“Inside,” she says. “There. That building.” She points with her chin.

Is this a trick?

I hear Taylor’s quiet command. “Sawyer, check inside.”

In the distance, sirens wail. Thank God!

“Taylor!” When I turn, Sawyer is standing in the doorway. “They have Miss Grey in here.”

“Stay here, Christian!” Taylor raises a finger in warning.

Mia? My baby sister? Fear blooms in my gut. What has that fucker done to my sister? I watch, paralyzed, as Taylor disappears into the building, Sawyer regarding him from the doorway.

“It’s for you. For your family. Please. Don’t…”

And what Ana said all becomes clear. I stare down at her, and I know in this moment that she could have been murdered by the sick fuck. Bile rises in my throat, and time suspends, until Taylor emerges from the building. “She’s okay, I think. She’s drugged. Asleep. No obvious signs of injury or assault. She’s fully clothed. I don’t want to move her. We’ll let the paramedics do that.”

“Mia?” I ask, not quite believing the awfulness of this situation.

He nods. His mouth set in a grim line.

The sirens are louder.

What the fuck was Hyde planning to do to my sister? He’s still whimpering like a wounded dog, quieter now, and I suspect he’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t give a shit. I want to kill him, slowly, painfully—but two ambulances, two police patrol vehicles, and a fire truck pull up in blaze of flashing lights and a cacophony of sirens, shattering the peace of the neighborhood, and saving Hyde’s skin.

I’m in a waking nightmare, sitting between Mia and Ana in the ambulance as we speed through Seattle. My head is in my hands, my heart is in my mouth, as I pray for both of them. I’m not a religious man, but right now I’d do anything, even plead with God, to know that my wife, our baby, and my sister are okay.

“Vital signs are good, Mr. Grey, for both your wife and your sister,” the paramedic says, his dark eyes full of compassion.

“My wife’s pregnant.”

The paramedic looks down at Ana. “Sir, there are no obvious signs of bleeding.”

I pale, knowing that he’s trying to reassure me, but it’s not working. “Why is she still unconscious?” My voice is a whisper.

“The doctors should be able to determine that when we arrive.”

Mia stirs, mumbling incoherently. She’s coming around. It’s obvious she’s been drugged. But at least she’s calm. I grasp her hand and squeeze. “It’s okay, Mia. We’re here.”

She mumbles something, but still hasn’t opened her eyes, but she squeezes my hand in return and relaxes back into what I hope is sleep.

My sister, my wife, my unborn child. I should have killed Hyde when I had the chance. Impotent rage curdles in my stomach once more and I screw up my eyes, trying to dispel it. I want to weep. I want to howl to release this pain, but I can’t.

Hell. I’m wrung out. The last words I exchanged with Ana…

“You’re leaving me?”

“No!”

“It’s for you. For your family. Please. Don’t.”

I told her I would always love her. At least I did that.

Please wake up, Ana.

Nagging me, deep down, is concern for the baby. Was Ana really ill, or did she make that up? This…stress, fuck. It can’t be good for him.

Junior. Is he okay?

Finally, we reach the ER, and I’m immediately sidelined as the paramedics swing into action.

Mom and Dad are there, waiting. They rush to the gurney carrying my sleeping or unconscious sister. Grace takes one look at Mia and tears spring to her eyes. She takes her hand. “I love you, baby,” she wails, as the paramedics whisk Mia toward the double doors where Dad can’t follow. He stands aside and watches as Mom follows them through into the ER triage.

A nurse and doctor take Ana’s gurney.

“Careful with my wife. She’s pregnant.” My voice is hoarse and hushed with worry.

“We’ll take good care of her,” the attending says. I release Ana’s hand, and they wheel her through after Mia.

Carrick joins me, ashen-faced, looking every inch his age.

We stare at each other. “Dad,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

“Oh, son.” Carrick opens his arms and for the first time in my life I step into them, and he holds me. I swallow my welling emotion and grip his jacket, beyond grateful for his quiet strength, his reassuring presence, his familiar scent, but most of all his love. “It’s going to be okay, son. They’re both going to be okay.”

“They’re going to be okay,” I repeat like a mantra, while my throat burns with my suppressed anguish. “They’re going to be okay.”

But he doesn’t know that for sure.

I just pray it’s true.

I pull back, suddenly conscious that we’re two grown men hugging at the entrance of the ER. Carrick smiles and squeezes my shoulder. “Let’s go to the waiting room. You can tell me what’s happened, and we can get you cleaned up.”

“Sure.” I nod and look down at my hands. Shit! They’re still stained with that cocksucker’s blood.

Ana is pale, except for the bruise on her cheek where the motherfucker must have hit her. Her eyes are closed as if she’s merely asleep, but she’s still unconscious. She looks heartbreakingly young and small. Numerous tubes wind into and out of her body. My heart clenches and twists in fear, but Dr. Bartley is calm as she looks down at my broken wife.

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