Elias (GRIT Sector 1)

by Rebecca Sherwin

  “So…” he said as we stood on the terrace and stretched out.

  “I do not want to talk about your sister.”

  “I was going to ask how the Sector is going. Believe me, you and Trixie is the last thing I want to talk about.”

  “But she’s okay?”

  Hesitation. Trace said nothing and that couldn’t have meant anything good. He remained silent as he took off across the terrace, down the steps and into the garden. I followed after him, catching up with him and we settled into a quick stride along the dirt path.

  “She’ll be okay. Do me a favour and go easy on her. She isn’t as strong as she makes out she is.”

  “I know,” I said, deciding it would be the last thing I said to Trace on the matter. “I know.”

  “So I’ll see you tonight?” Trace asked when we stepped back into the house covered in mud and sweating from head to toe.

  “Tonight, Sector 2.”

  “You’re staying here?”

  “I’ll be here for as long as Trixie is.”

  No way was I leaving her now. Not when I couldn’t trust her not to scope out the office as soon as darkness fell, and I couldn’t guarantee William wouldn’t be sniffing around her like a dog, and since I’d instructed him to court her…

  “I’ll see you later.”

  After shoving the vest into his chest, I turned and ran back outside. I’d planned to take a shower before seeing her, but it couldn’t wait. William was on the Estate, Trixie was on the Estate and I’d had a hand in reacquainting them. I needed to inject myself back into a situation I’d planned just 24-hours ago, and separate them again.

  Which meant Trixie was going to hate me.

  I reached the front door of Trace’s house and let myself in.

  “Trixie?” I called out, kicking my shoes off so I didn’t dirty the freshly waxed floor. “Trixie, are you here?”

  Silence. The TV had been left untouched, the kettle was cold and there was no sign that even Trace had been here, let alone his whirlwind of a sister. Thinking she might have stayed upstairs sulking like the women in the romance novels I’d read, I ran up the stairs. There were worst things I could have found than Trixie in a compromising position, naked, wet, distracted by the thought that she was alone. I hoped she was in the shower, with the door open because she assumed the house was empty. I rushed, and I shouldn’t have. I should have seen it coming after what had happened last night. I should have used my instincts, the intelligence I’d worked hard for, and the connection I’d felt with Trixie from the minute I’d laid eyes on her, to know she wouldn’t be here.

  She was gone.

  Christ. I scrubbed at my face, pulled on my sweat-matted hair, and wondered where she would have gone. The estate was huge, there was no way I would find her without direction, so I pulled out my phone and dialled my business partner.

  “Elias,” William addressed coolly when he answered the call.

  “Are you with Trixie?”

  “I am. We bumped into each other at breakfast.”

  I said nothing for a minute, waiting for him to gloat or spit venom about what I’d done to her last night. How could I feel so guilty when I’d done what I was supposed to do, and resisted everything Trixie made me feel? Why did it feel so wrong to have pushed her away?

  “Bring her back to Trace’s house.”

  “Is there a reason for her summoning? You know she’s going to ask.”

  “Today she’ll get her first lesson.” I hated that he knew her, perhaps better than I did, and he’d had a head start. They were old school friends, bonded during a time when self-discovery was prohibited and everything about the person you became relied on the people you were allowed to be close to. “Give me thirty minutes and bring her to the entrance of Ashford House.”

  I couldn’t allow William to bring her here, while I was still unpresentable and less than gentlemanly, standing in the room Trixie had slept in last night. With her scent surrounding me and the sadness I’d caused begging to be distinguished, I couldn’t allow her to step into this house without me stripping her naked and lying her flat on the bed beneath me.

  And that was not in the plan.

  “You’ve got it, boss.”

  Cocky son-of-a-servant. He was peacocking in front of Trixie; I’d seen him do it before—charm women with a charisma that was less respectful than Trace’s and lot less fun to be around. I couldn’t let him do it to Trixie; she’d be trapped in his charm and I knew she would turn on me.

  “Watch it, Tate. Remember who you’re with.”

  William mumbled an apology and hung up the phone, leaving me standing in the bedroom, sniffing for the scent of William Tate to see if he’d been in here, too.

  “You rang, my lord?” Trixie clipped as I ran down the stairs to find her waiting by the front door.

  I shuddered. I loved it when she said my name, but I nearly combusted at her newest insult—she’d meant it to offend, but she was correct. I would be a lord one day, and it made everything tighter when I heard her say it, with a little aggression in her voice and a little sadness in her eyes.

  “Are you ready?” I asked.

  I couldn’t think of anything else to ask her. She’d paralysed me. Of course she was ready; she’d been ready for twenty-five years and she wouldn’t be standing in front of me, arms folded, eyes cast down, if she wasn’t ready.

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s Tate?”

  “Gone.” Trixie sighed in reaction to my silence. “He’s gone to the bank.”

  “On a Sunday.”

  “Yes, on a Sunday. I guess you can do that when you have the keys.”

  “It wasn’t a question. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  God damn it. Why couldn’t I just be normal around her? Why did she completely throw me off and why was my response to always make her feel like a burden? We were both in the wrong frame of mind to do this, but perhaps it was the only way. We needed a release, and maybe introducing her to GRIT was the only way I could offer her a slice of relief.

  “The car is waiting outside. Do you have everything you need?”

  “What will I need?”

  The tell-tale sound of Richard Ashford’s Oxfords clicked on the polished floor of the foyer as he approached us with a maid in tow, and she held an overnight bag that told me I wasn’t permitted to bring Trixie back home after her lesson. She wouldn’t want to stay with me, I knew that much, and I hoped Mae and Ruby had given her something she would accept, in order to comfort herself.

  “Just an overnight bag, darling,” Richard said as the maid handed him the bag and he dropped it to the floor at my feet. “You’ll be back tomorrow. Ruby and Mae have packed everything you’ll need.” He took a step closer to his daughter, who looked so beautiful against the sharpness of her father. She looked like a modern princess, dressed in jeans and blouse that also made her look like the respectable lady she was. And Richard possessed everything a man from the fifteenth century would have. He was cold, detached and rigid. He loved his daughter, of that I had no doubt, but it wasn’t custom to show it, and his display of affection towards her as I prepared to take her away was unsettling. He wrapped his arms around her and she snuggled into him. I never thought I’d be jealous of the connection between father and daughter, but I wanted to be Richard’s arms and I knew after today, Trixie may never have wanted to see me again. “This is not something to be apprehensive about, Trixie. This is your calling. It’s everything your grandmother and I hoped for you, and finally you have blossomed into the woman who can step into her role and flourish.”

  Trixie nodded, giving him a final squeeze before he released her.

  “Elias will look after you. Trust him, listen to him, and believe him.”

  “I will, Father.”

  She didn’t sound like the Trixie I thought I had come to know. She sounded too submissive. She sounded defeated; she sounded like the hunger for information she’d had yesterday had died with my dismis
sal. I hoped I was wrong. I wanted her curious. I wanted to watch her explore the word I was about to introduce her too. It was selfish; it was born of my own sick need to see others drown in the same pleasure that fuelled me, but I wanted it. I wanted her to embrace this world. I wanted her to become a part of it so I could dance in it with her, and keep her safe from the things she had the knowledge to be rightfully afraid of.

  Trixie and Richard said goodbye, Richard gave me a warning glare to which I nodded in acknowledgment and then I led Trixie out of the house towards where Percy was waiting with the back door open.

  Trixie was silent on the drive across the city, to the corner where Blackwood Estate stood. I watched her, but she made no move to say she knew it. She watched from the window as we drove through markets brimming with people who knew it was safe to emerge under the sun; we drove past parks of children playing while their mothers socialised the only time they could. We drove past rows of houses and cul de sacs, some completely deserted, some gated in the attempt to keep them safe, some boarded up and covered in graffiti that warned others to steer clear if they valued their lives. Trixie didn’t react, like she’d seen all of this before. It amazed me that destruction and abandonment shocked her less than the stars in the sky and flowers that bloomed only at night to offer some hope in a world of evil.

  The black iron gates of Blackwood Estate opened, a few of the dogs looked up lazily from where they’d been sleeping in the sun, and the security gates beeped as they closed behind us.

  “This is Blackwood Estate,” I said, introducing her to what was now my home again. “We have a few hectares, a maze, stables, an indoor and outdoor pool…”

  “You’re not selling me a holiday,” Trixie said, still unwilling or unable to look at me. “I’m not here to see any of that stuff, am I?”

  “If you’d like to. You might want somewhere to go to gather your thoughts so I’m just letting you know you have plenty of options.”

  “Money is a wonderful thing.”

  Ignoring her snipe, I continued as the house came into view beyond the trees. “You’ve been assigned a handler. He’ll take you anywhere you want to go and will be available to you around the clock.”

  Trixie nodded again, finally moving to look out of the front window at the house.

  “It’s different to Ashford House. It’s darker.”

  She had no idea.

  “It is. Ashford House had some feminine input a few hundred years ago and she introduced a lot of white and some light. Larger windows, less obstruction for the sun. Blackwood has never been under female rule and so,” I chuckled, trying to sound more like a modern man. I was trying to relate to her. “As is the male way, we just did the bare minimum, Feng Shui be damned.”

  She smiled and almost laughed. I waited for it with baited breath—that sound of happiness, like I’d heard before I interrupted her and Tate last night. It didn’t come, but I swear I felt her thaw out a little.

  Percy pulled up outside the house and I let myself out while he opened Trixie’s door. I was there before he could aid her, offering my hand both in support and apology. Percy should have helped her out of the car—it was his job—but I wanted to do it. I wanted to touch her and I hoped that through the electric connection I knew she felt too, she’d know I was sorry for hurting her.

  “Thank you,” she said taking my hand and allowing me to guide her out of the car.

  As soon as both feet touched the gravel, she let go of my hand and passed me to stand at the bottom of the steps to wait for instruction.

  “Is this Miss Ashford’s Granddaughter?” Percy asked quietly. I nodded and he patted my shoulder. It was out of character, but not unwelcome. “Good luck.”

  I took a deep breath and approached Trixie, extending my arm in front of her to ask her to enter the house. I had a feeling I’d need all the luck in the world.

  “I need you to wear this,” I said, pulling a blindfold from my pocket and stretching it out between both hands.

  “Why?”

  “It’s just until you come to terms with things. The location won't be hidden forever, but it needs to be for now.”

  No, I didn’t trust her. There wasn’t a lot she could do—we as good as owned the city and no one threatened our position—but I didn’t want her searching the house, exploring it before she knew the full extent of the dangers that lived here.

  I could see she wanted to argue; there was a sparkle in her eyes that always flashed with defiance and uniqueness. But she didn’t say a word. The outside of her irises had turned a dark purple, the whites still red from the tears I’d caused last night, and instead of giving me another opportunity to hurt her, she flicked her dark hair behind her shoulders and turned around.

  “Thank you.”

  I stepped behind her, part of me wishing I hadn’t stopped us last night, and felt the warmth radiating from her. It was the most powerful thing about her, her warmth; she was pure and innocent, untarnished and clean, and I loved the way she warmed the cold I’d always call home, as if she were here, unconsciously intended to balance me. Reaching in front of her, I covered her eyes with the blindfold and tied it behind her head, taking slow movements so I could feel her silky strands stroke the back of my fingers.

  “Done,” I said, placing my hands on her shoulders. “You can turn around now.”

  She did, and I took a second to watch her when she couldn’t watch me back. I wanted to memorise everything about her; I wanted to trace every line of her body, explore every curve and…

  “Can we just get this over with?”

  I came crashing back down to Earth and took a sharp breath of surprise. I hadn’t expected her to want to get away from me as much as she thought I did her. I wanted to watch her for a second, at the most vulnerable I’d ever seen her, and she was denying me. She was rejecting me. It was so much worse than denying myself by rejecting her. I’d never felt the sting of rejection and I wouldn’t be in a rush to feel it again.

  “Okay. Take my hand.”

  “I can't see it. You’ll have to take mine.”

  Another rejection. She didn’t reach out to find my hand, she wasn’t eager to touch me, and she wasn’t prepared to do this together. She wanted to do it alone, independently while she resented me as much as I did, and I had to let her. I would just have to be there when she fell. I took hold of her elbow and gently encouraged her to take the first step.

  There were four sectors to GRIT, each one operating from a different estate. Blackwood Estate, the home of my father and the house I’d spend my early childhood in, was Sector 1, where GRIT was run from—where the logistics and plans and most sinister of activities took place. Trace, my second in command, held Sector 2. We would get to Sectors 3 and 4, but for now I had to introduce her to my home, and then mirror the lesson and apply it to hers. I guided her to the left, to the office where I’d last been with Ambrose what felt like a lifetime ago. Trixie’s steps were confident if a little nervous. I’d never let her tell me she had no natural instincts again. It was almost like she was leading the way as we passed the bookshelves, the sofa, the meeting table and the main desk, until I stopped her in front of another bookcase.

  “Stay still,” I said, letting go of her to slide the bookcase across.

  Trixie shivered when the cold air escaped and the darkness emerged like a cloud to draw us closer.

  “It’s cold,” she said, taking a deep breath.

  Her animal instincts were at work again and she was unknowingly sniffing for danger, searching for clues to answer the questions she had.

  “It is. It’ll warm up soon.”

  It wouldn’t. It was a blatant lie. It was left cold to slow the healing process. It was left damp to promote infection. It was intentionally harsh to prolong the torture. Nothing was left to chance. Trixie’s visit wasn’t unplanned for.

  “Here,” I said, reaching up onto one of the shelves for a blanket and throwing her around her shoulders. I pulled it tight and my body
jolted with the ache to wrap my arms around her and warm her up with my own heat.

  “Thank you.”

  Taking her hand this time, as I felt her disdain defrost as her body became rigid with chills, I led her down the steps slowly and onto the uneven ground beneath her feet.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  She’d asked the same last night, before I’d almost led her to Sector 2, and I’d ignored her question. I wouldn’t ignore her today. Whatever questions she had, I would answer them as honestly as I could.

  “It’s called Sector 1.”

  “Sector 1?” she said before I had the chance to elaborate voluntarily.

  “Sector 1. This is where GRIT is run from. It’s our headquarters, I guess.”

  “GRIT?”

  “Yes, GRIT. It’s who we are.”

  “What is it? What does GRIT mean?”

  “Besides the stuff you get in your eye when the wind blows?” Nothing. She refused to fall into comfort beside me. “It doesn’t mean anything. That is kind of the point. I say GRIT, you say ‘what’s that?’ and you wouldn’t be the only one.”

  “Okay.”

  It was ridiculous. I’d asked countless times as a child why we couldn’t give it some meaning if it was something so important it needed to be protected with our lives, but I’d only ever had the acronym separated. Which I would do for Trixie…when we got to our destination.

  “Why does it smell wet?” she asked.

  “Because it’s wet down here. You’re underground.”

  “We’re safe, aren’t we?”

  I took a deep breath and pronounced every word with more sincerity than I’d ever displayed. “As long as you’re with me, nothing can hurt you.”

  I wanted her to say something. ‘Thank you’ would have sufficed although I didn’t want her to appreciate my need to keep her alive. I wanted her to accept it, but she said nothing, keeping her lips pressed firmly together as another shiver rippled through her.