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Fifty Shades of Grey

Chapter 5
Excerpt
Car-race scene
Whats wrong, Christian?
Just look where youre going, baby, he says softly.
Im heading for the on-ramp of the 520 in the direction of Seattle. When I glance at
Christian, hes staring straight ahead.
I dont want you to panic, he says calmly. But as soon as were on the 520 proper, I
want you to step on the gas. Were being followed.
Followed! Holy shit. My heart lurches into my mouth, pounding, my scalp prickles and
my throat constricts with panic. Followed by whom? My eyes dart to the rearview mirror and,
sure enough, the dark car I saw earlier is still behind us. Fuck! Is that it? I squint through the
tinted windshield to see whos driving, but I see nothing.
Keep your eyes on the road, baby, Christian says gently, not in the truculent tone he
normally uses where my driving is concerned.
Get a grip! I mentally slap myself to subdue the dread thats threatening to
swamp me. Suppose whoevers following us is armed? Armed and after Christian!
Shit! Im hit by a wave of nausea.
How do we know were being followed? My voice is a breathy, squeaky,
whisper.
The Dodge behind us has false license plates.
How does he know that?
I signal as we approach the 520 from the on-ramp. Its late afternoon, and although the
rain has stopped, the roadway is wet. Fortunately, the traffic is reasonably light.
Rays voice echoes in my head from one of his many self-defense lectures. Its the panic
thats gonna kill you or get you seriously hurt, Annie. I take a deep breath, trying to bring my
breathing under control. Whoever is following us is after Christian. As I take another deep
steadying breath, my mind begins to clear and my stomach settles. I have to keep Christian safe.
I wanted to drive this car, and I wanted to drive it fast. Well, heres my chance. I grip the steering
wheel and take a final glance in my rearview mirror. The Dodge is closing on us.
I slow right down, ignoring Christians sudden panicked glance at me, and time my
entrance on to the 520 so that the Dodge has to slow and stop to wait for a gap in the traffic. I
drop a gear and floor it. The R8 shoots forward, slamming us both into the backs of our seats.
The speedometer whips up to seventy-five miles per hour.
Steady, baby, Christian says calmly, though Im sure hes anything but calm.
I weave between the two lines of traffic like a black counter in a game of checkers,
effectively jumping the cars and trucks. Were so close to the lake on this bridge, its as if were
driving on the water. I studiously ignore the angry, disapproving looks from other drivers.
Christian clutches his hands together in his lap, keeping as still as possible, and in spite of my
fevered thoughts, I wonder vaguely if hes doing it so he doesnt distract me.
Good girl, he breathes in encouragement. He glances behind him. I cant see the
Dodge.

Were right behind the unsub, Mr. Grey. Sawyers voice comes through the hands-free.
Hes trying to catch up with you, sir. Were going to try and come alongside, put ourselves
between your car and the Dodge.
Unsub? What does that mean?
Good. Mrs. Grey is doing well. At this rate, provided the traffic remains lightand from
what I can see it iswell be off the bridge in a few minutes.
Sir.
We flash past the bridge control tower, and I know were half way across Lake
Washington. When I check my speed, Im still doing seventy-five.
Youre doing really well, Ana, Christian murmurs again as he gazes out the back of the
R8. For a fleeting moment, his tone reminds me of our first encounter in his playroom when he
patiently encouraged me through our first scene. The thought is distracting, and I dismiss it
immediately.
Where am I headed? I ask, moderately calmer. I have the feel of the car now. Its a joy
to drive, so quiet and easy to handle its hard to believe how fast we are going. Driving at this
speed in this car is easy.
Mrs. Grey, head for I-5 and then south. We want to see if the Dodge follows you all the
way, Sawyer says over the hands-free. The traffic lights on the bridge are greenthank heavens
and I race onward.
I glance nervously at Christian, and he smiles reassuringly. Then his face falls.
Shit! he swears softly.
There is a line of traffic ahead as we come off the bridge, and I have to slow. Glancing
anxiously in the mirror once more, I think I spot the Dodge.
Ten or so cars back?
Yeah, I see it, Christian says, peering through the narrow rear window. I wonder who
the fuck it is?
Me too. Do we know if its a man driving? I blurt out toward the cradled BlackBerry.
No, Mrs. Grey. Could be a man or woman. The tint is too dark.
A woman? Christian says.
I shrug. Your Mrs. Robinson? I suggest, not taking my eyes off the road.
Christian stiffens and lifts the BlackBerry out of its cradle. Shes not my Mrs.
Robinson, he growls. I havent spoken to her since my birthday. And Elena wouldnt do this.
Its not her style.
Leila?
Shes in Connecticut with her parents. I told you.
Are you sure?
He pauses. No. But if shed absconded, Im sure her folks would have let Flynn know.
Lets discuss this when were home. Concentrate on what youre doing.
But it might just be some random car.
Im not taking any risks. Not where youre concerned, he snaps. He replaces the
BlackBerry in its cradle so were back in contact with our security team.
Oh shit. I dont want to rattle Christian right now . . . later maybe. I hold my tongue.
Fortunately, the traffic is thinning a little. I am able to speed over the Mountlake intersection
toward the I-5, weaving through the cars again.
What if we get stopped by the cops? I ask.
That would be a good thing.

Not for my license.


Dont worry about that, he says. Unexpectedly, I hear humor in his voice.
I put my foot down again, and hit seventy-five. Boy, this car can move. I love itshes so
easy. I touch eighty-five. I dont think I have ever driven this fast. I was lucky if my Beetle ever
hit fifty miles an hour.
Hes cleared the traffic and picked up speed. Sawyers disembodied voice is calm and
informative. Hes doing ninety.
Shit! Faster! I press down on the gas and the car purrs to ninety-five miles
per hour as we approach the I-5 intersection.
Keep it up, Ana, Christian murmurs.
I slow momentarily as we glide onto the I-5. The interstate is fairly quiet, and Im able to
cross straight over to the fast lane in a split second. As I put my foot down, the glorious R8
zooms forward, and we tear down the left lane, lesser mortals pulling over to let us pass. If I
wasnt so frightened, I might really enjoy this.
Hes hit one hundred miles per hour, sir.
Stay with him, Luke, Christian barks at Sawyer.
Luke?
A truck lurches into the fast laneShit!and I have to slam on the brakes.
Fucking idiot! Christian curses the driver as we lurch forward in our seats. I am
grateful for our seatbelts.
Go around him, baby, Christian says through clenched teeth. I check my mirrors and
cut right across three lanes. We speed past the slower vehicles and then cut back to the fast lane.
Nice move, Mrs. Grey, Christian murmurs appreciatively. Where are the cops when
you need them?
I dont want a ticket, Christian, I mutter, concentrating on the highway ahead. Have
you had a speeding ticket driving this?
No, he says, but glancing quickly at him, I can see his smirk.
Have you been stopped?
Yes.
Oh.
Charm, Mrs. Grey. It all comes down to charm. Now concentrate. Wheres the Dodge,
Sawyer?
Hes just hit one hundred and ten, sir. Sawyer says.
Holy fuck! My heart leaps once more into my mouth. Can I drive any faster? I push my
foot down once more and streak past the traffic.
Flash the headlights, Christian orders when a Ford Mustang wont move.
But that would make me an asshole.
So be an asshole! he snaps.
Jeez. Okay! Um, where are the headlights?
The indicator. Pull it toward you.
I do it, and the Mustang moves aside though not before the driver waves his finger at me
in a none-too-complimentary manner. I zoom past him.
Hes the asshole, Christian says under his breath, then barks at me, get off
on Stewart.
Yes sir!
Were taking the Stewart Street exit, Christian says to Sawyer.

Head straight to Escala, sir.


I slow, check my mirrors, signal, then move with surprising ease across four lanes of the
highway and down the off-ramp. Merging onto Stewart Street, we head south. The street is quiet,
with few vehicles. Where is everyone?
Weve been damned lucky with the traffic. But that means the Dodge has, too. Dont
slow down, Ana. Get us home.
I cant remember the way, I mutter, panicked by the fact the Dodge is still on our tail.
Head south on Stewart. Keep going until I tell you when. Christian sounds anxious
again. I zoom past three blocks but the lights change to yellow on Yale Avenue.
Run them, Ana, Christian shouts. I jump so hard I floor the gas pedal, throwing us both
back in our seats, speeding through the now red light.
Hes taking Stewart, Sawyer says.
Stay with him, Luke.
Luke?
Thats his name.
A quick glance and I can see Christian glaring at me as if Im crazy. Eyes on the road!
he snaps.
I ignore his tone. Luke Sawyer.
Yes! He sounds exasperated.
Ah. How did I not know this? The man has been following me to work for the last six
weeks, and I didnt even know his first name.
Thats me, maam, Sawyer says, startling me, though hes speaking in the calm,
monotone voice he always uses. The unsub is heading down Stewart, sir. Hes really picking up
speed.
Go, Ana. Less of the fucking chitchat, Christian growls.
Were stopped at the first light on Stewart. Sawyer informs us.
Anaquickin here, Christian shouts, pointing to a parking lot on the south side of
Boren Avenue. I turn, the tires screeching in protest as I swerve into the crowded lot.
Drive around. Quick, Christian orders. I drive as fast as I can to the back, out of sight
of the street. In there. Christian points to a space. Shit! He wants me to park it. Crap!
Just fucking do it, he says. So I do . . . perfectly. Probably the only time I have ever
parked perfectly.
Were hidden in the parking lot between Stewart and Boren, Christian says into the
BlackBerry.
Okay, sir. Sawyer sounds irritated. Stay where you are; well follow the unsub.
Christian turns to me, his eyes searching my face. You okay?
Sure, I whisper.
Christian smirks. Whoevers driving that Dodge cant hear us, you know.
And I laugh.
Were passing Stewart and Boren now, sir. I see the lot. Hes gone straight past you, sir.
Both of us sag simultaneously with relief.
Well done, Mrs. Grey. Good driving. Christian gently strokes my face with his
fingertips, and I jump at the contact, inhaling deeply. I had no idea I was holding my breath.

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