 Fifty Shades Darker by E. L. James, read for you by Becca Bateau. Prologue He's come back. Mommy's asleep, or she's sick again. I hide and curl up small under the table in the kitchen. Through my fingers I can see Mommy. She is asleep on the couch. Her hand is on the sticky green rug, and he's wearing his big boots with a shiny buckle and standing over Mommy, shouting. He hits Mommy with a belt. Get up! Get up! You are one fucked up bitch! You are one fucked up bitch! You are one fucked up bitch! You are one fucked up bitch! You are one fucked up bitch! You are one fucked up bitch! Mommy makes a sobbing noise. Stop. Please stop. Mommy doesn't scream. Mommy curls up small. I have my fingers in my ears and I close my eyes. The sound stops. He turns and I can see his boots as he stops into the kitchen. He still has the belt. He is trying to find me. He stoopes down and grins. He smells nasty of cigarettes and drink. There you are, you little shit. A chilling whale wakes him. Christ! He's drenched in sweat and his heart is pounding. What the fuck? He sits bolt upright in bed and puts his head in his hands. Fuck. They're back. The noise was me. He takes a deep, steadying breath, trying to rid his mind and nostrils of the smell of cheap bourbon and stale camel cigarettes. Mr. One I have survived day three post-Christian and my first day at work. It has been a welcome distraction. The time has flown by in a haze of new faces, work to do, and Mr. Jack Hyde. Mr. Jack Hyde. He smiles down at me, his blue eyes twinkling as he leans against my desk. Excellent work, Anna. I think we're going to make a great team. Somehow I managed to curl my lips upward in a semblance of a smile. I'll be off if that's okay with you, I murmur. Of course. It's five-thirty. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, Jack. Good night, Anna. Collecting my bag, I shrug on my jacket and head for the door. Out in the early evening air of Seattle, I take a deep breath. Sample complete. Ready to continue?