Linotte Reads 50 Shades: Fifty Shades Freed, Chapter Twenty-two

Happy Thursday, all! It’s time for our weekly recap of Fifty Shades Freed, and we’re almost done with this travesty of a series! At the end of the last chapter, Ana and Christian made up and Christian is okay with his impending fatherhood, and Ana just got a call from an old adversary. What happens next? Let’s find out!

“Don’t hang up. I’ve been having a chat with your little sister-in-law.”
What? Mia! 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. Grey 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 shocked 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.”

The line goes dead. I gape in horror at the phone, my mouth parched with fear, leaving the nasty metallic taste of terror. Mia, he has Mia. 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 Christian? Tell Taylor? Call the police? How will Jack know? Does he actually have Mia? 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.

Okay, I get that she’s concerned about her sister-in-law, but why not call the police and let them know what’s going on so you DON’T endanger your sister-in-law’s life or your own?

I gaze out the window in stark terror as I go over my plan. Get home. Change. Find checkbook. Escape from Ryan 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? Mia. Mia. What if he doesn’t have Mia? How can I check? If I call Grace it will raise her suspicions, and possibly endanger Mia. 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.

From the closet I fish out a large soft duffle bag. Will five million dollars fit into this? Christian’s gym bag is lying there on the floor. I open it, expecting to find it full of dirty laundry, but no—his gym kit is clean and fresh. Mrs. Jones does indeed get everywhere. I dump the contents onto the floor and stuff his gym bag into my duffle. There, that should do it.

Hey, at least the gym bag you intend on using for the cash is clean!

The elevator sinks smoothly down to the garage level. I have a couple of minutes’ start on Sawyer, and I know he’ll try to stop me. I glance longingly at my R8 as I rush to the Saab, open the door, toss the duffel bag onto the passenger seat, and slide into the driver’s seat.
I start the car, and the tires squeal as I race to the entrance and wait eleven agonizing seconds for the barrier to lift. The instant it’s clear I drive out, catching sight of Sawyer in my rearview mirror as he dashes out of service elevator into the garage. His bewildered, injured expression haunts me as I turn off the ramp onto Fourth Avenue.

Hey, she planned a great escape without having to dig a tunnel!

I squirm uncomfortably in my seat, knowing in my heart of hearts that Sawyer’s probably lost his job. Don’t dwell. I have to save Mia. I have to get to the bank and collect five million dollars. I glance in the rearview mirror, nervously anticipating the sight of the SUV bursting forth from the garage, but as I drive away, there’s no sign of Sawyer.

Be sure to check off each task as you complete it!

The bank is sleek, modern, and understated. There are hushed tones, echoing floors, and pale green etched glass everywhere. I stride to the information desk.
“May I help you, ma’am?” The young woman gives me a bright, insincere smile, and for a moment I regret changing into jeans.

It sounds more like she’s in a gothic mansion or something, doesn’t it?

“But why the cash? Was it always the money?” His tortured voice is barely audible.
No! Tears roll down my face. “No,” I whisper.
“Is five million enough?”
Oh please, stop!
“Yes.”
“And the baby?” His voice is a breathless echo.
What? My hand moves from my mouth to my belly. “I’ll take care of the baby,” I murmur. My Little Blip . . . our Little Blip.
“This is what you want?”

YES! THIS IS WHAT I WANT! LEAVE HIM AND TAKE ALL OF HIS MONEY! YOU’RE HOME FREE!

“Elizabeth, you have the money. Call Jack. Tell him to let Mia go.”
“I think he wants to thank you in person.”
Shit! I glare at her stonily in the rearview mirror.
She pales and an anxious scowl mars her otherwise lovely face.
“Why are you doing this, Elizabeth? I thought you didn’t like Jack.”
She glances at me again briefly in the mirror, and I see a fleeting look of pain in her eyes.
“Ana, we’ll get along just fine if you keep your mouth shut.”
“But you can’t do this. This is so wrong.”

This entire plotline is so wrong!

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.

CLIFFHANGER!

And that’s it for this week!