A/N: Hey y'all! Tomorrow is the cover reveal for Three and a Half Weeks. It has a new and improved cover. The novel itself will make its public debut on April 29th. Please, please, please, if you enjoyed reading it on FF, go to Amazon and Goodreads and leave reviews starting on April 29th. Also, like it on Facebook. Just look up Three and a Half Weeks or Lulu Astor. I would very much appreciate it. xoxo

Chapter 6

Aziz watches Natasha as she glides into the room, her eyes down the whole time. She gracefully drops to her knees in front of him, training her gaze at the floor. The problem is he wants her to see the young German couple—well, the man is German and the wife American or Canadian—he isn't sure. He wants to see if Nastasha will obey even if the circumstances are untenable. She is, however, already too well trained to look up.

"Natasha, say hello to my guests, Martin and Virginia. They very much want to meet you."

Natasha finally lifts her eyes and coolly appraises the couple. The man, Martin Brock, smiles at her and in thickly accented English speaks to her. "Hello, Natasha. Come closer so I may look at you."

Natasha looks at Aziz and he nods gently. As she begins to rise, he chides her. "You know better, Natasha. Hands and knees when in the company of your betters. But since you've transgressed, I want you to go meet Martin on your belly. Now."

Aziz is pushing her purposely to see how far she'll go to obey him. Will she slither on her belly in front of the Western couple? He watches transfixed as conflict plays across her beautiful face. Then she drops fully to the floor and drags herself toward the man as his wife watches and laughs. Laughs. Aziz has an overwhelming urge to slap the stupid woman. He settles for a glare that she doesn't even see since her focus is entirely on his slave. Natasha continues on her way. When she reaches the blond man, she stops sliding but doesn't make any further moves. He reaches down and lifts her under her arms until she's kneeling in front of him.

"Very nice, Aziz. Are you sure you're not interested in selling this one? I'll buy her on the spot and take her with us."

"No, I'm afraid I'm not interested. I'm sure our friend will find one for you to your liking. In fact, I'm positive."

"Yes, but this one's a beauty… and so well trained. May I test her obedience?"

"Certainly," Aziz agrees mildly. He knew it would come to this and he isn't happy about it at all—the girl is his personal plaything. Still, it's a chance to see how far Natasha has come.

Brock gets up and walks across the room, standing about ten feet opposite Aziz and the wife. He barks an order at Natasha. "Come here, girl," he says in his guttural voice. "Hands and knees."

Natasha obeys promptly. She knows her way around men like Brock and though she'd probably like to cut both their throats, she knows that won't get her far. When she reaches him, he pushes her forehead to the ground and flips up the fringe skirt she's wearing. Her back is facing the audience of two: one annoyed and one riveted.

"Nice," Brock says, his voice oily, as he unbuckles his belt and pulls it through its loops. He holds it up for Aziz to see and the Arab nods once. Standing to the side of Natasha, he brings down his belt with all his might across the woman's backside. Her whole body jolts but not a sound escapes her. Aziz allows himself a small smile.

Again and again, the German lashes the crouching woman. On the ninth or tenth strike, Natasha finally breaks and shrieks in pain. Angry red welts crisscross her rear and upper thighs. Combined with the salt from her perspiration, the lashes are burning her skin.

Aziz stands up. "Enough," he says in German. "I normally do not allow any hand but my own to beat my female slaves. I have shown you a courtesy but you are overstepping your bounds.

Brock's arm was on the upswing to bring the belt down again but he arrests the motion. His wife can see the anger flash across his face at the interruption but he quickly wipes it from his countenance, showing only a friendly expression to Aziz.

"I do apologize, Herr Aziz, for any transgression. Perhaps I was caught up in the moment?"

"Perhaps," Aziz replies. "I will see to the girl and then we'll have a meal and a chat. Please enjoy a drink while I attend to my business."

The blond man nods and turns toward his wife as Mena scurries into the room to serve the guests refreshments.

Aziz walks over to the woman cowering on the floor. "Come, Natasha, You are done for the day. I will see you to your room."

He leans down to grasp her arm, pulling her up to her feet. As their eyes meet for the briefest of moments before she casts hers down, Aziz sees something that shocks him. He wouldn't believe it if he didn't see it for himself but in that moment the look of pure and unadulterated hatred animates her eyes so completely that Aziz fears the look alone could kill him dead in his tracks. He yanks her with him as he heads toward the door, upset now. After over two months of interaction with no one but him—the women who bathe and feed her are not permitted to speak with her—Aziz assumed she would have some affection for him, if only due to a type of Stockholm syndrome.

But he knew hatred when he saw it—it shone from his own eyes often enough—and Natasha was harboring it for him. It was something he didn't expect and he'd have to reconsider his alliance with her. Perhaps he should sell her to Brock? That would be a much nastier fate for her since the man was a dedicated sadist and he suspected the wife was, too. Then Natasha would know the true meaning of hatred. Food for thought.

…...

The evening news is blaring its filth into the living room, as Kim prepares herself some soup and toast. She's about to turn it off when a reporter begins a story about the arrest of a man for killing his estranged wife. The woman had moved away and taken out a restraining order against the man... but what's a piece of paper against a knife or gun? He'd found her new apartment, broken in, and waited until she got home. The description of the killer sounds an awful lot like her own dear ex-husband and a full body shudder runs up Kim's spine.

She reaches for her bag where she has her phone, a can of Mace, and a utility knife—all part of her emergency crazy-ex kit. Taking two, deep cleansing breaths, she walks over to Christian's lovely wine refrigerator and selects a nice dry white. Soup, wine, a beautiful sunset, and an old musical or movie is just what the doctor ordered. By ten o'clock, she's asleep on the sofa, the television droning on, providing a comfortable, familiar background. At two a.m. something crashes against the window and she bolts upright in bed. Should she call the police? Or maybe Christian? Paralyzed with fear, she sits in the bed unmoving.

…..

Where is she? Gregory Matthews had looked everywhere he could think of, anywhere Kim might have gone to hide and he'd come up empty. He knew, he knew, any day she'd figure out he still had the credit card and she'd cancel it. Then what? He'd be screwed.

Maybe he should try the club? They probably wouldn't let him past the door after Kim no doubt trashed his reputation. He hated that snooty club anyway. Rich, kinky bastards were its primary clientele so he'd never felt at home there. Granted, he'd been elbow deep into BDSM so it had served its purpose and the hefty fees were no problem when he was in the corporate world. Plus, he met his Kim there and she was a member in good standing. Maybe staking out the club would be his best bet. If that didn't work out, he'd have to go looking for her friends and family.

…..

Tossing and turning, Lucien finally gave up trying to sleep and went inside his study to do some work on his film. All of the film footage was shot and in the can, so to speak, and he was working with his editors to get it down to ninety minutes or so from about 16 hours of film. That was the hardest part, deciding what had to stay and what could go. Lucien wanted all of it to stay.

The other thing weighing on his mind was Natasha. He couldn't make any headway into liberating her from the Arab and he was experiencing a level of frustration unknown to him. Usually his money paved the way over any road, no matter how rutted. But this effort was proving impossible. Aziz simply would not consider giving up the woman and short of hiring mercenary thugs to spring her—and that might cost Natasha her life in the process—he couldn't see a way. Last night he'd decided to go to Saudi Arabia and speak to Aziz personally but running into Rimbaud in the hall made him change his mind. Rimbaud warned him that the Arab was not anyone to trifle with and to leave it alone. He, Rimbaud, promised to tell Aziz that Phillips is willing to part with a good amount of cash to get Natasha back if he decides he'd like to trade. That was all that could be done safely he insisted.

Lucien, however, did not like the odds against him. Chances were excellent that Aziz would want to keep the blond woman and Lucien would be waiting forever. That outcome was simply unacceptable to Lucien.

No, he had to find a better way.

…..

Twirling a Mont Blanc pen on his desk as he listened to the voice on the phone, Christian had a hard time keeping his mind off Saturday night and on the current conversation. He and Ana had a very good time. One thing he could always say about his wife is that being a good sport she'll try anything at least once.

But was she ever pissed off when those toys got her sexually frustrated. He laughed just thinking about the look on her face in the bathroom stall. He got out of there quickly before she started ripping his clothes off.

"…and that's when we'll pounce. Christian?"

"Yes, I'm here. Sounds good to me. Keep me updated on your progress, okay?"

"Will do. Thanks."

He disconnected. Even though he's good at multitasking, Christian barely heard a word his employee said. Too busy thinking dirty thoughts about Ana. Today she planned to visit the set of the film adaptation of her novel and she asked him to come with her. He had a meeting scheduled but now it was off. Should he just go and surprise her? He knew where they were shooting today. What the hell? Give the tabloids something to write about—he chuckles as he grabs his suit jacket and heads out the door.

"Janine, I'm going out for a few hours. I should be back by three. Please tell Claudia when she returns to the office."

"Yes, Mr. Grey," she answers nervously.

He rolls his eyes: why does that woman annoy him so much? She always looks as if she's afraid he's going to bite her, tempting him to lunge at her to see what she'll do. Shaking his head, he calls for the elevator, anxious now to be on that movie set with Ana, no doubt setting tongues wagging again. For whatever reason, he finds the whole rumor mill greatly amusing. As his publicist always says, there's no such thing as bad publicity.