Chapter Seventeen
~Anastasia~
Neither of us move.
The large serrated knife pointed at the floor is wet with blood. My stomach drops, because I realize what that must mean. The door between the main room and the bedroom is partially open.
Fuck.
I left Prescott in the main room. Leila Williams is standing in front of me. How did she get in the suite? Holy fuck. I almost recoil from the realization: Prescott let her in.
I fucking knew that woman couldn't be trusted. How did she slither her way into Taylor's charge? Oh, after they all freak the fuck out, someone is going to be in trouble with Christian Grey.
I side eye my purse again. It's perched on the maroon and green comforter that covers that damn king-sized bed. I know the distance between me, the .357, and the destruction I can do with it. But it's out of reach. This is what I wanted. I wanted to draw her out, and it worked, although I didn't expect a bloody, Michael Myers style knife.
She slowly makes her way to me, but I'm not going to cower or try to run. I also inch my way further into the room. A shiver runs down my spine.
The woman before me doesn't look like the one in the mugshot I've spent hours studying. She doesn't look like a bleary eyed drunk who'd just been arrested. No, Leila Williams looks like any attractive woman you'd see out and about shopping in a mall. She has on a brown cable knit sweater and jeans. Her brown boots reach her knees. I'm struck by how much she resembles me. Her hair isn't as long or thick as mine, and is a lighter shade of brown. She's petite and small boned like me, but a few inches taller.
I've got to get my gun. A gun trumps a knife any day, well, it will if she doesn't stab me to death first. I watch her lick her lips and appraise me head to foot – she smiles. I'm rethinking my opinion on her state of mind and inwardly cringe. I'd imagined a crazed psychopath, who's out of touch with reality. But this woman doesn't look like a psychopath. From what I'm seeing, she's mentally sound – and that makes her more dangerous.
Leila steps closer and I mimic her move, only I edge a bit toward the bed. If she notices, she doesn't say anything. We stop at the same moment and stare at one another. My heart has already hammered out of my chest.
As I'm about to take a step forward, my cell phone, that's beside my purse on the bed, begins to ring. The ringtone I've set for Christian, fills the suite. I stop, and make the mistake of looking at it, because Leila uses the opportunity to rush me. Distracted by my ringing cell, I don't move fast enough to get away from her. Before I can blink, her hand is around my throat and she squeezes, hard. Her other hand puts the blade of the knife under my chin.
The ringing stops.
She smiles.
"I've got to applaud you, Anastasia. You got my attention," she says.
Our faces are inches from touching. Her voice is surprisingly deep. Her eyes are brown. She drops her hand. I don't dare move. I stare into her eyes trying to figure her out. I also don't want her ram that knife through my chin.
"Has a cat got your tongue?" she asks.
"No," I reply, in a low voice.
"How did you manage to escape the penthouse?"
I lick my lips and narrow my eyes at her.
"Does it matter?"
Leila scoffs. "Not a fucking bit," she replies. "You look the same as you did the last time we were together."
"When have we ever been together?" I ask, my eyebrows drawing together from confusion.
"Anastasia, you little lamb, I've been in the elevator at Escala with you before. Well, that is until these unfortunate events began to take place. In fact, before yours truly became a fugitive, I've taken a ride in that elevator with nearly every member of Grey's family."
She's grinning. She's pleased with herself, and I'm completely confused. I'm so confused that I feel like I'm lost in outer space.
"What? How is that possible?" I whisper.
My cell phone rings.
She twists my arm behind my back so painfully that I yell out.
"It's possible because I live there," she tells me. "I have an apartment on the third floor. I've been living there for over a year." Leila laughs loudly. "Grey's idiots have been looking for me for months, and we live in the same fucking building. Don't you love that?"
"You live in Escala?" I whisper. My mouth feels like I've funneled sand.
"Yes. The apartment was my Dom's. He was a red faced, pudgy little fuck, but I overlooked it because he had money – not Grey money, of course – and that's why I didn't mind watching him pop Viagra and shoot Testosterone in his ass so he could get it up. He was in his late forties. A sadistic fuck, too." She stops and let's go of my arm. "He was a good fuck, only from behind, that is. Not as good as your boyfriend, but I've only had a few that were."
I don't bother answering her. She isn't here to have a conversation. I glance up at the expensive chandelier lighting above us. This upscale hotel suite is a crime scene.
"I assume you were a virgin when you met Christian Grey, huh? I bet it hurt when that big cock popped that cherry." Her brown eyes are wide and hateful. Leila's cocks her head to the side, staring at me expectantly. "Grey likes to hurt women, after all."
"Is that why you're here, Leila? You want to know about my sex life with Christian?"
"Nah, I'm sure your sex life is boring as hell. Anyway, back to my life. My Dom sought me out because he heard I was hardcore masochist. I guess he wanted to find out if the rumors were true – and they are. I knew of him, heard his name thrown around for years, but wasn't interested in him until I wanted to start my own company. I thought he might be generous and toss out gifts like some rich sadists do, your boyfriend included."
"Christian isn't a sadist!" I exclaim angrily.
She rolls her eyes at me. "And I'm Mary fucking Poppins. Christian Grey is renowned for his sadistic tendencies. He's got a waiting list of willing pussy who like a hardcore Dom. Well, he probably doesn't have a waiting list anymore since he's doing the girlfriend thing, but trust me, your Prince Charming knows how to hand out a punishment. And it gets him off, big time. Maybe you've never seen that side of him, but I have. It's there."
My phone is ringing.
I'm tugged further into the bedroom by the arm she's once again got in a vice grip. I do my best to wiggle out of her grasp. I manage to kick her. My boot knocks square on the side of her knee. It buckles, and knocks her off balance momentarily, but she grabs the arm of a high back sofa and steadies herself.
"You fucking cunt!" Leila yells, reaching, and grabbing the strings to my hoodie.
She pulls on them so tightly that my hands shoot to my throat. It feels like she's strangling me. I keep kicking her, and Leila's hand drops and I'm free. She's able to quickly get behind me. I fling my head back and hit her face so hard that it makes me dizzy. I make the mistake of turning to face her because she grabs one of my ears and yanks it down, hard. I yelp, once again under her control. I'm pleased to see the blood gushing out of her nose. I think I broke it.
"You're one stupid bitch." Her teeth are gritted.
She releases me to wipe her nose with her sleeve, and once loose, I punch her. It directly lands on her left eye and cuts the skin above it.
Good.
Leila staggers back and I lunge at her. The bitch gets hold of my hoodie and pulls me down.
Why the hell did I wear a hoodie?
I punch her in her chest bone and she cries out. Unfortunately for me, she still has a grip on me and shit, that punch made my hand hurt. I wince.
"Try that again and I'll just go ahead and carve you up," she yells.
We're both breathing heavily.
I haven't been in a fight since I was a freshman in high school; I forgot fighting is exhausting.
I stop struggling and her grip loosens. It takes her a minute or so to compose herself before she starts talking again, even though blood is running out of her nose. I'm still unable to get away from her.
Leila sighs, and begins to speak again, despite the blood that is pouring from her nose. Maybe she is crazy. "So, I had hopes that my new Dom would be willing to help me start up my own engineering company. He helped me write up a business plan, and I had some funding that I needed. We actually had a relatively normal relationship," she says. "Then guess what happened? The fat fuck died on me! Had a heart attack while he was running on a treadmill." She bitterly laughs. "How fucked is that? Here's this fat ass trying to lose weight and he drops dead in the process. Then, there's me, trying to get my startup money, and when he dies, so does my company. The only family he had was a sister and a niece. So naturally, he willed them everything he had, except for the apartment. He willed that to me. I also had the cash I'd gotten for my start-up money. It was enough to have me living comfortably. For now, anyway." Her cheeks redden and she appears offended that the man died.
My phone is ringing.
"The apartment is in your name?" I ask in disbelief.
Leila stares. "Of course not."
"That's bullshit. You don't live in Escala. You would have been seen."
She puts her mouth up to my ear. "Who said I didn't change my hair color when I lived with my Dom?"
"What?"
She pushes me onto the floor in lieu of answering me. I look at her, frozen, trying to decide if I can bring her down so I can reach my purse. She's blocking my way and is looking across the room, lost in thought. Right now, she looks like she's lost in space.
I slowly stand. Perhaps I can distract her if I get her talking. I swallow hard.
"Why did you try to kill me? Kill Christian?"
My question draws the bitch back to the present and she grabs and pulls my pony tail as I'm trying to get closer to the bed. She twists it around her hand and yanks my head back. It feels like this bitch snapped my neck.
God, let me get to my purse. Fuck shooting the bitch. I want to pistol whip her.
Christian's ring tone is in the air again.
"I didn't try to kill you. I set your apartment on fire to get your boyfriend's attention, which it did. I sabotaged Grey's helicopter because he deserves to rot in hell," she answers, her jaw clenches.
Sweat is rolling down my back and it's taking all of my strength to keep my knees from buckling.
"Why do you think he deserves to go to hell, Leila? Because he didn't keep you around?"
She grabs the damn strings to my hoodie again. I scratch and kick her until she's forced to let go. I sway, gasping for breath. I take an unsteady step backwards and the bitch grabs my wrist and twists it. I cry out.
"I didn't want that mother fucker to keep me around," she replies. "Is that what that bastard told you?" One eye is swelling and tears are running down her face. "Is it?" Did that son of a bitch tell you that?" she yells. I can't help but cringe.
She pulls me towards her by my wrist, and puts the tip of the knife back under my chin. Only this time it punctures the skin. It's beginning to burn. It's beginning to make my eyes water.
"No. Christian's never said that," I croak through the pain from her knife.
Fury is spilling off of this woman. It's vibrating off of the walls of this upscale hotel suite.
"The prick…Grey, said I broke his precious NDA because I listed him as a reference on a loan I was trying to get. You know, for the company I wanted to start. I was desperate. I thought having his name on the application would help me. I hadn't kept his fucking car or the rest of his bullshit gifts, so he had nothing to take back, and for some reason I didn't think he was cold blooded. That fucking bastard fooled me, though. Long story short: he fucked up my loan and has blackballed me from every bank and engineering company in the Pacific Northwest. He's ruined me, and the money I had is running out."
I blink several times. "Shouldn't you be referring to Christian as 'Sir'? Maybe 'Master'? Subs can't call their Dom's by their given name." I have no idea why I'm trying to goad the woman who has a large knife near my throat.
The first blow lands on the right side of my head, rocks me, and my body jerks to the left, hitting the wall. The second, coming from the knife's handle, glances my chin. The room is spinning and I've lost my bearings. Somehow, a standing lamp and a flower arrangement are broken and in the floor.
I look at Leila. Her expression is bland and her eyes bored.
I don't think that bodes well.
My cell phone is ringing.
"Fuck that. I wasted too much time calling Christian Grey, 'Sir', and allowing him to beat the shit out of me. Oh, he's a great fuck, and I did love when he ate my pussy."
She's trying to make me jealous, but it's not going to work.
Leila yanks me around like I'm a rag doll. "Has he ever fucked your ass, Anastasia? Your Christian loves to shove that big cock up a tight ass. You're too much of a proper wimp to take a little pain, though, aren't you? Did you even let him tie you up before you left him? Hmm?"
How in the fuck does she know I left him? I want to rip her heart out. If I could only get to my purse…
"What are you talking about, Leila?"
She rolls her eyes, and I feel the knife begin to run down my torso. She's not applying enough pressure to cut me. No, she's just fucking with me.
"You're such a dumb bitch. I know all about your piss poor attempt to be Grey's sub. No, wait, you're not dumb…I forgot you're brain damaged. Tell me, do you have to wear diapers so you don't shit and piss all over yourself?" she sneers.
"Fuck you."
Her forearm makes direct contact with my nose, launching my body backwards, and against the bedside table. The lamp on it falls to the floor and breaks. I expel a choking breath. She never loosens her grip on the knife and its serrated blade.
She's no doubt incapacitated her pal Prescott and plans to kill me. God, I've got to get closer to the fucking bed.
"Mind your manners, Miss Steele. Fuck, you're a disgusting mess." Her eyes wonder up and down my body. "I wonder what Christian would think of you if he could see you. His blood soaked and fucked up love. The woman carrying his child." Her words and her chilling tone startle me. It's like they shut my pain off. I'd ask how she knows, but I know the answer – she was at the hospital.
"Yeah, yeah, I read your chart when I made it to your floor. Did Mr. Grey's elite security squad feel like jerk off's when they discovered how close I was to you?" She winks at me. "I know there's a little Grey on board. I wonder if I should stab you in the stomach before I cut your fucking throat."
My cell rings again.
She hasn't acknowledged it once.
Tears mingle with the blood I feel running down my face. I look towards the door that's cracked open.
Leila laughs loudly. "Stop hoping that bitch is going to save you, Anastasia. It's just you and me."
"Prescott let you in, didn't she?" I ask, my voice behind a wheezing breath.
"Well, how do you think I got in here? Of course, she did," Leila replies.
She smiles. Her teeth are bloody.
I've changed my mind. She is fucking nuts.
Neither of us is dead, but the room already looks like a homicide scene.
"You and Prescott know each other?" I really want to find out the truth behind that mind fuck.
"Yes. Very well, in fact."
"How?" I press.
Leila shakes her head. "Grey will figure it out," she says. "Like, I said, it's just us girls."
I'm on my own, but I did sneak out of the safety of the penthouse for a reason. I left to fight this bitch, not to die. However, all I have to do is look in her eyes to know this isn't going to end well for one of us. But I'm not dying today.
"I can see it in your eyes, Anastasia. The panic. I don't care if you're panicking – just do it quietly, for Christ's sake."
Suddenly, Leila pulls the knife back and shoves me against the wall. The light fixture on the wall rattles. The unexpected force causes me to lose my balance and I have to catch myself on the bedside table. I lean against it trying to support my body weight. I gasp in pain, but raise my arm and ram my elbow into the side of her head. She goes down, and I turn, ready to run to the bed. But she grabs my right leg and I fall on my knees. Leila grabs me by the waist. I scream in frustration. Then the fucking bitch bites my ear. Hard.
My cell phone is ringing.
"Anastasia, let me ask you something. Have you noticed that we look alike? That we're both brunettes?" she asks. She's breathing heavily.
"Yes," I mutter, and cough. My blood sprays on the carpet.
"That's because your lover boy has a type. You do know that, don't you?"
"What are you talking about?"
Leila's eyes widen with mock surprise. "You're sacrificing yourself for a man who only fucks petite brunettes and you don't know?" she asks. "All of his submissives look alike, Ana. They look like us. They all look like you." Her voice is low and menacing. "I'm curious. . . Do you know who Rachel Warren is?"
Rachel Warren? Rachel Warren? Who in the hell is she?
Leila must see the confusion in my eyes. She laughs. "She heads the arson division of the Seattle Fire Department. I hear you met her after I dropped a few matches in your apartment. Ring any bells?" she asks.
I recall that evening clearly. We all sat around a conference table for hours. It was when Christian's family found out their son wasn't a celibate robot or gay. The arson investigator was a woman. She was a brunette. Please, tell me she's lying.
Leila's smirking at me.
"I remember her." I try to sound disinterested.
She doesn't have to spell it out for me. I'm pretty sure I know what she's going to say. I sat at a table and was questioned by a woman who my boyfriend fucked and beat every weekend. I wonder what kind of shit was in her contract.
"Tsk, tsk, Anastasia. Obviously, your boyfriend didn't tell you that before she was Mrs. Rachel Warren, she was Miss Rachel Lowe. I'm not sure when she was Grey's sub, but years ago, she was another petite brunette he caned and fucked in the ass. Maybe I'll ask the girls if they know when Rachel was blowing your boyfriend."
"Girls? What in the hell are you going on about, Leila?"
She pauses dramatically. "The girls are his formers subs. I know a few."
My stomach churns. I've never hated anyone in my life until this very moment.
Leila leans in and whispers in my ear. "Every sub your precious Christian has had looks just like you."
My phone rings.
She grabs the strings to my hoodie again and wraps them around her free hand, and tightly twists them around my neck. I reach up and grab at them. They're only tightened. I'm reminding myself to take slow and deep breaths; remain calm, Ana. Keep your shit straight. You'll be the one walking out of here.
She looks down at the carpet and shakes her head. "You really should stop bleeding on the carpet. You've ruined it."
"Not all of that blood is mine, you bitch," I hiss.
"Shut the fuck up."
I straighten, look her in the eyes, and spit blood in the face. Her face twists in rage and she raises a fist. I anticipate this blow, and manage to duck under it, infuriating Leila. A boot to my right knee causes me to falter, and I raise my left hand to ward off another punch. That's when I feel the excruciating, burning sensation of her knife slicing my palm and twisting the knife.
My scream is primal. I howl from the agonizing pain and bend over at the waist. I think of the .357 and wonder if she's fucked my hand up so much that I won't be able to hold it. My fingers are going numb. The pain dazes me. Leila, the bitch, is smiling.
I slowly begin to slump to the floor. I see stars through bloody and tear-filled eyes. I vaguely hear her vile and cruel taunts, but the pain that I'm in drowns them all out.
My cell phone is ringing.
Then, some spark in my brain fires and I realize something. I may be on the floor, but I'm wedged near the bottom of the bed. My purse is close. It's the closest I've been to my gun.
I know if I die, she'll kill Christian. If he walks into this hotel suite and finds me dead in a blood bath, Christian won't survive it. He'll crumble and Leila will have won. I can't let that happen. I won't allow that to happen.
I realize my chances of pulling this off are slim, but I can't let that stop me.
I'm not a coward and I'm not afraid to fight. It's either ridding the world of Leila, or death.
What I'm about to do is terrible, horrible, and incredibly foolish, but I don't have any other option.
With Leila looking down at me, I bend, extend my legs, and kick hers. She falls, and I get on the bed and pull on the comforter, reaching for the long strap of my purse. I grab it with my good hand. The knife comes down on the bed, very close to my face. I turn my head and watch it sink into the once pristine maroon and green comforter. I cough, and drool dribbles down my chin. I'm going to kill this cunt.
"You fucking little bitch," she screams.
Against my protesting body, I roll over, taking my purse, and most of the bedding with me. I watch her launch herself on the bed. She raises the knife.
I'm able to drop off the side of the bed. My body screams from pain every time that my heart beats. Blood is running down into my eyes.
Blood is all over Leila's face.
We're bloody monsters. We're both baying for the blood of the other.
The room is bathed in a metallic odor.
My cell phone is ringing.
Leila is on the bed; she's walking across it on her knees. She's enraged that her prey has gotten away. She's panting and screaming at me - I'm not listening.
My hands are on my gun, and I swallow a moan from the pain it's causing me. Leila has reached the edge of the bed, so I quickly scoot away from her. My back is eventually against the far wall of the suite. I slowly raise the gun. It's hard because the fingers of my mangled hand are numb. I do it anyway.
Her eyes widen, and her grip on the knife slackens, while my grip on the gun painfully tightens. My hands are shaking and I know I've got to get my breathing under control to steady them. Breathe. You have to control your breathing in order to steady the gun.
Breathe. Steady. Breathe. Steady.
"You can't hit your target if your hands aren't steady, Annie." I hear Ray telling me.
Leila cocks her head to the side and smiles. "You're going to shoot me? You, of all people?"
Doesn't she realize that she's the one at a disadvantage? Is she stupid, or does she think I'm not woman enough to pull the trigger? Her audacity to taunt the person who's holding a gun on her is unbelievable.
Gun trumps knife.
If you know how to properly shoot a gun.
Especially if you know where to hit that will do maximum damage.
If you have great aim.
And I do.
My phone is ringing.
"Yeah. Yeah, Leila, I really am," I reply, my tone is one of exhaustion. My voice sounds choked and croaky. "I'm also one hell of a good shot."
"Bullshit," she seethes.
"Toss the knife and you won't have to find out. We can wait until the Calvary arrives, which should be any minute now, or you can try to fuck me up some more. That's futile now, because I'm warning you; I will blow a hole straight through you."
She tightens her grip on the knife's handle, her face skeptical and mocking.
"I'm not afraid of you," she replies, then laughs.
"That's unfortunate."
I spit blood out of my mouth. I grip the gun tighter. My arms are extended. I can't decide if I want to fucking kill or maim her. "Don't know if you've ever heard the saying Leila, but, 'one bullet can end a lifetime'," I tell her.
"Fuck you."
I squint my eyes at her. This bitch is crazy. "I thought you were smart, but you're a dumb fuck to challenge a gun that's aimed directly at you," I tell her.
"You're not made of what it takes to kill someone." She subtly moves her hand, but I see it. There won't be another attack that I have to fight my way out of.
My cell phone is ringing.
I square my shoulders and my hands are steady. My dominant eye aligns the front and rear sights. Despite the blood, sweat, and agonizing pain, my aim is perfect – right on her heart.
"Leila, you may think this snub nose gun can't do much damage. I bet your thinking it's too..."
"Shut the hell up, Anastasia," she growls, wiping her face with an arm. "I don't give a fuck about your gun. You're a Polly Anna. You couldn't shoot anyone."
She smirks as I continue. "Drop the knife. You'd hate to make me very happy by blowing your ass away, now, wouldn't you?"
"Like I said, fuck you," she answers, then spits blood at me.
I shrug.
She laughs.
"OK, if this is how you want to go out. Leila, the gun in my hands is directly aimed at your heart. You're within my crosshairs - if you know what that means," I tell her, this time louder. "My finger is on the trigger and I can drop you with just a bit of pressure on it." My heart is pounding and I feel like passing out. My chest is heaving.
My cell phone is ringing.
She narrows her eyes.
I can see it all over her; This woman doesn't believe I'll shoot her. Repeatedly.
She says nothing, doesn't make a sound, but the look in her eyes tells me exactly what is about to happen.
Leila leaps off the side of the bed, a move that guarantees I won't hit my target.
She runs at me with the knife raised.
That's when I fire a deafening shot into her abdomen and her body jerks. She screams and grabs her stomach. Raising her head, her expression is still vicious. She makes one last attempt to advance on me before I land two shots in her groin. My arms feel the kick.
Leila looks shocked. She struggles to stay conscious. Her destroyed femoral artery isn't going to allow that to happen. I don't have a way of knowing how many minutes passed before her fingers slackened, and the knife settles beside her. I watch her fingers twitch as her life slips away.
My cell phone is ringing.
I drop the gun. Adrenaline brings me to my feet. For the first time, I take a look at the mangled flesh that is my left hand. I look around the room and stagger from the shock of Leila's cruelty.
My cell is ringing.
I can't find it.
I stagger to the door, fighting my body to stay upright. I can feel myself begin to fade away and feel my heart throbbing through my bloodied clothes.
Stumbling towards the door, it opens as my body falls into it.
I knew Leila had to have hurt Prescott, but I wasn't expecting this. She's dead - on her stomach. I can see that some of her blood seeped out and onto the carpet.
I look for the room's phone – any phone. There's one on the desk and looks like it's at the end of a very long and dark tunnel.
My cell is ringing in the distance.
Blood.
So much blood.
My cell phone is still ringing.
The room dips, and my legs forget their purpose.