50 shades freed

Chapter 10

Everything in it is entirely imaginary and intended only for entertainment; I created it for fun. I did not write 50 Shades freed or any of its characters, and I do not own them.

Chapter 10

My heart is pounding and blood thrums loudly in my eardrums; the alcohol flowing through my system, amplifying the sound.

"Is he—" I gasp, unable to finish the sentence and gazing wide-eyed and terrified at Noah. I can't even look at the prone figure on the floor. "No, sir. Just knocked out cold." Relief floods through me. Oh, thank God.

"And you?" I ask, gazing at Noah. I realize I don't know his first name. He's panting as if he's run a marathon. He wipes the corner of his mouth, removing the trace of blood, and a faint bruise is forming on his cheek.

"He put up one hell of a fight, but I'm okay, Mr. Tomlinson-Styles." He smiles reassuringly. If I knew him better, I'd say he looked a little smug.

"And Gail? Mrs. Jones?" Oh no . . . is she okay? Has she been harmed?

"I'm here, Lou." Glancing behind me, she's in a nightdress and robe, her hair loose, her face ashen and her eyes wide—like mine, I imagine.

"Noah woke me. Insisted I come in here." She points behind her into Taylor's office. "I'm fine. Are you okay?"

I nod briskly and realize she's probably just come out of the panic room built adjoining Taylor's office. Who knew we'd need it so soon? Harry had insisted on its installation shortly after our engagement—and I had rolled my eyes. Now, seeing Gail standing in the doorway, I'm grateful for his foresight.

A creak from the door to the foyer distracts me. It's hanging off its hinges. What the hell happened to that?

"Was he alone?" I ask Noah.

"Yes, sir. You wouldn't be standing here if he wasn't, I can assure you." Noah sounds vaguely affronted.

"How did he get in?" I ask, ignoring his tone.

"Through the service elevator. He's got quite a pair, sir."

I stare down at Jack's slumped figure. He's wearing a uniform of sorts—coveralls, I think.

"When?"

"About ten minutes ago. I caught him on the security monitor. He was wearing gloves . . . kinda strange in August. I recognized him and decided to give him access. That way I knew we'd have him. You weren't here and Gail was safe, so I figured it was now or never." Noah looks very pleased with himself once more, and Sawyer scowls at him in disapproval.

Gloves? The thought distracts me, and I glance once more at Jack. Yes, he's wearing brown leather gloves. Creepy.

"What now?" I try to dismiss the ramifications from my mind.

"We need to secure him," Noah replies.

"Secure him?"

"In case he wakes." Noah glances at Sawyer.

"What do you need?" asks Mrs. Jones, stepping forward. She's recovered her composure.

"Something to restrain him—cord or rope," Noah replies.

Cable ties. I flush as memories of the previous night invade my mind. Reflexively, I rub my wrists and glance quickly down at them. No, no bruising. Good. "I have something. Cable ties. Will they do?" All eyes turn to me.

"Yes, sir. Perfect," Sawyer says, serious and straight-faced. I want the floor to swallow me up, but I turn and head for our bedroom. Sometimes you just have to brazen things out. Perhaps it's the combination of fear and alcohol making me audacious.