I hurriedly turned on the shower and lathered up my hair, as I was already running late to my dance lessons. Damn! Percy was going to be pissed. He did not tolerate tardiness, even though he considered me a total sweetheart. It was just my luck that he was gay, so of course, I never received any leniency for being a female! Ugh, and I could have used it right about now, too! I just about rubbed my body raw in my haste to use a white loofah.

I pondered if I should call up my dad or not before leaving. Although he told me he would be home later today than usual, I still worried about him immensely. I can't help it; lately he seemed to be more and more distant, his face contoured with worry lines, which made him look older than he actually was. He was the only close family member left in my life, except for my mother of course. His dangerous lifestyle brought me nothing but uncertainty: about our safety, our lives, and our future. He was an FBI officer.

Mom and Dad divorced three years back when I was fourteen. I was devastated but decided to live with my dad. I didn't approve of their divorce but it's not like I could have stopped it. I couldn't just leave my life behind in Portland and follow my mother around like a lost puppy knowing full well that she craved freedom and had left my dad in order to gain that freedom. I never did know what went wrong between them; they used to be so much in love but our good fortune took a plunge, and my mother suddenly changed her priorities and left me and dad to pick up the pieces.

As a toddler I started out with swimming, then sensing my interest I joined different dance clubs at the age of five. I switched from ballet to rumba to salsa to belly dance and the cycle went on. I still remember performing physical activities giving me a feeling of a free spirit, and I used to get lost in the rhythmic movements. Growing up, my interest developed and evolved as time passed.

Belly dance was something that I didn't enjoy at the young age - because it needed less jumping and more control - but as I grew up I warmed up to the idea of it. At the age of ten I used to watch elderly females performing on the beat of a drum hence my fascination took place. I threw a fit and insisted that I wanted to switch my dancing lessons without knowing if I'm capable of doing it or not. My mother tried her best to make me stick with others less scandalous ones, but I was as stubborn as a mule. So she resigned herself to my will.

Dad was dumbfounded. He didn't know what the hype was all about, and to my amusement, he didn't seem to be able to tell the difference between ballet, rumba, salsa or belly dance.

All the elderly figures in my life didn't like my interest in belly dance, hell any type of dance. I didn't understand at that time - I still don't.

My parents always said that I had an old soul in a young body. I was not the thin type so I tried my best to perform it less implicatively.

I would have turned out chubby if it wasn't for my relentless physical exercises and sports.

Now at the age of seventeen, I was curvy with breasts and hips and a fairly voluptuous body. I had always looked older than my friends. I was 'blessed' with curves at only 5'4", making me envy my slender, tall friends. I would love to have been a size two, but you can't get everything you want, right?

On the other hand, they always said they wanted to have a body like mine; surely they were lying. They were probably off somewhere having a good laugh at my expense; or maybe it was just me and my overly paranoid mind.

I got out of the shower and, after patting my body dry, wrapped the towel around my hair. I went with a simple cropped T-shirt, which bared my midriff a little, and simple yoga pants. I took off my towel and shook my hair, brushed it, and left it to dry naturally. My eyes wandered in my room in search of my camel colored coat. I wore it over my casual attire, slipped on my shoes, collected my phone, bag and keys and left my room in a hurry.

After locking the main door, I walked outside towards my red, weathered Beetle. The blazing blue sky poured down torrents of light. Yes it was a fine day.

Mrs. Robin was out again, searching for the ever-wayward Mimi, her cat. Joanne Robin was a lovely old widow with a youthful attitude and a heart of gold. Her son was in the US army; I heard he left the country during the war in Iraq. No one that she knew of had heard from him since the day he called her for the last time. Refusing to believe he died, she still had her hopes up that Antonio was going to return to her someday. Dad says she hasn't been the same ever since. I had always felt the pain reflecting from her eyes, but her faith led her to believe he would return, even though her common sense couldn't quite agree.

I waved my hand at the old lady after rolling down my window. "Hello Joanne. You all right? How's your arthritis treating you?"

"Anastasia! How are you faring child? The arthritis has been brutal as always. These old bones are ready to give up I guess." She gave me her sweet smile.

"Don't say things like that! By the way, I am good. Just leaving for my dance lessons. I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm already really late. How about I drop by later to try your delicious baking again?" I gave her my cheeky grin. She eyed me in mock skepticism.

"Don't worry when I come by I'll do the dishes!" I add reassuring her. God I loved her baked goods. "Getting late Joanne, gotta go!"

"Drive safely!" She shouted as I drove away in haste. Damn Percy is gonna be so pissed. I am late again!

"Anastasia!" I heard Percy's voice as soon as I entered the building.

Crap! He only called me Anastasia when I was in deep shit. "I know, I know. I am late again. I am sooo sorry!" I was beyond embarrassed, but I managed to give Percy my famous puppy dog eyes while jutting out my bottom lip.

"Oh no, not again. Stop your poutin'. That ain't gonna get you out of trouble this time." I jutted out my bottom lip even more and kept looking at him.

"I am sorry," I repeated.

He looked at me, trying to be all stern and grim, but I could detect the hint of a twitch on his lips. "That's it! Stop it. No more actin' cute. Get in position, Ana, and if you're late again, you get to mop the floor after the lesson." A relieved sigh escaped my lips. Heh! My famous puppy-dog look had never failed to get me out of trouble. Ever. It worked on my teachers, instructor, my mom, and my dad. Especially my Dad!

"What are y'all looking at? Start practicin'. NOW!" Geez, someone seemed to be in a bad mood today. Percy was a sweetheart...well at-least when he wanted to be. He was a true blue Southerner straight from Louisiana, and he was African-American and gay. His drawl was swoon-worthy and would have made girls drool if it hadn't been for the fact that he had no interest in girls whatsoever.

I took off my coat in a hurry and got into position with the other girls, my yoga pants and cropped T not hindering my movements whatsoever. "So everyone, today we will start with slow Opulent Motions first and then slowly work it into Darbuka."

Percy gave us five minutes to warm up. The Opulent Motion dancing and Darbuka solo were the types of belly-dance that I favored and chose to learn.

After giving us a final warning, Percy started the music. We started our dance slowly, just going with the flow and moving our body in sensual motions. Using different poses as accents, we worked our arms, moving rhythmically with the music, showing our body in a picture perfect posture - simple but engaging.

We all started with our own dancing styles on the same flowing tune. We kept that up, changing our styles, while Percy corrected our postures and gave more instructions. The flowy music started morphing into more pronounced rhythms and we moved our bodies along with the beat, making it seem like the music was flowing at the command of our bodies.

After two hours of relentless, slave-driving practice Percy finally gave us some slack. "Okay girls…I gotta say, you guys have turned out to be pretty good. Samantha and Felony, you need to work on your shimmies. Ammy, next time try to make yourself more relaxed, less stiff. And YOU, Anastasia, don't be late again. We were all waiting for you today." I apologized again for today's delay and collected my stuff. I put on my coat and left the studio walking towards my car at a leisurely pace.

I got into my car and headed in the direction of my house, wondering if Dad would be home when I got back and thinking about how I would need to make dinner and finish my homework. Dad has been working relentlessly these past few days.
My "Uncle" Charles - one of Dad's best friends and colleagues - was murdered two months back, while working on getting evidence against someone powerful. After his death, my dad was the one entrusted with the task. I was worried about him, and rightfully so. After the death of Uncle Charles, I didn't want dad to take on this case but he was bitter with anger and wanted to avenge his friend's death.

Uncle Charles's family was devastated by his tragically brutal death, and they moved to the other side of the country. They had no wish to sacrifice any more of their family, and they hoped to get away from the painful memories.

I had overheard dad the previous week talking to another colleague about getting evidence against the 'Greys' - whoever they were - and the Greys' progeny, who seemed to be the worst of them all and needed to be taken down.

I couldn't understand all of the technicalities, but the word 'Grey' was etched into my mind like a brand of iron. I understood that one thing well enough. The Greys' were the assailants who killed Uncle Charles, and they were responsible for my inability to sleep at night.

When I pulled up outside my home, I parked my car in the front garage as usual. After collecting my keys I took a look at my place. Something was amiss, I instantly became alert. My body erupted in goosebumps leaving a trail of fear and uncertainty in its wake. I could feel it in my gut, something was terribly wrong.

The door was not locked. I remembered I locked it before leaving for the dance lessons and dad never left the door unlocked, he was too paranoid not to. Something was not right, I could feel it. My body gave a violent shake and sweat beaded on my forehead. As I stepped out of my vehicle, a gun-shot rang out in the air, and I instantly bolted towards the door in panic. My hands were shaking whilst my mind was praying, Oh no, please Lord, don't let it be what I think it is! What I had always dreaded.

I opened the entrance door and stepped inside my home. The atmosphere seemed gloomy and the air smelled of death and fatality. My eyes wandered around searching for the obvious threat. Something white caught my eye and I swallowed my shriek. I watched in shock as Mimi ran past me, leaving the house and going God knows where.

What was Joanne's cat Mimi doing here?

I looked around the main entrance and saw a plate of freshly baked Chocolate chip cookies on the kitchen counter - Joanne hand baked and delivered her home-made cookies. I told her I'd come by and help clean-up. She shouldn't be laboring herself out like that.

I guess Joanne was here? There was no other way to describe Mimi's presence. But the Gun-shot?

It was dark, very dark, inside the house. I could see that only the living room seemed to be illuminated, and I could hear hushed whispers. I shivered and drew in a shaky breath, willing my heart beat to slow down, and walked towards the seating area where I thought the whispering seemed to be coming from. This place had started to feel dingy – my own home! My skin crawled sensing the danger. I hid behind a wall so no one can see me and eavesdropped.

"Tommy, why the hell did you use the one without the suppressor? The whole fucking neighborhood must have heard the gun-shot." A voice that I haven't heard before called out. I heard someone struggling in the background and some muffled words. I tried to have a peak.

"Like I care. If those fuckers mess around with me, I'll blow their brains out too." Blow their brains out? I felt like the air has been sucked out of my chest at high velocity, and my knees nearly buckled under my weight, which suddenly felt ten times heavier than usual. "B-brains o-out?" I whispered to myself.

I swept my gaze around the room and a quick glance at the floor confirmed what I feared. I could see blood on the floor. Nausea crept up my body and bile rose in my throat. I muffled my screams with the help of my hand, out of a sense of survival at this point. Whose blood was it? I hadn't a clue. Blood, lots of blood. I stifled my sobs behind my clamped up mouth.

My rapidly disappearing sense of self-preservation began to kick in, and I moved forward carefully, trying to remain undetected. Whose blood was this? Out of the corner of my eye I saw a small, wrinkled hand lying lifelessly on the floor in the midst of blood. I felt paralyzed out of sheer dread and fear. My gaze traveled the path of the blood, still pooling in the shadows, and my eyes met lifeless eyes staring back at me. I clamped my hand on my mouth to stifle my terrified cries and tugged my own hair with my other hand. Only through supreme effort, I repressed a violent shudder. My breath seemed to halt and my heartbeat sky rocketed. My screams were lost in my throat.

Lifeless eyes.

Joanne's eyes. They stared back at me.

Those lifeless eyes were trying to tell me a tragic story, a secret. Mocking me. Blaming me. Laughing at me. Telling me I might be the next one.

I know I would be forever haunted by that image. It had been captured by the retina of my eyes to torture me for the rest of my life - that is if I got to survive.

The ground was tinged red from all of the blood that had been shed without any remorse. I suddenly felt the bile rising in my throat. I hunched over dry heaving, my throat closing in on myself "Wait, hey who's there?" I could hear the shouts coming closer. No no no! Don't come here.

I dragged myself backwards trying not to make a sound and opened the closet door and crammed myself inside it in a moment of clarity. I had a clear view of the room. They were five men. Five heavily armed men.

Joanne was the first victim. O my God. She should have stayed at her place. She came to deliver the cookies – which I had requested! – and was dragged into our business. I told her I would drop by her place. She should have listened to me. Poor Joanne was now reduced to nothing more than collateral damage. I'm sorry Joanne...

Dad was cramped in the clutches of two of the men, arms twisted behind his back, knees on the ground, chest pushed out unnaturally. The other man had a gun aimed at his forehead.

I felt dried tears on my face. Had I been crying?

I was afraid. I was afraid about what those people had planned for Dad. No, Not my Daddy. I wanted to scream this out loud.

"So Raymond Steele, is it?" One man started smugly. "We told you not to interfere, but you just had to forsake your life, didn't you?" He finished looking around the apartment non-nonchalantly. Like my Dad was not on the line for the bullet. Bastard!

"If you want to kill me, then kill me. I am not afraid. That's the only thing you bastards are good for. Killing. You killed my friend Charles, now you are gonna kill me too. But let me tell you that I am not afraid." Dad had officially lost his mind. I wanted to run outside of the closet and save my father, but I stayed where I was because Dad would want me to save my life by remaining undetected.

"Defiant as ever, huh Raymond? We could have killed you before but we didn't. You see this time you crossed the line. You don't EVER cross Mr. Grey. You should know that by now after knowing what happened to your dead pal."

"Fuck all of the Greys. The bastard Christian Grey will die the same way his father died…in a shootout, I'm sure." Dad laughed at their faces. "That's what you are all good for. The minute Carrick Grey lost his security, he was shot. That's going to be his son's fate too. And don't forget yourself. You fucking D-grade minions."

"Don't you think you should maybe care about your own fate, Mr. Steele." The bald bastard added menacingly bunching my father's hair in his hand making his head jerk back. He had obviously taken offense at Dad's words.

"Maybe I will not be the one to send Grey behind bars. But mark my words, somebody will see to it."
'Dad, what the hell are you doing?' I screamed in my head. Grovel, beg or do something. Please don't anger them anymore than you already have.

The bald man kicked dad in the abdomen, making him hunch over. "Well you know what I think, Steele? I think you need a good beating before we kill you off."

I had to talk myself out of running to my father's rescue several times and offer myself instead of my father. What good would come out of it instead of further increasing my father's pain?!

"I think you should kill me when you have the chance. I know I sure won't hesitate the next time I see you." Dad gave his patented smirk. "I am honorable. I will die with honor. You'll never be able to say that. Ever."

"Honor, my friend, is over-rated. Any last wishes?" He asked my father in a superior tone, finally placing the muzzle of the weapon on Daddy's forehead and cocking the gun. "Yes, there is. Die and got to hell." Dad replied shooting him a hateful glare.

Last wishes? Was that the end? NO, it can't be!

The moment of silence arrived. That infamous dreadful peace before a storm. No shouting, no fighting reached my ears…just pin-drop silence. Everything would be lost after that silence. I halted my breath.

With that, the bald man pulled the trigger and I heard the most gut-wrenching sound in the world.