Of course.

My Little Blip. I try in vain to move my hand to my belly. Nothing moves, nothing responds.

“And the baby? . . . Oh, thank God.”

Little Blip is safe.

“And the baby? . . . Oh, thank God.”

He cares about the baby.

“And the baby? . . . Oh, thank God.”

He wants the baby. Oh thank God. I relax, and unconsciousness claims me once more, stealing me away from the pain.

Everything is heavy and aching: limbs, head, eyelids, nothing will move. My eyes and mouth are resolutely shut, unwilling to open, leaving me blind and mute and aching. As I surface from the fog, consciousness hovers, a seductive siren just out of reach. Sounds become voices.

“I’m not leaving her.”

Christian! He’s here . . . I will myself to wake—his voice is strained, an agonized whisper.

“Christian, you should sleep.”

“No, Dad. I want to be here when she wakes up.”

“I’ll sit with her. It’s the least I can do after she saved my daughter.” Mia!

“How’s Mia?”

“She’s groggy . . . scared and angry. It’ll be a few hours before the Rohypnol is completely out of her system.”

“Christ.”

“I know. I’m feeling seven kinds of foolish for relenting on her security. You warned me, but Mia is so stubborn. If it wasn’t for Ana here . . .”

“We all thought Hyde was out of the picture. And my crazy, stupid wife—Why didn’t she tell me?” Christian’s voice is full of anguish.

441/551

“Christian, calm down. Ana’s a remarkable young woman. She was incredibly brave.”

“Brave and headstrong and stubborn and stupid.” His voice cracks.

“Hey,” Carrick murmurs, “don’t be so hard on her, or yourself, son . . . I’d better get back to your mom. It’s after three in the morning, Christian. You really should try to sleep.”

The fog closes in.

The fog lifts but I have no sense of time.

“If you don’t take her across your knee, I sure as hell will. What the hell was she thinking?”

“Trust me, Ray, I just might do that.”

Dad! He’s here. I fight the fog . . . fight . . . But I spiral down once more into oblivion. No . . .

“Detective, as you can see, my wife is no state to answer any of your questions.” Christian is angry.

“She’s a headstrong young woman, Mr. Grey.”

“I wish she’d killed the fucker.”

“That would have meant more paperwork for me, Mr. Grey . . .”

“Miss Morgan is singing like the proverbial canary. Hyde’s a real twisted son of a bitch. He has a serious grudge against your father and you . . .” The fog surrounds me once more, and I’m dragged down . . . down . No!