In Danger There is Love

by noendnogoodbyes

Ana realizes her husband Christian may not be who she thought he was. She thinks he's having an affair. Christian knows it's not true. When they are thrust into danger and have to resort to going on the run to save themselves from dangerous men after them with guns, can they not only save their marriage but settle Ana's doubts about his fidelity along the way? CIA Christian/Ana AU

1. Chapter 1

In Danger There is Love...

He's cheating on me.

It is the first thought that comes into my head as I go through our washing; my eyes landing on the red smeared splotches that resemble lipstick stains on both the sleeve and collar of the white business shirt he'd worn just last yesterday for work.

My husband had already left to work early as usual, seven thirty each morning.

It had started out like every morning; The alarm clock would go off in bed and we'd both groan in annoyance to be woken from it. He'd turn it off, lean over and kiss me lovingly, always in the two same places. First around my bare back and shoulder blades while pushing the long dark strands of my hair out of the way gently with his fingers. Then once, lingeringly on my forehead.

I'd try to doze back off to sleep knowing it wouldn't go off again until another hour later, where I'd have to get up myself and get ready to work. Although Christian made enough money for us to live on, I wasn't happy being your usual run-of-the-mill stay-at-home wife. I felt happier contributing even if I didn't contribute as well enough financially as he did.

I worked shifts occasionally at a Hardware store downtown to make a little bit of money on the side while Christian worked as CEO to one of the most successful companies in Seattle; Grey Enterprises Holdings.

He'd left before I'd gotten up and once my alarm had went off, I did as I usually did; Make the bed, take a quick shower. Then I'd put on my fluffy bathrobe and head downstairs to do some washing and make myself a cup of coffee and some breakfast before getting dressed and heading off myself for my shift.

I'd gone into our laundry room to get started on our washing, separating the whites from the colors. That's when I'd noticed the stain on the messy shirt he'd chucked into the basket the night before.

All the oxygen seems to leave me in shock, my brain going numb as I hold the shirt closer to my eyes, trying to sort out if it is actually another woman's lipstick or not. I pick at the red spot with my fingernails trying to work it off. It doesn't come off easily.

I know the lipstick definitely doesn't belong to me.

Lately I haven't been wearing any lipstick much, because Christian always assured me he loves the natural look on me best and had always complimented me on my supposed 'natural beauty' in his own eyes. And yet, here it is, staining his shirt not only once but twice? Has another woman's lips really been that close to my husband? Not only close enough to brush her mouth on the collar of his shirt right near his neck, but also... his wrist and sleeve as well?

I know there should be some simple logical explanation for this. Maybe he accidentally got it on him? Or maybe it's paint or blood? Maybe it isn't even a smear of a woman's lipstick just as I fear it is?

Isn't it the most cliche thing in the world in finding another woman's lipstick on your husband's clothes? Something played in an over-exaggerated Lifetime movie to signal the husband's infidelity?

Bunching it up into a tight fist while shaking my head, I throw the shirt in the washing machine then gather all of our other clothes, tossing them in as well.

Still my mind refuses to accept any other logical scenario for the red stain being there. All it seems to want to acknowledge is the worst, any woman's most dreaded fears and nightmare.

He's cheating on me. My husband of 3 years, the man I thought was happy and content in our marriage... that we'd be together happily and wholly committed to each other for the rest of our lives... he's cheating with another woman.

Pouring in the washing liquid, I slam the machine lid down a bit too forcefully than necessary. As I reach down to grab all the colored clothes on the floor while starting the load, snatching every dirty clothing and towel up and chucking it violently into the basket to wash later, I break down; an uncontrollable sob escaping my mouth as I tremble.

I never expected us to end up this way. I honestly never expected I'd be here, suspicious like this, being trapped in such a helpless situation like this, where I'd discover my husband- a man that seems so loyal, seems so tender and loving- is actually doing something so wrong behind my back betraying my trust and what we've built together.

...

I'd met Christian overseas while holidaying 4 years earlier.

I'd just graduated from college and, after having saved up relentlessly to support myself, I had decided to travel and see the world, gain some experience. First, it was London, because I'd had an obsession with the place as an English Literature student and I wanted to experience firsthand what all my favorite authors such as Bronte or Hardy, lived through. Then it was France.

I'd picked a rather bad time to go there. Something had happened that morning as I was walking in the markets, checking out the sights. Someone had set off explosives near the area- my first terrifying experience of being near the danger-zone in a foreign country.

I'd walked hastily to the nearest shelter I could find as the French military where called in. There was a small inn not too far from the explosion near the markets and I'd gone in there for cover. That was when I was being bombarded with questions by a group of French military men. Apparently I'd seemed suspicious; a girl of 22 just roaming around alone all by herself. They wanted to know who I was with and what affiliation I'd even had with the inn.

"Madame!" A militia barked. "Madame, vous etes seul?" He was now in my face, as if daring me to ignore him.

My expression remained calm though I was panicked at the situation I'd found myself in. I hadn't had this happen to me before, and my eyes had wandered around the room, searching for a possible escape or a reasonable way to get myself out of any potential trouble. I wasn't entirely fluent with the language so I felt helpless, trying to get the translator book I'd brought out of my backpack.

Then, as if the universe knew my distress I'd spotted another guest; a gentlemen looking to be about in his late twenties or early thirties.

He sat propped against the check-in desk as the officers noticed him next. As if getting bored with me he was next, being hounded by the same officers shouting into his ear as well. His demeanor however was much more calm and aloof than mine was.

He wore black alligator shoes; fitted black jeans and a white button up shirt that showed off his collarbone and his muscular, toned arms. Accentuating his left wrist was a black diamond Rolex, and white Ray Ban sunglasses sat on the bridge of his nose, and he just so happened to be staring directly at me. His hair was tousled and a reddish brown, combed back. I liked the look of him the instance I'd laid eyes on him and, apparently, he'd felt the same way. He had twirled a toothpick on his tongue, his piercing grey eyes locked on my own never once breaking away.

He gave a slight nod toward my direction and I took that as my cue.

Before I knew what I was doing, I coolly walked over with a honeymoon smile forced on my lips, ignoring the officers grabbing at my arm. He also began stepping toward me, reaching out for my hand and intertwining our fingers. Apparently we'd had the same idea in mind; That was to play pretend as a couple travelling together to shake the officers off of us.

"Détendez-vous idiots, elle est avec moi," He had said in a commanding tone to the officers, speaking smoothly in French.

He then had given a smirk and a flirtatious wink to one of the officers as he lead me into one of the open rooms and closed the door, locking it behind us. I immediately leaned my ear against the door listening for any further signs of trouble.

The man also propped himself against the door next to me as a sigh left him, leaning his head back against the door.

"Hi, I'm Ana. Anastasia Steele," I whispered, looking up into his shades, throwing in a genuine smile. "Do you speak, um, English? I'm from America?"

"Same," he'd answered back much to my relief. "I'm American myself. Christian," he stated, his voice sounding like melted butter or something delicious as he'd held his hand out to me. "Christian Grey. It's a pleasure to meet you."

I'd put my hand out as well with a shy smile, shaking his. His grip had been confident, strong, as we'd shaken hands.

Strangely enough later that night we'd actually gone out to dinner together.

He was probably the most attractive man I had ever met. Also there was some familiarity and comfort there in knowing I was with another American in a foreign country. He'd admitted to me that he was there on business; he'd told me about his family and how he was adopted and I'd hung off his every charismatic word.

He'd also been the first man to pay true attention to me, to make me feel as though I were truly something interesting and beautiful. I'd explained to him how I was travelling, how I'd graduated and how I'd wanted to see more of the world.

We had ended up heading back to America together where he'd introduced me to his family. It had all happened so quickly where suddenly we were inseparable and I was meeting his family and being introduced as his girlfriend.

He'd taken me out on quite a lot of dates and dinners together, back at home. I'd fit in really well and easily with his parents, and especially, with his little sister Mia. I suppose that was what also nudged him into making the next serious move which was asking me to marry him. I hadn't thought twice of accepting his proposal; because I'd loved him, the first man I had ever felt this way about.

And even now, 4 years later and married I still love him. My love for him hadn't waned over the years. But could he still say the same for me? Did he still love me in the same way he had at the start of our relationship before we got married? Judging by the lipstick smear on the collar and sleeve of his shirt, apparently not.

...

Work offers me the distraction I much find I need at Clayton's Hardware store.

The instance I get in for my shift I'm bombarded with customers needing help with various plumbing items, spanners and other tools. I enjoy this job even if working is more of a hobby to me than a necessity considering my husband earns so much. I find it gives me a reason to feel busy and useful.

As I help a customer with selecting the best rope, this morning and what I found comes back to me. My stomach lurches in uneasiness as I try to forget it and focus on helping the man in front of me but it isn't easy.

I finish my shift in 4 hours and I find myself dreading arriving home tonight; Usually I can't wait to finish and get home to spend some quality time with my husband, speaking about our days over a few indulgent glasses of wine.

But tonight after noticing what I did on his shirt, being around my husband, trying to seem normal around Christian while at the back of my mind fretting about how they met and how long it's been going on, him and this mystery woman, it makes me feel sick.

How dare he do this to me? How could he do this to us?

Sadly time doesn't stop just because I'm dreading it. My time to knock off arrives and I head back out into the parking lot after my shift, getting into my car while checking for any missed phone calls. That sick sensation comes again, my stomach knotted in dread as I see listed a missed call from my husband.

I know he will get suspicious or concerned if I don't call him back so I focus on breathing deeply and keeping my cool while sitting against the steering wheel, holding the phone up to my ear. He answers after the second ring.

"Hey, baby, I tried to ring you earlier but you hadn't answered." Usually when I hear Christian's voice on the phone, it's enough to send me wild and missing him. Not today. I feel ill with nerves at how carelessly happy he sounds on the other line. How dare he act all Mr Innocent and as if there is nothing wrong here? How dare he act like he isn't touching some other woman or kissing her? "I was just trying to call earlier on to see if there's anything you wish for me to pick up on the way home from work?" Playing the Devoted Considerate Husband, he often asked me if there was anything I'd want for him to bring home.

How about you leave the house for good, I wish I could cry. I saw the shirt, Christian. I know what you've been doing. How dare you break our wedding vows like this?

But I can't say that. Instead I inhale in deeply while trying to seem emotionless. "Um, no, everything's good," I mutter as normally as I can. "We don't need anything."

"Oh. OK then." Tears roll down my cheeks and, forgetting myself, I sniffle loudly while wiping my runny nose. "Baby, are you OK?" He's picked up onto it, damn it. He's picked up onto how strange my voice sounds and the fact that I'm all sniffly, like I'm crying. "You sound upset? Did something happen with your shift?"

Yes, something did happen and yes I am upset. I know the truth now about what you've been up to you bastard!

"No, I...I'm fine, Christian. I'm on my way home."

"OK, me too." I can tell he's not entirely convinced and that he's tempted to ask more. But to my relief he doesn't. "I'll see you soon?"

"Yes. See you soon." I hang up just before the tears start again, shutting my phone as I slump over the steering wheel.

The pain I feel over his betrayal, the hollow ache in my chest, it's unlike anything I have ever felt before in my entire life. How do other people manage to go through this and still come out alive on the other side?

I know I can't sit in the parking lot forever much as I wish I could. I start the car then reverse out, trying to blink my tears away and blurriness in my eyes while driving. I just cannot stop thinking about it; how his voice even sounded on the phone. He had the gall to sound so normal, so loving and tender. How could he do this to me?

As I reach the house, I pull up into the driveway, my heart jumping anxiously in my chest as I look around frantically while trying to dry my eyes. He isn't standing in the yard but his car is parked there in the driveway where it usually is in his usual spot.

I wonder if she works with him, if she's an assistant or something like that. I know Christian has a lot of blonde female assistants at work, most of them fairly young and beautiful.

I see the front door of the house opening. Then my husband appears.

Fearfully I consider putting the car into reverse. I consider backing straight out of the driveway and speeding away as I see him start to walk to where I'm still sitting in my car. He walks over the front of the car towards the drivers side still dressed in his work suit and tie. I wonder if she's kissed him today. I wonder if there's more lipstick on his shirt that I'll have to wash to get rid of.

Before I know it my philandering husband is at my window.

He opens the door before I can manage to yank it shut again, his face immediately coming into view through the tinted window.

I used to find him so handsome- the most handsome man in the world. I used to love his eyes and how captivating and deep they were. Now all I can see is his eyes eye-molesting the woman he's cheating on me with. Now all I can see is his lips over hers and his hands roaming down her body as he touches her intimately in all the way's he used to touch me.

"Ana?" He leans down to meet my gaze while holding the door open for me, his face falling as his eyes scrutinize my face attentively. I hate that he knows me so well. He knows when somethings up even when I try to hide it. "You sounded upset on the phone, baby. Are you OK?"

4 years. We've been together 4 years and he does this to me?

I very nearly jump out of my seat when he presses his hand up against my shoulder, rubbing his fingers over my bare shoulder blade. I want to shake his hand off in disgust. His touch sickens me now in a way I never thought it ever would. Never with Christian. Never with my husband.

"Ana?" He eyes me warily. "Has something happened? Something with Ray?" My father Ray has been having health issues lately. The fact he brings that up now... it almost sends me over the edge.

When should I tell him that I know? Later tonight while making dinner? During dinner? During sex? Christian and I have always had a very adventurous sex life together, something tells me during sex would be dangerous. Besides, I hardly feel in the mood to fake it without being physically sick with the knowledge that he does it with other women. And probably often.

Dinnertime, I decide, shaking my head. Forcing myself out of it I smile weakly. "No, Ray's great as far as I know. I'm fine. Really." I'll bring it up later tonight during dinner.

...

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to broach the subject during dinner after all?

I find my appetite is non-existent. I end up simply picking at my food at the dining room table while Christian sits beside me, easily eating and slicing through his steak. I prepared him his favorite meal tonight and he's enjoying it as usual. How ironic.

"Why aren't you eating?" It barely takes my husband little more than thirty seconds to notice I haven't eaten anything.

He's always been overly concerned about my eating habits. Even when we first met before we got married, in France he was commanding me to try Escargot and frog's legs- any meal we could both safely sink our teeth into together.

I bring my eyes up from my plate to glance at him, my stomach a bundled knot of nerves as well as other things. He stares at me, his eyes lit with concern as he chews slowly.

You bastard, I think to myself. Enjoying your favorite meal there that I just slaved away and made for you even while knowing you've been unfaithful?

I just gaze at him, unable to somehow find the strength to ask what I know I should. The answer, if he does confirm it, I know it will slay me even worse.

"For Christ's sake, Ana. Will you please tell me what's wrong, baby?" He suddenly erupts, shoving his plate away on the table roughly. He drops his fork and knife on top of his half-eaten plate of food loudly, staring at me. His eyes are desperate and pleading yet there's irritation there in his voice. "You're driving me crazy. In fact, you've been doing it ever since you pulled up into the driveway so please, just tell me..."

It's too hard to stare at him and look him in the eye. If I'm going to do it it will be easier if I don't look at him. Instead I drop my gaze, staring at the large mound of untouched steak on my plate instead. This is going to slay me either way.

Breathing in deeply then out while trying to suppress back a sob, I finally say, "I know what you've been doing, Christian. I found the stains on your shirt."

It's very quiet after that. Neither he says anything nor I.

Annoyed by the silence, I reluctantly lift my gaze, staring at him. He's staring at me, very still, all the color drained from his face. What? Is he shocked that I've admitted that I know he's been cheating? Is this the look of a guilty man caught in the act?

After what seems years, he moves, resting both elbows on the table in the space where his plate was earlier before he shoved it away. He interlinks his fingers together then rests his chin on the top of his knuckles, his grey wide eyes holding mine. I think he's even holding in his breath; he's so shocked.

"How could you do this to me?" I choke out as a waterfall of emotion runs through me. "How could you betray me like this, Christian? 4 years only for you to do this to me?"

At last I see something there in his face, an expression. His eyebrows furrow as he swallows audibly at me. "Do what, Ana?" he whispers and he actually has the nerve to sound confused. "What have I done to you? What are you saying that I've apparently done to betray you?"

So many conflicting urges hit me at once. I want to break down laughing derisively at his words and at his performance of playing Mr Confused and Innocent. At the same time I want to cry loudly. Scream. Smash things.

"Who is she, Christian?" I demand forcefully. I see recognition form in his eyes as they widen larger. His mouth parts as a gasp escapes him. "Somebody from work maybe? One of your assistants?"

"Jesus Christ, Ana!" I startle at how unexpectedly loud his voice is when he drops a hand, slamming it roughly down on the table. Our wine glasses and plates rattle at the force of it. "Who is she? Are you fucking kidding me- this is what you think?" He speaks through gritted teeth, his grey eyes flaring. "This is how I've apparently betrayed you? You think I'm having an affair so that's why you've been acting so strange all day?"

"I don't just think, Christian, I know! I saw the lipstick stains on the collar and sleeve of the shirt you wore yesterday to work!"

"What lipstick stain?" He stands so abruptly that he knocks the chair back, making me jump. "Ana, have you any idea how ridiculous that is? How... wrong it is to think that I could ever even cheat on you? You really think so little of me?"

This is enough. I've really heard enough. Lies. It's all lies. I cannot take it anymore.

"I'm leaving," I whisper decidedly. "Maybe I'll stay at your sister Mia's for a couple of days if she'll have me, but... all I know is that I can't handle your lies, Christian." Tears start to slip down my face as I get to my feet myself. I need to pack a few things for my stay. I just hope he won't try to plead me with or turn on the waterworks because I know I won't be able to handle it. I know what I saw. I know what this means. "You don't know how much this has hurt me to think you could possibly do something like this to me."

"Ana, please. Will you listen to what you're saying for just a second?" His voice is low, husky and gentle. Desperate even. "You know me. Do you really think this is something I would do? To us?"

I ignore him with all my might, marching towards the flight of stairs.

"Ana, baby?" He calls after me urgently and I know he's on my heels the second I dash up the stairs. His loud footsteps follow me, his breathing loud and shaky. "Ana, please. You know I would never do this to us."

Fortunately I reach our bedroom before he can. I slam the door, managing to flick the lock so he can't get in. Thank goodness for locking doors.

"Ana?" I startle nervously when he pounds on the wood of the door, his voice loud, harsh. "Ana, will you open this goddamn door so we can talk face-to-face like civilized adults for a minute here? Baby, just let me explain!"

That's the thing though. I can't listen to him explain. It will break me. I just don't know what to think. I burst out sobbing as I slide the suitcase we use for vacations out from beneath the bed towards me. Then I rush to grab all of my clothes and other personal belongings.

I'm just shoving some clean pairs of underwear and lingerie into the suitcase when I hear a loud smashing noise. I jolt in fear, my heart racing in panic as I flinch, listening carefully. Shit, did he just break something? Did he just smash something? It sounded like glass breaking. Usually he's never been this violent, not ever. But at least he isn't pounding or bashing the bedroom door in.

Noises get even worse as I rush to pack some other clothes. I hear an odd knocking noise as if someone's being flung into a wall. Then there's another loud thumping noise against a wall. What the hell is he doing to our house?

The door rattles next and I gasp, recoiling in fear as another banging noise echoes from the wall.

"Ana, baby?" Christian's voice sounds exhausted and drained, like he's doing something laborious that requires all of his mental effort. Is he trying to break down the door or something? "Ana, just stay inside the bedroom, OK?"

I shriek and jump into the air when I hear Christian curse loudly, then there's another noise. Something slams into the locked bedroom door then bounces off it, making a dent in the wood. What the heck is he doing?

"Christian?" I call anxiously, my voice high. "Are you- are you tearing the h-h-house apart or something?" When he doesn't answer, I tread slowly towards the door, my mouth dry. "Christian?"

I can't just stay here in bedroom like this. I need to know what's happening. I need to know if he's wrecking our house.

Bracing myself I reach forward, lifting up to unlock the door as quietly as possible. The instance it clicks gently unlocked I get it over with, grasping onto the doorknob tightly. I have no idea what he's doing but I need to know. Has my husband gone crazy or something?

Opening the door just so that a small slit is left I move over, peering through it. That's when I see the man curled over on the floor, knocked out or possibly even dead with some sort of ski-mask over his head covering his face so he isn't in anyway identifiable. Next to his leg untouched and forgotten, is a long shotgun.

What the hell?

"Ana?" I scream in fright and fall back the instance Christian uses his entire body weight to push himself into the bedroom. He whirls around, locking the door up again on the both of us, breathing raggedly like he's just been exercising strenuously.

As he moves away from the door to turn to look back at me, my heart seizes in my chest. I have no idea what is happening or who that man is out there with the rifle, but... He's been hurt. Christian has a bleeding nose and there's a torn gash through the fabric of his dress shirt on his left arm. It looks like he has been cut by something like a knife at the arm but why? What the hell is happening?

"Ana, we have to leave right now." His voice is quiet but panicked as he moves past me, starting to open drawers, gathering his own clothes to shove into my suitcase as well.

"What?" I whisper out, confused. "Christian, w-what the hell is going on? W-w-why is there a man knocked out outside our bedroom door?"

Christian turns to glance at me halfway through what he's doing, his fingers tentatively touching the blood on his nose. "Baby, not now please," he murmurs pleadingly beneath his breath. "I'll explain everything later but right now, we need to get out of here."

"We?" I repeat hysterically, eyeing my suitcase in irritation as he keeps putting his own things in there. "We need to get out of here, Christian? I just told you that I'm leaving you! I'm going to stay at your-"

"-Is that everything?" he shouts over me while turning to look at me questioningly, his eyes bright, alert. "Is there anything else you need to bring with you?"

What? "Are you even listening to me? I said that-"

"-Ana, we don't have the fucking time for this!" he snaps at me unexpectedly. I freeze warily. He's usually not like this; So antsy and desperate. What the hell is happening? "Look if you feel like leaving me still later on, I'll take you to Mia's once it's safe, OK?"

"Safe? Safe from what?" My eyes widen as I make the mental connection. The man outside the door unconscious. The rifle. Is someone trying to attack us? But why? "F-from men like the one outside the bedroom door that's knocked out?" I ask him shakily as Christian zips the suitcase up hastily. "They had a gun? A-a-are they trying to kill us?"

"Baby, please," he pants while searching into his pockets. He flings out his car keys. "I'll explain everything to you later but please we have to go before more arrive."

More arrive? "M-more arrive? Like that man outside the bedroom door?"

"Ana!" He shouts again while combing a hand through his hair. He grabs the handle on the suitcase, wrenching it off the bed. When he meets my gaze, he looks at me in a way I've never seen my own husband look before. His eyes are wide with fear illuminated in them. "Please we have to get out of here," he says, dropping his voice to a mere whisper, a beg. "Once we're in the clear and it's safe to, I'll explain everything."

"Where?"

"Firstly to my car outside in the driveway." A flicker of pain crosses his features as he wipes at the blood delicately around his nose again. "You follow behind me, OK? If I make any noise, you stand back out of the way." Reaching up while holding the suitcase, he opens the door again, peering out.

He throws a glance back at me to check and make sure I'm behind him. I still don't understand what's happening and I can't say I particularly trust this man right now that is supposedly to be my husband. But despite the affair and the stains of lipstick, this I cannot doubt. I cannot doubt that he always thinks of me above his self. He is always serious when it comes to my own safety. I know that even if he is lying about the affair he wouldn't lie about this.

We are in danger and I should trust him in this despite how much my head is screaming at me not to on the inside. He wouldn't lie about something like this. Something is clearly badly wrong and we do need to leave immediately before it gets worse.

"Stay behind," he commands of me. Then he starts sneaking out the bedroom.

I keep a step behind him, trying to be obedient while at the same time trying not to get too close to the point where I'm cowering behind him like a child. I hold in my breath, frozen as I stare down at the unconscious man sprawled out near our bedroom door. We step over him carefully with Christian always checking to make sure I'm right on his heel and that I haven't fallen behind.

Rounding the corner of the stairs, I glance down the lower floor and wince. Everything is a mess. The entire house that we put effort into; a whole lot of effort and preparation and love to make it homely, is in a state of chaos. There's broken glass littering our rug. A few vases have been smashed. There's even a hole in the plaster wall near our kitchen- as if someone's punched straight through it.

"Did you do this?" I whisper as quietly as possible to Christian.

He whips his head around to look back at me, pressing his lips together in a tight thin line with a stern finger held up to his lips warning me to keep totally silent. His nose and all the blood. His forearm even. It looks terrible.

Christian goes first as we reach the stairs, putting one slow foot down on the step. And then the next foot, then the next. I follow his movements while glancing around nervously feeling on-edge. I'm almost waiting for someone to suddenly pop out and break the silence, frightening us.

On the last creak of the first and final step onto the lower floor near our area rug we glance around again cautiously. I'm not quite sure what Christian is looking for but I'm presuming it's another man wearing a ski-mask with a gun in his hand. Our front door is left hanging wide open, cold air breezing in.

Christian turns back to make sure I'm following him once more and I notice his stance is different than it usually is. His posture and stance is tense and rigid, his grip on the suitcase handle rather loose as if in case he needs to dispose of it quickly to use his fists. I've never seen my husband like this before. His grey eyes are bright, alert and wary as he peers in every which direction of the house as we slowly edge closer and closer to the open front door.

"We're almost there," he whispers back to me gently like he's reassuring me. "We're almost outside and to the car, baby. You're doing great so far."

I open my mouth to reply- then suddenly, we're falling backwards, Christian landing on top of me on the carpet. My legs go between his as his hands and arms cover and shield us both over our heads as it happens. There's another sound of shattering glass combined with an even louder, booming sound. A gunshot maybe? It occurs to me what Christian's doing and why he's on top of me as more broken sounds of glass and gunshots ring out. Every time a shot goes off, he'll go rigid on top of me, tightening his arms around our heads, holding me down pinned beneath him while tucking his warm face into the side of mine.

He's protecting me from the gunshots.

As the gunshots die down, Christian takes a chance, lifting his head slowly to glance forward ahead of us out the door and near the windows. He looks so hard, his jaw muscles tight. Judging that we're safe he carefully leans off me, gesturing wordlessly for us to move again. He seizes hold of the suitcase as I follow behind him again, a new terror and fear gripping ahold of me.

I had thought the idea of my husband having an affair was the worst nightmare in the world. But it's nothing compared to this.

Thank you for your reviews so far, wanting to respond to guest.

Sorry, English is not my native language. I understand my writing is poor and more is desired, but no one is perfect. I always felt this website was for fans who enjoyed making their own stories based on their favorite characters, something done for own enjoyment and fun, not so much a place where someone can nitpick. I am not perfect at writing, I am just doing this for fun, so I apologize if it is that bad.