Fifty Shades belongs to E.L. James. I'm still writing my other story but I had an idea. Let me know what you think :-)

A Life For A Life


I press myself against the side of the car door, trying to appear smaller somehow, though I know it doesn't quite work. The man who owns me now- I refuse to comply with his wishes and address him by his name- spares one glance over at me, then engrosses himself back into the contents of a manila envelope he has resting in his lap.

My first impulse is to ask where it is that he intends to take me and just what it is that he will do with me, but I realize that doesn't even matter anymore. Why bother asking when my life practically doesn't even belong to me anymore? Why should I care what he ends up doing to me anyway? Death would be a good outcome for me at this point.

The city of Seattle flies past the window, all neon colors, skyscrapers, busy traffic and bright lights. I shut my eyes against the sight, moisture gathering beneath my eyelids.

Goodbye friends. Goodbye English Literature and sitting my finals.

Goodbye family.

For the longest time, I had thought I could be my own person, that I could separate myself from what my father Ray did and what he does. Now, I realize how naive I am. I just wish now that the price for saving my father's life had been a bullet to the head. A bullet to the head would be something I would take gladly over this.

But no, I can't think like that. I remind myself of what I had vowed to do once he took me away. I will not let this be the end of me. I would survive this. I will be free again once more. Some day. One day. This thought is the only glimmer of hope I find and cling onto with inexorable strength as I sit in the backseat, surrounded by the oppressive silence of Christian Grey next to me in his black Mercedes.

Three hours Earlier...

My father usually kept me in the dark about all of his business endeavors, but I had overheard him talking to my mother the night before that he couldn't afford to funnel out his monthly repayments. He owed someone regular reimbursements of money that he had borrowed to start up his own business- something that wasn't going very well- though I didn't know who that person was at the time. My father Ray usually remained calm and level-headed, but he wasn't when I had overheard them talking in the kitchen.

"But you have paid him most of it back, haven't you?" I had heard my mother ask in a stressed, high-pitched voice.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Carla! The money we've spent on the business exceeds the money I can pay back for this month!"

"So what does this mean for us then?"

"You know what it means. We have to leave, Carla. We have to leave as soon as possible. Take our passports and leave. It's the only way."

"But Ana has only a few months left until she sits her finals and graduates. Can't we wait a little longer?"

"If we wait, we are good enough as dead, Carla! I know him! If we don't make the repayments as scheduled on this same time each month, he'll come here asking why I haven't been able to deposit the money in this month. This is the way he works."

I closed the door gently in my bedroom, immediately drowning out their whispered words. I had no idea what this meant, but obviously it was something bad. My father usually never was stressed or frightened about anything. And if he was, he always had good reason to be.

It was when I arrived home from college the next day that I saw the two cars parked out in the front of the driveway. Two black SUV's with tinted windows. We didn't get visitors very much, aside from the casual one on rare occurrence by a relative or some of my mother's and father's close friends. At the front door, I had paused to wipe my sneakers on the 'WELCOME HOME' mat because I knew from experience that my mother hated it when I brought in dirt and wet marks.

I had barely stepped inside when she was there, in my face, grabbing me by the arm as if to stop me from doing what I normally did, in taking off my jacket and hanging it up on the rack. There was an odd look on her face; She looked ashen and flustered, as if something terrible had happened.

"Don't worry, Mom. I wiped my shoes beforehand," I had told her with a laugh.

My laughter had immediately died when I noticed the man standing near the entryway to the kitchen. He was not a man I had seen before; He looked to be about in his late thirties or early forties, his hair trimmed and short like a crew-cut. He was wearing a black tailored suit, and he didn't bother smiling back at me when I did it to him.

"Mom, who's that?" I had asked her in confusion. "Why is there some guy standing in our-"

"-Sssh, just keep quiet," she hushed me in warning, grasping onto my hand tightly. Something was wrong, and I could tell by her behavior. Something was happening. Something bad.

"Where's dad?" I asked her anxiously, noticing he wasn't around. Usually he was home by the time I got in, and he would ask me about my day. My father and I were close.

"He's in the kitchen, talking to someone in private." I could see that she was trying to hide how anxious she was, how afraid. "Let's go upstairs to your room, Ana."

I didn't want to go upstairs. Not without talking to my father first, at the very least.

"Let me just go say hi to dad," I said, pretending not to notice her distressed state. "I want to see him and say hi first." I slipped my hand out of hers, though she tried to pull me back. The man standing in front of the entryway to the kitchen moved so I could get past.

"Ana, wait," my mother called desperately. "You don't want to see-"

But it was too late. My scalp prickled in fear as the air left my lungs in terror at the sight. My father. Tied to the chair near the kitchen table. Gagged with duct tape. His face was ashen, his skin slick with sweat. Shiny red blood was covering the side of his forehead. A large gash.

It took me a second too long to notice the man sitting in front of him in a chair. He shifted on the chair to turn and look at me, his eyes a cold steely gray. He was wearing a fine grey suit and white dress shirt, with a black tie. His face was clean-shaven. He was not at all what I was expecting, as far as being the one responsible of doing this to my poor father; He seemed barely into his thirties, his hair a copper brown. His eyes ran down my face and what I was wearing slowly, making me feel sick.

"Is this her?" he spoke calmly as he turned back to my father, his voice low, measured. "This is the only daughter?" It was as if it was so normal to him; doing such a terrible, cruel thing like this to my father. Judging by his tone of voice, you would assume he was here having a tea party with my father.

Before I knew what I was doing, in a panic, I went to rush to my father, to get him free. The gun the man held up to me froze me in my tracks, arctic fear coursing through me as I gasped.

"Step any closer to your father and he's a dead man. Is that understood?"

I stopped dead still, my body infected with paralysis. No one had ever pointed a gun at me before, nor had I seen one in real life. It wasn't a very nice feeling to have it pointed directly at you.

I felt my face close in onto itself in disgust. "Why are you doing this to him?" I spat out, shaking. He still held the gun pointed somewhere at my right arm lazily, though whether he had intentions to shoot me or not, I couldn't be sure. "Who are you? Why have you done this?"

"Who am I?" His eyes shone with sick amusement as he eyed me again. "Seriously? Your father didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" My father made a hoarse noise at the base of his throat. My eyes flit over to him. He was crying, his face red from straining to speak to me through the duct tape muffling every word he tried to say.

"Your father borrowed money off me six months ago, money he should be repaying back to me on this very day, every month. We had a contractual agreement, though... he mustn't have read the fine print. Don't you know that you should always read the fine print, Ray?" The man waved the gun at my father, taunting him. Every time the nozzle of the gun pointed at my father's head, he winced, the tears cascading down his ruddy face. "You borrowed sixty-eight thousand dollars from me. So far, in the six months, you've only paid me back ten. You know how I conduct my business, Ray. If I don't get back a monthly amount that satisfies me, then you know what happens."

He lifted his thumb, cocking the hammer on the gun.

I could not just stand there and watch it happen, I couldn't. Not my father.

"Please," I begged unsteadily.

He turned his eyes away from my father to look up at me, blinking slowly. It was obvious he had no qualms about murdering someone, even while their daughter plead for him not to. Cold. Emotionless. Heartless; that was what this man evidently was. It turned my stomach. "Please, what?"

"Please don't do this. He'll pay you all the money he borrowed back," I promised him fearfully. My throat tightened, stinging every time I swallowed down saliva as if I had a sharp shard of glass wedged in deep into my esophagus. "He will. He just needs a little time. Business hasn't been going as well as-"

"-I'm not here to know how your father is profiting with his business endeavor. I'm here because I want my money back. It's that simple." I wasn't sure whether he was talking to me or to my father, but I could see that he was trying to keep his anger under wraps. He was reigning in his temper. "We had a deal, Ray. You signed the contract to reimburse some of the money you borrowed from me monthly. Now you tell me that you are unable to pay me this month. Was that written somewhere in the contract that you would have to miss a few installments monthly?" His voice shook as his tone went sharper. "No, I don't think so." His long fingers tightened around the gun as he held it towards my father's head again. My eyes stung with unshed tears, my gaze growing blurry.

"I'll give you me then. Just take me instead of hurting my father. Please."

Like I had lost all control of my limbs, I fell down on my knees near the man, reaching out with a hand to touch his kneecap through the lavish, silky material of his trousers. I didn't know why I said it or why I even bothered to get down onto my knees in front of him. It was just in the heat of the moment. All feeling left me; I felt numb. I couldn't even feel the slightest bit humiliated or self-conscious about being on my knees near the man, touching him imploringly, despite it making me feel sick. I was terrified he would kill my father, and with the way he had the gun pointed at him, it wasn't helping. At my words, my father screamed loudly, his hands straining to pull free from the ropes. The look of him, the helplessness in his eyes... it nearly broke me.

The man cocked his head sideways to look at me, his gray eyes bright with interest. "You?" he muttered, his expression devoid of anything. "I was thinking that taking a life would be enough as payback." He was talking to himself, or well, I assumed he was. His lips slimmed out into a thin line as he turned his gaze onto my father again. "What do you think, Ray? Is your only daughter worth sixty-eight thousand in value? I suppose we'll see in the end, won't we?"

A deal was made then. I would go with him instead of my father being shot right before my very own eyes. My life, for his life.

What did you think? I wanted to try write something a bit more serious. Christian won't be very nice in this fic at first- he'll seem cold-hearted to her- though he won't hurt Ana physically. It will be a bit similar to the beauty and the beast, Ana's bargain for him to take her instead of her father's life. Does it seem like something worth reading? It would help to know. Thanks for reading. Sorry if there's a lot of stories similar, I didn't know. I'll try to make it as different as possible though.