Prologue: The views and political opinions presented here are not mine, they belong to the characters. The setting is important in this story and while I try to make it realistic, it is all for entertainment purposes only.

This story takes place in Cuba, an island located 90 miles from the coast of Florida. Cuba has been under communist rule since 1959 and Spanish is the official language. I will be writing this in English, or course, but it is understood that in many cases the characters will be speaking Spanish unless otherwise noted. I will use isolated Spanish words here and there but not complete sentences.

Story description:

Raymond Steele hires bounty hunter Christian Grey to rescue his long- lost eighteen year old daughter from a life of misery. His mission is to do whatever it takes to bring Anastasia home where she belongs. No cheating, no BDMS, will probably change the rating to Mature later on. Ana is 18 & Christian 25.

Chapter One

"Location matters in destiny as much as it does in real estate."

-Every Note Played by Lisa Genova-

Havana, Cuba, June 2018

"How about you tell us the truth once and for all? Your little friend Marisol already started singing like a canary. Give us names."

The questions kept coming repeated over and over, sometimes paraphrased, always relentless.

"I...I don't know anything."

"Defector!" Comandante Sanchez mumbled under his breath. "Traitor!"

Ana felt sick; she'd been deprived of food and water for too long. Bowing her head, she shivered, despite the room's hot temperature. Bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed it along with her fear. The last 48 hours had been hell on earth. The minutes had ticked by while she tried to occupy her mind with counting backward from one thousand or meditating, anything to avoid thinking about what was happening to her at the moment.

"The carnival is over, muchacha. There's no mercy for defectors. What do they do for Cuba? All they do is criticize the REAL patriots. Damn defectors! Is that what you want, muchacha? You want your name on that fucking list?" The Commander bent over Ana, getting close to her face in an attempt to intimidate her. He had an eye patch over an eye and an ugly scar running down the side of the other.

Ana licked her dry lips and retreated to a happier place in her mind. She remembered a moment from her childhood, the one transfixing moment from her past. Riding in an antique car, dressed in a white dress seated beside her mother who was not yet dead. She felt safe, securely nestled between her mother and a man, a military man she knew was not her father. In the back seat of the car, straight as pins, sat three young men, cadets, dressed in tight wool uniforms. She had no idea who the men were. She had no memory of where they were going or how they came to be going together or what happened to them once they got there. It was something ceremonial; it may have been a memorial with rising flags and trumpets and slow beating drums. Until the sky lit up with a magnificent display of fireworks and the crowd around them went mad and started shouting: "Arriba la revolucion," and showered them with confetti as their vehicle slowly moved through the streets of Havana.

It was the sharpest memory she had of her lovely mother who had died during childbirth when Ana was seven. Her mother's golden brown hair fell down in cascades of light to just below her shoulders, and she was wearing the most dazzling of smiles. Her mind, however, came coming back to the men. She remembered the way they smelled, the way their arms filled the sleeves of the jackets and the stiff white collars scraping against the razored necks, the rasp of masculinity, and that had been the beginning, the beginning of life as she knew it. From that beginning, she had gone on and on until her legs were tired, her mother was dead, and her heart was broken.

Ana continued to bite down on her dry, cracked lips. All of a sudden, she had an itch on her nose, and she could hardly scratch it with her hands cuffed behind her. She tried rubbing her face against her shoulder to stop the itch.

Suddenly, Commander Sanchez grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked it up, scowling contemptuously, pulling her frightfully close. She tried pulling away, but the man slapped her hard across the face. Wincing, but too afraid to move her face, she sank low onto the hardwood chair.

"We have been very, extremely patient with you...but if you don't give us names- He trailed off. After what seemed like an eternity, he released the fistful of hair disgustedly and took two steps back. He eyed her body up and down, leering "Skinny wench...we will TAKE what we can, do you understand?"

The implication was clear. Ana's back instantly stiffened. She turned her head away, removing herself from the Commander's creepy glance. She had always thought of herself as a gawky teenager and that people were staring at her for the wrong reasons. Her friends begged to differ; they said she was close to breathtaking, stunning in her strength. Today, however, she felt anything but breathtaking. She must look a fright with her cracked lips, face streaked with sweat, and with her hair looking like one huge matted, rat's nest.

Ana bit her lip to stifle a cry of pain as Sanchez grabbed her by the hair once again. This time, he pulled harder and didn't stop until she shrieked. "Talk" He spat, little bits of spit flying out of his mouth, exposing his tobacco stained teeth.

Ana looked away, trying her best to hide her disgust. "I ...I already told you, I don't know anything." She cried, her voice pathetic even to herself. "Marisol is the one who planned everything. She wasn't even a good friend, just an acquaintance of mine, I swear ..."

"Bullshit!"

Ana physically cringed as the Commander held a menacing fist to her face. The son of a bitch was running out of patience, and she had to think fast. Her gaze thankfully fell on the wooden cross nailed on the wall behind the Commander's desk. All at once, a flash of sweet inspiration hit her, bringing hope along with it, making her feel well again in both body and spirit.

"You can't take me, no man can take me," she stated with conviction. "I've given myself to the Holy Roman Catholic Church." She skillfully lied.

"Wh-what?" The commander yelled, shaking his fist in anger. Behind him, his band subordinates chuckled and leered.

Ana blinked her eyes innocently. "I'm not wearing a nun habit yet because I haven't taken my final oath, but once I do, I will join the convent and give up my daytime job. " She paused, bravely looking at Sanchez straight in the eye. "You can't take me! I belong to the church. Have you no fear of God?"

That last statement struck a chord in the Commander, and he backed away a step or two, thinking. "Very well," he spoke at last. "I will take your word for it. But if I find out that you lied to me, I will come after you, muchacha." He then motioned to his subordinates to remove the handcuffs. "Alright, you're free to go...for now."

As soon as she was free, Ana stood and rubbed her wrists, avoiding eye contact. She was afraid he would see right through her ruse. As it was, it had been a miracle she'd been able to lie so convincingly, she thought, hiding a smile as she collected her things—namely her purse and a sweater- and left the police station. The worst part was over, but she should not claim victory just yet. There was still the chance Sanchez would follow through and actually checked out her story... and then what? Oh, shoot! Oh, well, she'll worry about that later.

...

Seattle, July 2018

"I see here you have a great deal law enforcement experience, considering your age, that is," said Raymond Steele looking over at Christian's resume. He was well aware of Christian's reputation as a skillful bounty hunter, and he'd frankly expected a man with a hardened look and right now, Christian Grey—save for his suit and tie- appeared more like a cast member of Friends than of Sherlock Holmes. "Did you ever watch Friends?"

Christian's eyes widened. In his line of work, he usually did not engage in small talk with new clients. "Excuse me?"

Raymond cocked his head just so, suppressing a chuckle. Admittedly, he was having a little fun. He'd been interviewing people for the job for the last three days, and so far none of the other candidates had impressed him. "My question is if you would identify more with Chandler, Ross or Joey, which one would you choose?"

"Neither," Christian said doing his best not to show he was a bit irritated by the question. "Joey was too much of a clown and Chandler too much of a sissy. And Ross, well, he was just too whiny."

"Well, now that we broke the ice," Raymond said with a small smile, "we can get down to business, shall we?"

Christian nodded, so the old man messed with him a little bit and it seemed like he passed the test. He shifted in his seat forward in his seat, ready to listen. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the city through the impressive floor to ceiling windows in an office big enough to hold the World Series in or any other grand event for that matter.

"I know this mission is different from what you're used to. For one, the person I need you to find is not a criminal." He paused for a moment, making sure he had Christian's undivided attention. "She's my daughter. She's living in Cuba, and I just got word that she got detained by the authorities and labeled a defector and counter-revolutionary. I need help getting her out of that country. I would go there myself if I could, but the Cuban government has my name on their blacklist and won't grant me a visa to travel. Perhaps, the worst part is that they'd also put restrictions as to how much money I can send her," he shook his head and his forehead furrowed. "The amount is practically a joke."

Christian thought about it for a moment. Well, this was certainly something new; he'd never had a case where he needed to travel overseas much less to a communist country. Although in recent years, Cuba and the United States had re-established diplomatic relationships, this mission was a loose cannon. If something went wrong with this mission, he'd be subject to the laws of a different country, a country particularly known for its human rights abuses and restrictions on the rights of individuals.

"Tell me more about your daughter."

"She just turned eighteen. A stellar student, she just graduated from high school with honors. She just found a government job with the tourist industry working as a tour guide. She was helping a friend of hers flee the country on a raft headed for the coast of Florida. The raft got intercepted by Cuban authorities after four days adrift at sea. Ana got arrested and interrogated for two days, and the authorities marked as a counter-revolutionary, she lost her government job. Not only that, but her grandmother can no longer receive her retirement checks. Yes, I know, one thing has nothing to do with the other, but apparently, that's how the way things work in Cuba. If the government labels you as a counter-revolutionary, you go on their blacklist. And it's not just you but also your entire family for generations to come."

"Is she in immediate danger right now? Is she still in prison?"

"Fortunately, she's been released, but her situation is dire. Since she's considered a traitor to the revolution, she doesn't qualify for subsidies for meals and living expenses. Even though she had a side job making yogurt at home, the authorities have suspended her license to run her own business."

Christian shook his head in outrage. How was the girl supposed to survive with no job or any means to make a living? But the question that kept turning in his head was what was the girl doing in Cuba in the first place?

"How much time do we have here, sir?"

"A month or two at the most. But every day that my daughter spends in that God forsaken country is another day of suffering. So we must come up with a strategy yesterday."

Christian inwardly cringed. He imagined Raymond Steele's daughter in ragged clothes, surviving on bread and water only and the image made him shudder. It was almost inconceivable that this was happening to the daughter of such a powerful man. "What's your daughter's name?"

"Anastasia but she goes by Ana." He paused. "Ana spelled with one 'n.'"

Yes, he liked her name. Ana. Simple, yet sweet sounding. "Ana," he said her name making the first 'a' sound like a Spanish 'a.'

"I see here you've taken six years of Spanish," Raymond added flipping through Christian's resume. "Ana is fully bilingual in both English and Spanish."

Good. Christian nodded. Although his Spanish wasn't perfect, he could easily carry on a conversation. I hope he doesn't ask about Harvard.

"I need you to do whatever is necessary to get Ana out of Cuba," Raymond went on in a commandeering tone, having already decided Christian was the man for the job. Unlike the other candidates, he'd asked all the right questions and had not voiced any buts or objections. "Whatever it takes," he repeated for emphasis. "Money is no object. You name the figure."

Christian threw his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. In his mind, he saw himself reuniting this man with his daughter and becoming a hero. The recognition alone was enough compensation. Still, a man had to make a living and right now he was well fed but flat broke. "I normally charge 500 dollars a day, but since we're going international, that would be $1000 a day plus expenses."

The older man didn't even blink. "It's not a problem. Just get my daughter back."

"I'm not leaving Cuba without your daughter, Mr. Steele," Christian said with supreme confidence, and Raymond Steele nodded. "Mr. Steele, before we go any further, I must ask, how did Ana get herself in this situation...what brought her to Cuba in the first place?

A/N:

Please review if you enjoyed this story. I have the first five chapters written in short condensed form. Your comments, big or small will help my muse fully flesh out the story. Thanks.