“Stay close. I’m going to try and dodge through this traffic.” I glance at Taylor. “I wish you were driving.”

“You’re doing fine, sir.”

Where the fuck is she going? And who with?

We’re silent for several minutes. I focus on the road, while Taylor occasionally calls out directions. We head south, then east again, now through mainly residential streets.

“She’s turned south down Thirtieth.”

We follow for a few blocks, then turn east.

“It’s stopped. South Day Street. Two more blocks.”

Dread sits heavy and caustic in my stomach as I race through the back streets.

Three minutes later, I swing onto South Day Street.

“Slow down,” Taylor orders, surprising me, but I do as he says. “She’s here somewhere.” He leans forward, and we scan each side of the road. There is a row of derelict buildings on my side.

“Fuck!” There’s a potholed parking lot where a woman is standing with her hands in the air beside a black Dodge. The Dodge! I wrench the wheel and swing into the parking lot, and there she is—

On the ground. Unmoving. Eyes closed.

Ana. My Ana… No! Everything moves in slow motion as all the air is sucked from my lungs. My worst fear realized. Here. Now.

Taylor is out of the car before I’ve screeched to a halt. I follow him, leaving the engine running.

“Ana!” I shout. Please, God. Please, God. Please, God.

She is lifeless on the concrete. In front of her, that fucker Hyde is rolling on the ground, screaming in agony as he clutches his upper leg. Blood seeps through his fingers. The woman steps back, keeping her hands in the air as Taylor draws his gun.

But it’s Ana who has my whole attention. She’s lying unmoving on the cold, hard ground.

No!

This is what I’ve dreaded since I met her. This moment. I kneel beside her, terrified to touch her. Taylor picks up the gun lying beside her and orders the woman to lie facedown on the ground. “Don’t shoot me, don’t shoot me,” she gibbers.

Shit! That’s Elizabeth Morgan, from SIP.

How the hell is she involved in this clusterfuck?

Sawyer is suddenly with us. He draws his gun on Elizabeth and stands guard over her.

Hyde screams in agony. “Help me! Help me! The bitch shot me!” We ignore him.

Taylor bends and checks the pulse point beneath Ana’s jaw.

“She’s alive. Strong pulse,” he says. Thank God. Then he barks at Sawyer, “Call 911 now. Ambulance and police.”

Sawyer reaches for his phone, while Taylor quickly and gently runs his hands over Ana, checking for injuries.

“I don’t think she’s bleeding.”

“Can I touch her?”

“She may have broken something. Best leave it to the paramedics.”

Oh no. My wife. My girl. My beautiful girl.

I stroke her hair and gently tuck a strand behind her ear. She looks like she’s asleep, though she has a red mark on her face. Did he fucking hit you? Did he do this to you?

Now my attention turns to Hyde, who’s still fucking screaming. A fresh shot of adrenaline-fueled rage streaks through my bloodstream.

The fucker. He put his hands on my wife, and she shot him.

My God, Ana shot him.

I stand and move so I tower over him as he writhes on the ground.

And before I know what I’m doing, I lean on the Dodge, draw back my leg, and kick him with all my might in his stomach, hard. Twice. Three times, with all my weight behind each kick.

He screams.

“You do this to my wife, you fucker?” I bellow my rage and kick him again. He drags his hands up to protect his stomach, and I stamp with all my weight on the seeping wound on his thigh. He screams again—a different, louder, feral cry of agony. Leaning down, I grab the lapels of his jacket and bounce his head off the ground. Once. Twice. His eyes are wide and wild with fear as he grips my hands, smearing his blood on me.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, you twisted, sick motherfucker!”

From the far end of the tunnel, I hear voices. “Mr. Grey! Mr. Grey! Christian! Christian, stop!” It’s Taylor. He and Sawyer are pulling me away—pulling me off the vermin that is Hyde. Taylor grabs me by both shoulders and shakes me.

“Christian! Stop! Now!” He shakes me once more.

I blink at him and shrug him off.

Don’t touch me!

Taylor puts himself between Hyde and me, watching me like I’m unhinged, lethal and ready to strike. I take a breath while the murderous red mist clears.

“I’m okay,” I whisper.

“Look after your wife, sir.” Taylor’s tone is emphatic.

I nod. And glance once more at the fucker on the ground. He’s rocking gently, sniveling like the weasel-turd he is and clutching his thigh. He’s pissed himself, disgusting fuck. “Let him bleed to death,” I mutter to Taylor, and turn away.

I kneel beside Ana and lean down to hear her breathing, but I hear nothing. Panic swamps me once more. “Is she still breathing?” I glance up at Taylor.

“Look at her chest, rising and falling.” Taylor leans down again and checks her pulse. “Still strong.”

Oh, Ana. What were you thinking? What about the baby?

Tears prick my eyes. I loathe this feeling of helplessness. I want to fold her into my arms and sob into her hair—but I can’t touch her. This is agony. Where is the fucking ambulance?

“The girl. The girl.” Elizabeth suddenly pipes up.

What girl? We all turn to look at her, prone on the ground.