50 shades freed

Chapter 22

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 22

"Jack." My voice has disappeared, choked by fear. How is he out of jail? Why does he have Gemma's phone? The blood drains from my face, and I feel dizzy.

"You do remember me," he says, his tone soft. I sense his bitter smile.

"Yes. Of course." My answer is automatic as my mind races.

"You're probably wondering why I called you."

"Yes." Hang up.

"Don't hang up. I've been having a chat with your little sister-in-law." What? Gemma! No! 

"What have you done?" I whisper, trying to quell my fear.

"Listen here, you prick-teasing, gold-digging whore. You fucked up my life. Styles fucked up my life. You owe me. I have the little bitch with me now. And you, that cock-sucker you married, and his whole fucking family are going to pay."

Hyde's contempt and bile shock me. His family? What the hell?

"What do you want?"

"I want his money. I really want his fucking money. If things had been different, it could have been me. So, you're going to get it for me. I want five million dollars, today."

"Jack, I don't have access to that kind of money."

He snorts his derision. "You have two hours to get it. That's it—two hours. Tell no one or this little bitch gets it. Not the cops. Not your prick of a husband. Not his security team. I will know if you do. Understand?" He pauses and I try to respond, but panic and fear seal my throat. "You understand!" he shouts.

"Yes," I whisper.

"Or I will kill her." I gasp.

"Keep your phone with you. Tell no one or I'll fuck her up before I kill her. You have two hours."

"Jack, I need longer. Three hours. How do I know that you have her?"

The line goes dead. I gape in horror at the phone, my mouth parched with fear, leaving the nasty metallic taste of terror. Gemma, he has Gemma. Or does he? My mind whirrs at the obscene possibility, and my stomach roils again. I think I'm going to be sick, but I inhale deeply, trying to steady my panic, and the nausea passes. My mind rockets through the possibilities. Tell Harry? Tell Taylor? Call the police? How will Jack know? Does he actually have Gemma? I need time, time to think—but I can only accomplish that by following his instructions. I grab my purse and head for the door.

"Hannah, I have to go out. I am not sure how long I'll be. Cancel my appointments this afternoon. Let Elizabeth know I have to deal with an emergency."

"Sure, Lou. Everything okay?" Hannah frowns, concern etched on her face as she watches me flee.

"Yes," I call back distractedly, hurrying toward reception where Sawyer is waiting.

"Sawyer." He leaps up from the armchair at the sound of my voice, and frowns when he sees my face.

"I'm not feeling well. Please take me home."

"Sure, sir. Do you want to wait here while I get the car?"

"No, I'll come with you. I'm in a hurry to get home."

I gaze out the window in stark terror as I go over my plan. Get home. Change. Find checkbook. Escape from Noah and Sawyer somehow. Go to bank. Hell, how much room does five million dollars take up? What will it weigh? Will I need a suitcase? Should I telephone the bank in advance? Gemma. Gemma. What if he doesn't have Gemma? How can I check? If I call Anne it will raise her suspicions, and possibly endanger Gemma. He said he would know. I glance out the back window of the SUV. Am I being followed? My heart races as I examine the cars following us. They look innocuous enough. Oh, Sawyer, drive faster. Please. My eyes flicker to meet his in the rearview mirror and his brow creases.