Chapter Sixteen

~Anastasia~

Chronic lies can spread to critical mass.

Lives can be dismantled and disfigured. Relationships of every sort can be defiled. A lover cheats. A friend stabs you in the back for the smallest reason. Those who are supposed to love you do their best to smother your inner strength.

Perhaps one tells themselves their secrecy is for the good of the one they are lying to – the one they are betraying. Perhaps one is too scared of the consequences that will befall them once their lover, friend, or family member, finds out that they are keeping secrets. Perhaps they believe one is too weak and fragile to know the truth, and use this as a balm to assuage the guilt they feel.

Maybe their egos are so big that they feel omnipotent and believe that their decisions are the best ones. Maybe, just maybe, that supposed weak, fragile and deceived loved one isn't weak or fragile at all. Let's say they aren't exactly who they used to be - but that doesn't mean they've lost the ability to know what's going on around them – what affects their life Let's say the wronged individual is about to take their power back and regain control of their life.

I'm fed up with what's going on behind my back. I'm tired of people keeping secrets from me in the name of protecting "Poor Ana and her broken mind." I may not remember shit, I may break out in unexpected fits of panic, but I'm still the Anastasia Steele I was before I met Christian. True, I was shy and reserved, in those years, but I had no reason to show the depth of my inner strength. That Anastasia is still present, even though she's covered in a light smattering of gauze. It's time for me to pull off that gauze and reclaim what I've given away freely to those I love and trusted. Everyone in my life must look at me as a husk of my former self, but I'm not. I'm not exactly who I was before, but to be considered a husk, is others underestimating me, and now, I have someone else to protect. That life is more important than mine or Christian's, in fact, that life is me and Christian fused as one. Anyone underestimating that I'll do anything to protect what I'm cradling inside of me is stupid or doesn't really know me at all.

For the past two weeks, I've been ill and physically weak, but my intuition was coming back to life, yet I ignored it. I watched others act a bit different, too protective, and much too jumpy, but I didn't ask questions. I was touched by a perception that something around me had been altered, that a new spice had been added to a recipe that Gail was cooking. I should have trusted my intuition and let it lead it towards the truth. To uncover what had changed right under my nose.

But now I won't stop until I know what I deserve to know; are there deeper secrets being kept from me? Christian can be the master of disinformation. Obviously, also so can everyone else around me, and it's not fair. It's so far from fair, because keeping secrets from me only ca'use me to react. And now this particular secret is about survival. Not just my survival, but Christian's as well. Has he forgotten Leila Williams expertly sabotaged his helicopter in the hopes he was killed?

Has everyone forgotten how cunning this woman is? Leila Williams' emergence at Harborview was bold and chilling, but so have her other felonious crimes. This woman must not only be cunning but brilliant. She's also a psychopath that's lurking around the shadows of Seattle and stalking the streets as if she owns the place.

Where is she? It's proven that people hunting Leila Williams are driving her further underground, to wherever she's hiding. I don't believe for a second that this woman is hiding in trashcans. I now believe that her sick mind enjoys being chased – being the hunted.

She has put everyone that I love in danger. She's threatened my relationship with Christian, one that's obviously been intricate and complicated from the beginning. We are held together with delicate lace and shaky threads. Our relationship seems to be sturdy only when one of us is. As fucked as it probably sounds to others, I think, at this point, I'm the sturdy one. Christian's walking a high rope terrified that I'm going to bolt for the nearest exit and walk out of his life all together, or drop dead on him when my head goes haywire. He also feels too unworthy of me for some reason that I can't understand. He's the one who is flailing in the wind, not me, and I have to protect him. I'm going to protect our little family.

It was just last night that I locked myself in our bathroom and emotionally fell apart under the weight of what's happened and what will happen. I wouldn't let him in when he knocked on the door and we ended up talking through the closed door while in the floor. He heard me crying. I heard him crying.

Ironically, the door was something else keeping us apart. He pleaded for forgiveness for not telling me about Williams showing up at the hospital and I immediately forgave him. We love each other so much; I'm beginning to wonder if we love each other too much. I believe it's what has us stuck in the muck and the mire surrounding us. I know that Christian has so many people in his head that are telling him what he should do about not only Hyde and Williams, but what to do with me as well. He's hearing how best to handle me. It's become a cesspool.

Dr. Powell is the only person in my life that's reaching into my mind and asking me what I do and don't need. I need the truth, even if it is ugly. I don't need to be coddled. I also can't be kept hidden in this penthouse in the clouds, or going out and looking over my shoulder. I want a normal life, well, as normal as one can be for me. Today, I'm going to do best to get that normal life back. If I have a target on my back and that bitch wants me, she's about to have a chance to get me. If she can catch me.

I shower, slip on a pair of jeans, a gray t-shirt under a WSUV hoodie. I put my hair up in a pony tail. I put on and tie the strings to my Doc Marten boots. Pull my crossbody purse on. I'm ready; I've just got to sneak the hell out of here.

At first, I thought that Dad's note was crazy and I didn't quite understand what made him feel like doing what he did. However, I'm now glad he did. I know he'd kick my ass for what I'm going to do, but somewhere, down deep, I think Ray would understand. Or I might just be telling myself that so I don't feel guilty for what I'm going to put some people through here shortly.

I tore the note open in front of Taylor and Christian and did my best to keep either of them from seeing what it said. Luckily, they didn't, or I wouldn't have climbed the steps to the guest bedroom and found what Dad had left me, hidden right where he'd told me it was.

Annie, I know that Christian has a militia around you, but I have a feeling that whatever plans they have in place aren't enough to keep you safe. Christian doesn't want you in Montesano, so, I've got to trust his guys for the time being. Just listen to me: you could be with your security and they could be taken out. You could find yourself unprotected. If that happens, you'll have something that you can protect yourself with. I've placed the .357 Magnum you learned to shoot with in the storage room at your apartment. It's in the bottom of the third box of Christmas decorations. It's been cleaned and loaded. There's also a box of extra ammo. You know how to use it, so don't ever hesitate if you need to pull the trigger. – Dad

I couldn't help but laugh when I realized that he'd hidden the gun that used to be Christian's playroom. I wonder what Ray think if he knew all about that. There's no doubt Christian would be having a bullet removed from his ass.

The first chance that I had, I sprinted upstairs and dug through the box until I found the gun and ammo. I'd taken the large, leather crossbody purse that Christian had bought me and put both in it before slipping out of the room and then hiding the purse in the closet of the guest bedroom. I had no intention of having to use it or even taking it out of its hiding place. I was too afraid that Gail found find it and then Christian would lose his mind. He hates guns.

I don't remember if Christian's aware that I know to shoot, but surely, he knows that I have a permit to carry a concealed weapon. That had to be on my background check. Welch's investigating skills are too extensive to have missed that. Today, that permit and my superb aim might end half of what's currently holding my life, along with the lives of all the people that I love, hostage.

Williams and Hyde are human beings. Human beings aren't bullet proof.

What will be my reason for absconding is that I'm going to see Jose, who I haven't seen in months. He's been in California for a couple of months taking pictures for some magazine. He called me a few days ago and I told him I'd head his way whenever I could. He knows the bare bones of what's going. Kate and I decided he was no longer close enough to be in the know of our lives. That sounds shitty, but it's the truth. So, if I can get out of this penthouse successfully, I'm headed to Portland, in hopes to draw out the woman who I think likes being hunted. Let's see if I can draw her out and make her the hunter. In broad daylight this time.

The security in the apartment is a skeleton crew, and right now, it's only Ryan guarding Christian's damsel in distress. Sawyer is off, and I know Prescott is visiting her family in Portland. Reynolds has escorted Gail to the grocery store, and the big dog, Taylor, is with the biggest dog, Christian.

If I successfully pull this off, I should be awarded a medal of some sort. I'm not sure how long it will take before the troops are alerted about my absence, I only hope I get enough time to get out of the city and hit I-5. Hopefully, a wide-open shot at Ana Steele will bring Leila above ground - a temptation she won't be able to resist. Then I can get the authorities or Christian's security, to grab the bitch.

My heart starts to gallop the second I touch the door knob. I take a deep breath and try to steady myself as I cautiously open the door. I'm aware of each CCTV and where they're lens' are trained at. I stay against the wall and out of the view of any CCTV cameras and quietly make my way to the utility room where the keys to Christian's fleet of Audi's are kept. The only noise is the rush of blood in my head and my shallow and shaky breathing.

I have to stop a few feet from the utility room and decide if I really want to do this, because there's a camera trained on this room since it's near the stairs that are meant as an escape if there's a fire, and the service elevator which goes straight to the garage. If Ryan's ex-Navy Seal eyes fall on the screen that this certain CCTV camera is facing, I'm toast. Shit, this is actually unfair. I shouldn't have to freaking escape my home, but I've made my mind up. and Ryan is probably going to lose his job. I've got to stop overthinking this. Maybe being sloppy and reckless is what's going to get Leila Williams' attention. Keeping me on lockdown certainly hasn't deterred her or kept her from fucking with the cops and Christian's security. She's got to be stopped before she kills Christian. I won't allow that.

Sucking in a huge gulp of air, I jump into the utility room, and once inside, I wait to see if Ryan caught me and is headed to find me. Seconds pass, and all remains silent. I'm sweating and almost breathless. I rest my head on the wall and try to slow my breathing down and regain control of my traitorous body. I'm clammy and my heart is now beating so hard that I feel a pinching pressure in the middle of my chest. I wonder if I'm having a heart attack. It must be a full five minutes before I calm myself down and focus on the mass of keys before me. There's a label underneath each key to describe which car it goes to, and Jesus, there are a lot of labels. I had no idea Christian had all of these cars. Why does he need so many freaking cars? He doesn't even drive them.

My eyes dart around the labels, looking for something I can drive, because I'm sure not driving one of his bulky SUV's. Then Elliot's words come to mind when my eyes land on the last set of keys. "Go big, or go home, bro.", is what he told Christian a few months ago when Christian bought an R8 Spyder, and I nearly choked when I heard how much it cost. Damn, though, it's got a V10 engine. Christian has refused to allow me to drive it, saying that I couldn't handle it, but if I'm going to drive to Portland with the possibility of being followed, or even chased by that psychotic Williams, why not haul ass in the R8 and dare her to catch me?

I grab the key fob to it and tightly hold them in my left hand. OK, now I have to dash under the camera again, and jump into the service elevator without Ryan noticing. Yeah, he'll be alerted that the elevator is in use, but I think I've got a good head start. He'll check the elevator first, and either check the CCTV recordings, or come looking for me.

I'd hate to be his ear when he lets Taylor know I've made it out of the penthouse. I know Christian is going to lose his shit, but I won't let him fire Ryan. This is all on me. Ryan's innocent. Eyeing the ceiling as I press my body against the wall, I make it to the elevator and press the button for it to open. After what seems like forever, and without Ryan running towards it, the doors to the elevator open, and I slide in, hitting the G button.

I'm dizzy and my hearts in overdrive. I watch the numbers to the floors drop and wonder if Ryan is on my tail yet. The doors slide open up to the garage. I stick my head out before stepping out, looking for Ryan running after me, or if Gail and Reynolds are down here, back from grocery shopping. It's clear. I run to the intimidating R8, and press the key fob for it to open. I start it and hear the car's guttural engine. It reminds me of a lion roaring.

I ease the car in reverse and head onto a concrete ramp that leads out of the garage. I'm careful not to scrape the sloping nose of Christian's baby, and carefully maneuver it to Virginia Street. God, is the clutch sensitive. This is like being in a rocket that has grabby breaks.

Traffic is light, and before I know it, I'm making a right turn on the ramp to Portland. I'm shocked that Christian isn't blowing my phone up yet. Maybe Ryan was sleeping.

As I hit I-5 S, I weave in and out of traffic, eyes darting to the side mirrors to see if anyone is following me. So far, so good. Then Christian's ring tone startles me. God, that was fast. I bet he's so pissed at me. I'm not going to answer it.

It's still ringing when an older model gray Porsche 911 nearly comes to a halt in front of me. I barely touch the brakes and still get flung back into the seat. I downshift and the speed drops, engine roaring. I abruptly cut into the left lane, shift gears, and floor it. The engine is rumbling and spitting, and I understand why Christian never let me drive it.

Shit.

Christian.

I sneak a glance at my phone, and watch it blow up with text messages before he calls again. I've got to answer him and let him know I'm all right. I can't stand to think he's worrying about me.

"Chri—"

"What in the mother fucking fuck do you think you're doing, Anastasia?" he roars. "Turn the fucking car around, right now! Have you lost your mind?"

"I'm going to Portland to see Jose," I helplessly blurt out. Lying through my teeth.

Christian's mad, but I can hear the hurt in his voice. "The photographer? The fuck you are. You're not driving to Portland. Take the next exit and get your ass home. I mean it. Now!"

"Please, Christian, I'm tired of being locked up in the penthouse. I need some freedom. I feel suffocated, and I just want to see a familiar face."

Lie, lie, lie.

I hear loud crashes in the background and sounds of glass shattering.

"Christian, are you all right?" I ask, worried that he's hurt himself.

"Am I all right? You've got to be kidding me. Hell, no, I'm not all right. My pregnant girlfriend pulled a runner and is currently unprotected. Not to mention that you could have a blackout at any minute! Did you take that into consideration when you were planning your little excursion?" n

"No, I just—"

"I don't want to hear it, Ana. This is goddamned bullshit. Do as I say, and get off at the next exit," he orders. "Parson and Reynolds are already headed to cut you off. You aren't driving to fucking Portland. You aren't driving anywhere. Bring your little ass back to Seattle."

"Stop yelling at me!" I cry out, watching the cars weave in and out of lanes.

I hear him talking to Taylor and it sounds like they're walking.

Great. Christian's probably headed to find his wayward girlfriend along with Parson and Reynolds. I knew he'd lose it, but I didn't think he'd go nuclear ballistic. Shit.

Yeah, I did.

I check my mirror to see if any of the guys have sprouted wings and managed to catch up with me, but all I see is the gray Porsche behind me. The windows are as tinted as dark as the R8's, so I can't make out the driver.

I slow down a little, but the Porsche doesn't change lanes to pass me. I check my mirror and glide into the right lane. So does the Porsche. My mouth dries and I feel a fluttering sensation in my stomach. I don't doubt that I'm being followed. My crazy planned looks like it worked. I feel vindicated. Thank fuck.

Halfheartedly listening to Christian yell at me, I place the cell in the hands free and abruptly accelerate. The car's power takes me from 75 mph to 110 mph before I can blink.

"Slow the fuck down, Anastasia! For Christ's sake, are you trying to kill yourself?" Christian's voice erupts from my phone.

Huh?

"What?" I ask him.

"You're going 110 mph! Slow your ass down before you kill yourself or someone else. Jesus!"

I narrow my eyes and glare at the phone. "How do you know how fast I'm driving?" "Because Taylor is tracking you," he says slowly.

"Tracking me?" I shriek.

He exhales deeply and the sound fills the car. "Yes. There are trackers on all of my cars. I can also find you by tracing your cell phone. I'm coming to get your ass and drag you back home. Something could happen to you. Don't you realize that? You aren't being kept a prisoner, for God's sake. I'm trying to protect you."

And I'm going to protect you, Christian. That's why I'm doing this.

"Everything is going to be fine. Please, don't worry. I'll slow down. Just calm down," I try to say in a soothing voice, as I hurl myself down I 5.

"Are you crazy? I'll calm down once I can see you and you're back at home. Why did you do this?"

"I told you. I wanted to visit Jose. Get out and—"

"Fuck that bullshit! For a bright woman, you seem to have forgotten there are two very dangerous people on the loose, both who'd love to get their hands on you. Did you forget about Hyde and Williams, Anastasia?"

No, I haven't, because the gray Porsche is riding my ass again, and I'm betting it's not some random asshole. I'm not going to tell Christian, though.

"Drive the speed limit, or for fuck's sake, I'm going to call the police on you. Shit, maybe I should. That sounds like the best way to get you to safety."

I don't reply. What I do is downshift and slow down to 50. The Porsche brakes, and has to dart into the right lane to keep from hitting me. The damn windows are too dark for me to see who's playing this game with me, even though I think I know.

The car doesn't move ahead of me, it's driving right beside me. I'm tempted to roll down the window and flip them off. Instead, I shift and put the hammer on the gas, and hit 120 mph.

"Why the fuck did you do that?' Christian's disembodied voice barks.

"Do what?"

His anger has lost my attention. I'm too busy playing a game with a Porsche. They accelerated, but can't quite catch up to me. I smirk, suddenly proud of this purring V10.

"You slowed down to 50 and now you're back to 120. Quit fucking around with your safety. Have you forgotten you're pregnant?"

That's impossible and is part of the reason I'm doing this. I just can't tell you that. "No, I haven't forgotten. That's a low blow."

"It's the fucking truth. There's an exit a mile ahead of you. Take it."

"Christian."

"Don't 'Christian', me. Take the exit and turn around. You aren't safe, Ana. You're too far ahead of every one of us. God damn fucking shit!" he screams.

Slowing, I let the Porsche catch up to me. It's about two cars back. I swiftly glide in and out of lanes. This time, they stay in the far-right lane. I keep darting my eyes from the road to the Porsche, driving a solid 100 mph. I weave over until I'm in the lane next to them and punch it, maneuvering the Spyder to cut them off.

"Ha! Fuck you, bitch," I say.

"Who are you talking to?"

Shit. I said that out loud and Christian's on the phone. He heard me.

I watch the car that's stalking me accelerate and slide in front of me. They slam on their brakes, making me jerk the steering wheel to keep from rear ending them. "Fuck!" I exclaim, not caring if Christian can hear me anymore.

This is getting old. I'm ready to pull off the interstate and see what happens.

"Answer me, Anastasia."

"Please, stop calling me that." I floor it, my body jerks, and I lose the dumb fuck Porsche.

"Quit whining and answer my question. Who were you talking to?"

I sigh. I can't lie for shit, even over the phone. He's going to lose his mind.

"I was talking to some stupid car," I reluctantly answer.

"Why?"

"Don't get upset, but I'm positive that I'm being followed," I answer meekly.

"What?" he screams so loudly that his voice breaks. "How do you know?"

"Because I noticed a gray Porsche 911 trailing me once I hit I 5. I've been slowing down and speeding up to see what they do. I'm weaving in and out of lanes and they are too. I'm definitely being followed." I hold my breath and wait for Christian to explode.

He doesn't. "I'm putting you on speaker phone. Tell Taylor what you just told me." His voice has changed. He doesn't sound angry. He's unmistakably nervous.

"What's going on, Miss Steele?" Taylor asks. His voice is as impassive as his expression always is.

"Once I was on I 5, I caught sight of an older model Porsche 911. It's gray. It stayed in the distance for a long time, but then whoever is driving it, decided to play with me. We've been trading lanes, and when I speed up, they try their best to hang with me, but can't keep up."

"Can you tell if it's a man or woman driver?"

"No. The windows are tinted. A monkey could be driving it for all I know."

"Get behind them and give me the license plate number," Taylor presses.

"OK. Give me a minute."

I glide to the right lane behind the Porsche. They've sped up, but I'm stuck to their bumper. I read the tag to Taylor. I hear him on his phone telling someone to run the tag.

"Miss Steele, stop engaging with the car. Slow down and drive the speed limit. Don't pass them. Hang behind them."

"Okay. Did you find out whose car it is?" My hands are beginning to sweat. I can hear Christian swearing in the background. I think he must be using Taylor's phone to talk to someone.

"No. The tag was stolen." Taylor sounds pissed. I guess he should be mad at me, too. "Shit," I murmur.

"Yeah, shit, Anastasia!" Christian's voice booms through the speakerphone. "Now you can be sure it's one of those lunatics on your ass. Fuck!"

"Christian, I did this for a reason. I'm done being afraid and looking over my shoulder. I'm worried about someone killing you. I'm sorry you don't understand."

"You're worried about me? Ana, you're the one being stalked down the interstate unprotected, not me. Jesus fucking Christ, get off at the next exit."

"Sir, she's two exits away from where Prescott is visiting her family in Portland. I'll call her to meet Miss Steele some place safe," Taylor says. I can hear him giving Christian his phone back.

"Did you hear that? Prescott isn't far away. Taylor will figure out the safest place for you to meet her. I'll meet you there once everything is figured out," Christian tells me. Their panic is about to make me start panicking, and up until now, I've been fairly calm and in control of my emotions. We remain on the line but aren't saying anything. I know Christian and Taylor just want to make sure I'm fine and Christian is much calmer. Well, I think he's pretending to be calm.

Every few minutes he asks how I am and they want to know if the Porsche is still fucking with me.

It isn't, and I remain behind them, cruising the speed limit.

"Miss Steele, you need to take this next exit. Prescott is parked at a Chevron that's on the left side of the exit ramp. She's in her private vehicle; it's a dark green 2011 Jeep Cherokee," Taylor says.

"Then what?" I ask him.

"You'll park and leave the car; then you're going to get into Prescott's vehicle," Taylor tells me.

"Christian, you want me to leave your car?" I squeak. I can't believe this. He wants me to leave a car that cost two hundred thousand dollars parked at a Chevron.

"Yes, Ana. I don't give a fuck about that car. One of the guys will pick it up. I just want you safe. Just get out of the car and jump in Prescott's. She'll keep you safe," he answers.

"And she'll bring me back home?"

"No, Miss Steele. I don't want to take the chance of whoever's driving that Porsche doing something to harm you. You're going to The Heathman. The accommodations have already been taken care of. You'll wait for more security and Mr. Grey, and do not let anyone else into the suite. There isn't anyone else on the floor you'll be on, and Mr. Grey has ensured that the hotel's staff keeps it that way," Taylor informs me. "Miss Steele, listen to Prescott."

He sounds big mad.

"All right. I took the exit. Which side of the road is the Chevron on?"

"The left, Ana." Christian sounds exasperated.

I dread seeing him. He's going to go off on me, but I know that I deserve it. I'm probably a hazard to Christian's blood pressure.

Pulling into the gas station parking lot, I see the Cherokee, and Prescott behind the wheel. She doesn't look happy.

I wouldn't either if I had to leave my family to come rescue someone because they left the reservation.

"I see her," I tell them, parking alongside her.

"Park by her and get in her vehicle," Christian orders me.

"I am parked by her."

"Then get out and jump into her vehicle, Ana!"

I grab my purse, phone, and the key fob and jump into the passenger side door that Prescott is holding open for me. She shuts it behind me. I watch her come around the Jeep. She's on the phone, probably talking to Taylor.

"Can I hang up now?"

"Yes. I'll see you soon, Anastasia." That sounds like a threat. Great. He's fuming mad. Prescott slides into the Jeep and locks the doors. Before I know it, we're on the road headed west.

"I'm sorry that you're having to do this. I know you were with your family," I say to her. I feel like such an immature shit.

Surprisingly, she smiles, although something about it makes me uneasy. "It's part of my job, Miss Steele. You don't have to apologize, and I'm a bit relieved that Taylor called me in. I don't get along well with my sister-in-law and she was there, driving me nuts."

"Oh. I'm an only child so I won't have to deal with a sister-in-law. Well, that's if Christian and I don't ever get married. If we do, I'll have Mia, and thankfully, I love her to pieces." I'm trying to sound like she isn't unnerving me. But fuck she's unnerving me.

"Be grateful that you do like Miss Grey. I've never gotten along with my brother's wife. She's always made snide comments about my career and how I've never married or had children. I believe she likes to insinuate that I'm gay," she replies.

Why do I think she sounds enthusiastic? It's like she's anticipating something and knows she's going to enjoy it. I grab my purse and hold it tightly. I've never liked Prescott, and had the odd feeling that I couldn't trust her. The feeling of not trust her has crashed through the windshield and I want out of this vehicle. Something is off.

I stop talking and we drive in silence. I'm actually afraid she isn't taking me to the Heathman.

I look around to see if the Porsche followed us. I don't see it anywhere.

"The car isn't following us, Miss Steele. I've had my eyes out for it since you got in the car. You have nothing to worry about."

I exhale deeply and lay my head on the seat's headrest. I'm beginning to feel nauseous.

"Are you feeling ill, Miss Steele?" Prescott asks.

Just a little bit. I've never felt as though your trustworthy and your current behavior is making me uncomfortable and red flags are popping up all around you. Does that answer your question, Prescott?

"Just a bit nauseous. I'll rest when we get into the room."

I see the Heathman in the distance and inwardly sigh in relief.

Soon we're in front of the hotel, and Prescott hands the keys to the valet. Grabbing me by the elbow, she walks me to the front desk and we're greeted by a young woman with a surly expression.

"We have reservations under Lewis," Prescott tells her. Surly Expression taps on the computer keyboard and looks at us. I'm sure Christian reserved the best suite in the hotel, and neither of us looks like we could afford it.

"Certainly. Do you require help with your luggage?" she asks, handing Prescott key cards.

"No, thank you." Prescott turns us around quickly and we head to the elevators.

"Miss Steele, once inside the suite, you are not to open the door. Even if you order something to eat and its room service. If that happens and you're in the main room with me, I want you to go into an adjoining room. This particular suite has three. Do you understand?"

Her voice has changed. It's not quite cold. I feel flight or fight is about to have to kick in.

"I understand. Surely if that car didn't follow us, then they don't know where we are. Plus, we're registered under a different name," I say too loudly, because I'm past nervous. There's something up with this woman.

"Please just do as I ask, Miss Steele," she says, ignoring my words.

The elevator doors slide open, but she puts an arm up to stop me from stepping out and looks to the left and then to the right. "Follow me."

Naturally, the suite is ostentatious and over the top. Why would Christian get such a room knowing we wouldn't be here very long? I'd chastise him for it, but I know he's done it because he loves me and always wants the best for me. And this does seem like a good place to hide me.

After Prescott locks the door, and my stomach twists. Then she calls Taylor and tells him we safely made it to the hotel. The conversation is brief. Nausea hits me out of nowhere and I know that I can't fight what I feel rising in my throat. Prescott said the bedroom was to the right; she's standing directly in my way. If she doesn't move, I'll throw up on her.

"I'm going to be sick. Move, Prescott, move!" Hurriedly, I make my way into the suite's bedroom with a hand over my mouth. I toss my purse onto the bed. I barely make it in time. I think I hear the soft click of the door closing.

My stomach repeatedly empties itself of the Sprite I drank earlier. I throw up until I feel too weak to stand. Once my body is finished lurching up bile, I blindly grope for a towel or wash rag that might be nearby. There isn't one.

I collect myself and stand on shaky legs almost too weak to make my way to the sink, where I wet a wash rag and wipe my face off. You'd think an exclusive hotel like The Heathman would have a toothbrush and toothpaste handy, but I don't see any, so I wash my mouth out with cold water from the faucet.

Resting my arms on the counter, I lower my head and take in some deep breaths. I'm miserable, and ready for this to end.

"I know you can't hear me yet, but would you ease up on me and stop causing me to vomit all the time? Please?" I say to the embryo inside of me that doesn't have ears yet. I pick up the wash rag to wash my face once more, and turn to make my way out of the bathroom and rest for a while.

My eyes are closed when I scrub the cool rag for a last time and toss it in the sink. Slowly turning on my Doc Martens, I walk into the bedroom.

I stop in my tracks, and my eyes immediately dart to my purse on the bed.

The purse that's out of reach.

It's too far away for me to grab it.

"How long have you been standing there?" I ask in a small, but strong voice.

"Longer than you'd like," Leila Williams says.