t if she’d absconded, I’m sure her folks would ha一ve let
Flynn know. Let’s discuss this when we’re home. Concentrate on what you’re
doing.”
“But it might just be some random car.”
91 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
“I’m not taking any risks. Not where you’re concerned,” he snaps. He
replaces the BlackBerry in its cradle so we’re back in contact with our
security team .
Oh shit. I don’t 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, wea一ving through the cars again.
“What if we get stopped by the cops?” I ask.
“That would be a good thing.”
“Not for my license.”
“Don’t 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 it
—she’s so easy. I touch eighty-five. I don’t think I ha一ve ever driven this fast. I
was lucky if my Beetle ever hit fifty miles an hour.
“He’s cleared the traffic and picked up speed.” Sawyer’s disembodied voice
is calm and informative. “He’s 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
I’m 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 wasn’t so frightened, I might
really enjoy this.
“He’s hit one hundred miles per hour, sir.”
“Stay with him, Luke,” Christian barks at Sawyer.
Luke?
A truck lurches into the fast lane— Shit! —and I ha一ve 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 acr
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