Elias (GRIT Sector 1)

by Rebecca Sherwin

  “We’re here.”

  I stopped her with a gentle tug and her thin shoes slid on the cobbles. Reaching over her I held her close, like I had done when we exited the loft, and she slotted into my side like she was meant to be there.

  “Where?”

  “Here.” I shrugged, intending to show her rather than tell her. “It isn’t nice. None of the things I’m going to teach you will be pretty. Some will hurt, some will confuse, some will question everything you know, and others will test you. They’ll ask you to look deep inside yourself and revaluate everything you hold on your moral compass.” I stroked my thumb over the top of her arm, hoping to warm her up before I threw her into the dark world that was permanently sheeted in ice. “I need you to agree to do this with me. I don’t want you to be here, because I want to protect you. But you need to know the truth and you need to be able to make your own choices…I need you to choose to do this with me.”

  “I choose to do it. Just show me, Elias.”

  “In a minute, you’ll see.”

  Taking the key on the piece of rope around my neck, I pulled it over my head and unlocked the door, twisting the worn brass handle and pushing the door open. It creaked as it exposed the cold dark room inside, water dripping from the wooden beams above, metal slinking against the wall as a draft blew in from one of the adjacent tunnels. It was a whole other world under here; networks and connections and paths and tunnels that seemed never ending, but all served a purpose.

  To save the capital.

  I led Trixie inside and she shrieked, jumping when a drip of water landed on her head and tickled down her nose. Stepping in front of her, I wiped it off and smoothed her hair down.

  “Take three steps forward and then turn around.”

  Trixie didn’t hesitate, although she continued to shiver and her body was stiff with discomfort. She did as I’d asked, dropping the blanket and taking three long steps towards the wall before turning around to face me. She stood with her hands behind her back, legs together. I wanted to kneel in front of her and part her legs, and my mind began to wander as the chains caught the candlelight. I couldn’t do this for her, no matter how much I wanted to slide my hand up the inside of her leg and watch her open them for me.

  “Spread your legs,” I ordered instead, watching as she edged her feet apart. “Wider.”

  With her legs the correct width apart, I told her to stop and took a minute to look at her again, this time in wonder. She was here, in a strange place with a man she’d admitted to not trusting, and she wasn’t afraid. She was curious and little impatient, but she didn’t want to run. She wasn’t breathing unevenly with fear, or shaking with worry. She wasn’t thinking of a way to get out, her adrenaline telling her to make a run for it. I wouldn’t lock her in; I’d leave the door open, but I wouldn’t allow her to run. I’d let her see freedom, but I couldn’t allow her to take it.

  “I can't let you run away,” I said, taking a step closer as I removed my jacket and hung it on the hook.

  “But you said-”

  “I know what I said, but I can't. I also told you last night that there are too many stories to tell you everything in one conversation, so I have to keep you here until you’ve heard enough. You have to know everything to be able to make an informed decision and I won't fail you by letting you go.”

  “How long will I have to stay?”

  “I’m not keeping you prisoner,” I laughed. I was trying to comfort her, not frighten her. “Ruby has decided you’re to stay inside the walls of GRIT for now, but you’re free to travel between Sector 1, here, and Sector 2, Ashford House. You have your freedom Trixie, on hundreds if not thousands of acres, but for now, you remain under guard. Do you understand?”

  She nodded and licked her lips. My eyes narrowed. She was aroused. She was excited and she was warm, her parted legs shifting with the urge to clamp shut.

  “I’m going to tie your hands and feet,” I said, reaching behind her to take hold of her wrists and extend them out to the two top corners of the St Andrew’s Cross behind her.

  “What do I say if I need you to let me go?”

  Safe word. She was asking for a safe word, like this was a game of consent and satisfaction. It wasn’t.

  “There’s nothing you can say to get out. You’ll stay there until I’m done with you.”

  Her breath hitched but she didn’t argue. I secured the cuff around one of her wrists, and then the other, taking a second to caress her palm and feel her hand curl around my finger. She wanted me to touch her; whatever she’d read—or experienced—that told her exactly what I was doing and why the cross was commonly used these days, she wanted it. She wanted to play, when this couldn’t have been further away from fun and entertainment, and she tempted me into thoughts of her trussed up, at my mercy and not at that of the past that dictated our future. Crouching in front of her, I wrapped my hand around one of her ankles and slid it back to the rough wood of the cross. She gasped but still said nothing, her toes flexing as I fixed the third cuff to hold her in place. When the fourth was fastened and Trixie was fixed spread eagle to the crossed still blindfolded and wholly submissive, I stood back and reached for the silk cover her eyes. I slid it off and stroked her hair to tame the flyaways before I stepped aside and allowed her to see where she was.

  “What…” She choked as the tears welled and her hands gripped the chains to try and break free. “What is this place?”

  I was in a dungeon. Not some prison cell like I’d seen on an episode of ‘Britain’s Worst Criminals’ on the TV. No, I was in a real dungeon, with rust-tinted water running down the stone walls, and chains connected to loops on the floor, ready to hold prisoners captive until they starved to death or gnawed their own hand off to break free. I was chained to a cross on the wall, unable to break the hold no matter how hard I pulled. Elias watched on wordlessly; he said nothing, but I saw a sense of sadistic pride in his black eyes when I looked into them before I scanned the room once more. On the wall directly opposite me, I saw lengths of chains on top of a wooden platform. I could make out the rough splinters on each plank and my thighs clenched when I imagined being dragged across them. I had prime spectating position. This place was like a theatre for the sick and twisted, with a table of tools lining the wall to my left, just behind Elias, the king of this place—whatever its purpose and reason for existence. What was he going to do to me? He’d said I wouldn’t be able to leave, that he wouldn’t unshackle me until he was ready to—until he felt like it. I hoped he felt like it soon, because I wanted to be sick.

  “Let me down,” I said, pulling and shaking on the chains, hoping they’d fall away. “Let me down.”

  Everyone had been right. I did want to run. I wanted to run far and fast, because I couldn’t be here. I wasn’t curious anymore; if this place had anything to do with my story, and I knew from staring at the stoic dungeon master that it did, then I didn’t want to know.

  God, I didn’t want to know.

  I thrashed and I fought as my heart hammered and my sweaty hands slipped on my restraints. My head hurt; it pleaded with me to get out of here and it pounded against my temples as if punishing me for agreeing to do this. I’d chosen to do this. Elias had made me choose to do this so I couldn’t blame him when I discovered how sadistic this place was. I’d asked for it.

  “Let me down. I choose out. I don’t choose this. Let me down.”

  “I can't do that. You’re in now. You made a choice and you’ll see it through to the end.”

  I was scared. Not of what this place represented or even the stench of the room that told me the dungeon was still active. I was afraid of the man standing here with me. I was afraid of what he’d do to me when I couldn’t fight back. When I had no way of running away, and nowhere to go if I did.

  “Elias, please,” I begged, my body tiring as I still fought for freedom. “Please don’t do this.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Why do I find that di
fficult to believe?”

  Elias rolled his eyes and locked his hands behind his back as he began to pace in front of me.

  “We’re not the bad guys.”

  “We?” I asked, then fell cold with realisation. “This is GRIT.”

  He nodded and turned his head to look at me, eyes narrowing to search for my reaction.

  “So I come from a family of sadists?”

  He coughed…holding back a laugh? He thought I was being stupid again. Bastard. With a new surge of energy, I tugged again, but it proved futile.

  “Just give it up.”

  I shook my head. “No. When I’m down I’m getting out of here. There is nothing excusable about having a fucking dungeon beneath your mansion.”

  “Watch your mouth and rein in the attitude, or I’ll be forced to gag you, too.” He stopped, swivelling on his heels to face me. “You will listen to me, whether you just let up and take the mature path, or whether I have to force you to.”

  What had happened to the man who had guided me here so gently? I’d sensed his nerves; I’d felt his worry that I’d be disappointed, and the hope that I wouldn’t be. I’d felt him shift into someone a little softer, a little more human. He’d helped me watch my step, he’d grabbed a blanket and tried everything he could to warm me up, besides just taking me in his arms and holding me tightly. He’d waited patiently for me to thaw out and move on from last night, no matter how much it still stung. And now I was here, he’d been faced with my disappointment and disgust towards what he kept hidden down here, and instead of remaining the man I might have been able to trust, like Richard had asked me to, he was being an idiot. He was shutting me out and he was forcing his power onto me when he didn’t need to. He already had me chained down; I had no choice but to listen to whatever he had to say—he didn’t need to threaten to gag me, just because he could.

  “Talk,” I snapped, because I would keep possession of some control here.

  I would give him permission to talk before he had the chance to force me to.

  “The Met was established in 1829. Do you know what residents of the city did before that?”

  “I took history lessons. I know all about constables and thief-catchers and watchmen.”

  “Do you now?”

  “Sure. What’s the point? There has always been crime control.”

  “Exactly.” He clicked his fingers and pointed at me. “See, you’re doing most of the work here.”

  “What the fuck are you on?”

  “You’re answering your own questions, but one more expletive and I’ll shut you up. I’m not warning you again, Miss Ashford.”

  Clamping my mouth shut, I nodded. I wouldn’t say anything—I wouldn’t give him the kick he was hoping for. I’d make sure his power trip only had a one-way ticket.

  “Crime control. Communication, apprehension, deterrence and reformation.”

  “So that’s what this place is for? Reforming criminals?”

  He tilted his head from side to side, signalling that I was close to the answer, but hadn’t quite reached it. He was enjoying this; I just couldn’t understand why—where the pleasure was coming from. He wasn’t the same Elias I’d stepped into Blackwood House with.

  “Let me tell the story, Trixie. Impatience creates confusion.”

  “Can you get on with it then? I’m starting to lose sensation in my extremities.”

  “I’ll give you some relief soon.”

  My stomach flipped and my breath surged out as I tried desperately to pull my knees up. Why? Why did I want him so desperately when I hated him so much?

  He wasn’t unaffected either. He turned his back on me to afford himself a second of composure I wasn’t allowed to have while on display.

  “Most of British history involves private establishments taking control of an area and accepting responsibility of finding, catching and punishing criminals. Our story begins in 1390.”

  “What was so important about the fourteenth century and why does it even matter now?”

  “Your ignorance is tiring, Trixie. The lack of respect for your family is unwarranted.”

  “I want to know why we begin in 1390 and not 1389 or 1407.”

  “It’s where it begins, with Elizabeth Ashford.”

  “Who was she?”

  “She was the creator of GRIT.”

  Elias continued pacing, rounding the room slowly before stopping at the table and running one paw-like hand now covered in grime along the edge of the heavy worn surface.

  “GRIT isn’t just a police force, older than the force that has good as deserted our capital and forced us to evolve to account for their failures. Elizabeth gave us four rules. Four principles to live by and you should think about the importance of these principles before you question their necessity again.”

  “I understand,” I said, craning my neck to try and see what he was doing as he kept his back to me. “Please. You don’t need to use any torture devices, I understand.”

  “I told you I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “I know. But you’re over there and you’ve threatened me, and I don’t want you to touch me. If you’re not going to, why are you over there?”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to touch you. I said I wasn’t going to hurt you. Touch doesn’t always lead to hurt, Trixie.”

  No, it didn’t, but I knew it would lead to loss of control on my part. If he touched me and my reaction wasn’t to cry and recoil and beg him to stop; if my reaction were to sigh and moan, to roll my hips and beg for more, I knew I would be left shattered when he rejected me again.

  I was fully clothed. If he was going to do anything—the things I wanted most but despised almost as much as my surrounding—he would have to free me to take my clothes off. It would give me an opportunity to strike, and to run. Now I wanted him to undress me. I wanted to see the fire in his eyes as he made the first move to claim my body…and I wanted to watch him burn beneath his own flames when I rejected him and his bullshit excuse for owning a dungeon.

  Elias turned and slipped something into the back pocket of his suit-jeans. I couldn’t see what it was, but it elevated my heart rate. It spiked my anxiety and it piqued my interest.

  No! I didn’t want to be interested in this. I didn’t want to know more. I just wanted to go home, back to my flat; back to a life that now seemed so simple and appealing.

  “Principle number one,” he said, approaching me slowly, each step measured and precise. He stopped just an inch from me, so close I could smell him; so connected we shared the same oxygen and it was contaminated with pheromones that made my body betray me. “Glory.”

  Reaching forward, he took hold of my shirt and ripped, tearing the buttons from their holes and sending little pieces of translucent plastic scattering around the room. I screamed and pulled on the chain, but I wasn’t going anywhere. A cold draft licked my skin and made me shiver as I breathed heavily and tried to find the words to beg him not to touch me. I was hot against the cold burn, liberated against the unwanted exposure, aroused against the overwhelming disgust. Elias pulled a black feather from his back pocket and took another step towards me. His chest collided with mine, warm cotton that felt rough against my naked torso, and a hard length against my crotch. I tried to close my legs, but I couldn’t. I tried to push him away, but the chains didn’t offer enough slack.

  “Ask me,” he said, tracing the tip of the feather down my throat and over my collarbone.

  “Ask you what?” I swallowed hard. If he was going to tell me to ask him to stop, I wasn’t sure I could do it.

  “Ask me why glory. Ask me why it’s a rule and what it means.”

  “What does glory mean?” I asked instantly, unable to silently withstand his stimulation for another second. My stomach tensed as the feather slid over my chest and to my navel. “Why is it ever a rule?”

  “It’s the reason why we are so traditional, so stuck in our ways—the ways you see as outdated and unnecessary. But, you see…”
He licked his lips as he flattened the feather on my stomach and ran it over the waistband of my jeans. “We intend to project beauty and magnificence, because we offer people a glimpse into a life they’ll never live, but will always wonder about. No matter what you think, women want to be courted and men want to court. The traditions of old are something that interest us all and we remain noble because we offer the world something that no longer exists.”

  “And why is it glorious? Why did Elizabeth’s actions earn her honour and prestige?”

  Elias shook his head. “They didn’t. She was banished by the people with a birth right to honour they didn’t deserve. So her mission became simple. She would ensure her family was never wrongly denied its acclamation again.”

  “What happened to her?”

  Elias’ eyes met mine and sent blazing lust directly to where I ached for him. I fought the sensation, looking away from him and down at where our bodies connected. A moan left me and I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “See? You’re not as repulsed as you first thought.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’m disgusted. You’re toying with me and my body may have succumbed, but I still hate you and everything you stand for.”

  “Principle number two.” He glared at me, smirking when he watched my disappointment as he slid the feather into my hair.

  He turned again and I couldn’t help but watch him walk away as he returned to the table. I heard the sound of water being poured but I couldn’t look away. Maybe he was going to give me a drink. Great. I’d take a mouthful and spit it at him. I didn’t want to be here with him. I was desperate to be dismissed, but there were three more rules and I needed to know what they were. I needed to think about them, and care about what they meant, when he wasn’t watching for my reaction. When Elias turned again he was holding a jug of water and sporting an impressive erection in his tight trousers. God damn it. I couldn’t look away, and I couldn’t help but think it was unfair. He’d torn my shirt from me, but he was still fully clothed.