Elias (GRIT Sector 1)

by Rebecca Sherwin

  Percy parked at the curb and I got out to open Trixie’s door. Taking her hand, I helped her out of the car, noticing how stunning she looked in the dress I’d chosen for her, her dark hair falling to her shoulders in wild waves, her violet eyes sparkling under the streetlight and popping against the green of her dress. My eyes narrowed when I looked down, expecting her to be a few inches taller in the shoes I’d bought her.

  “Where are they?” I asked.

  “The shoes?” She looked down at her feet and back up to me with a shrug and playful smile. “The straps hurt my ankles, so I couldn’t wear them.”

  My heart sank. I hadn’t thought of that.

  “Hey,” she said, pressing her hand to my chest. “I wouldn’t change it. I'm wearing your mark, and that's far more precious than a pair of shoes."

  She was crazy. Certifiably insane, and she was going to dine with me in an elegant dress, with nothing on her feet because I'd burned her ankles in my haste to take her away with me and fuck her into oblivion.

  Shaking my head, I rewarded her with the smile I'd only worn a handful of times—each one with her. I reached back into the car for my briefcase and, taking her hand in mine, I led her down the steps to the restaurant.

  "Black Ash?" Trixie asked with a quirked eyebrow and adorable smirk when she read the name on the menu.

  "Yep." I slipped my jacket off and hung it on the back of the chair. "Trace and I wanted something other than the organisation."

  "You and Trace own a restaurant?"

  I nodded. "We're moulded a certain way, but there's a slither of modernisation. We have bars and clubs, too."

  "Why haven't I seen them before? Why has Trace never taken me?"

  I shrugged. "You'll have to ask him. Ruby doesn't know about these, so it's not her doing." I knew why she hadn't been taken to some of them. "Trace works out of a few, so I'm sure that's why, but this place is as vanilla as it gets."

  She laughed. I smiled. I wanted to hear that again and again and again.

  "I never thought I'd hear the word 'vanilla' roll from your tongue."

  "I'm full of surprises, Miss Ashford."

  "That you are, Mr Blackwood."

  "So," I started, clicking my fingers for the waiter's attention. "What are you in the mood for?"

  Her violet eyes darkened to a cosmic purple and she licked her lips. I was about to reach across the table and take her hand when I saw a slither of black out of the corner of my eye.

  "Beckett," I addressed, turning my head to greet our cousin as he approached the table.

  "Dinner, Elias?" he hummed, his eyes raking over my Ashford. "I didn't think you were permitted freedom."

  "I'm the king, cousin. I go where I want."

  He nodded, licking his lips as he looked at Trixie again. "Interesting."

  "Have you got something to say?"

  Beckett said nothing, holding Trixie's stare. I was proud of her for not cowering—not giving into the intimidation Beckett was attempting on her.

  "Enjoy your meal."

  He turned on his heel and returned to his table. I glanced around the restaurant for more surprises; I hadn't known my cousin was here and I needed to know who else was present. I knew everyone in the room, although I had no intention of telling my date that. Every single person in here worked for me, either out of blood duty, because their motives were fuelled by sterling pounds, or because they would give their left bollock to be associated with a Blackwood. But we were safe. We were only under threat from the people who shared our destiny, and none of them were present tonight.

  "I want red wine," Trixie said, drawing my attention back to her, drumming her fingernails on the table. "Red wine and steak."

  "You think we stock red grapes and cow?" I asked, amused.

  She nodded and I smiled again.

  "I know you do. You're a man who likes the finer things in life, Elias, and I imagine that extends to Black Ash."

  "Smart, Ashford. I like it. Red wine and steak it is," I said, standing from the table and rolling up the sleeves of my shirt. I'd seen someone I needed to deal with. “Excuse me for a minute.”

  Passing a waiter—the one who hadn't appeared when I'd clicked my fingers, I ordered a bottle of wine and demanded he have it on the table with a glass poured for my lady in the next sixty seconds. Then I crossed the restaurant to the fiend in the opposite corner, conscious of Trixie watching my every move until I disappeared behind the partition. Christopher Morris was sat at one of my tables with his whore—a woman so filthy the underground wouldn't have touched her. Grabbing the back of his shirt as I arrived at the table, I pulled him from his seat and dragged him into the back, slamming him against the wall next to the door for the kitchen. Pots and pans clattering, and the sound of food being grilled and fried, drowned out the sound of my anger, but I'd make sure he saw every fleck of hatred in my eyes.

  "Why are you here?" I growled, slamming my forearm under his chin, although he made no attempts to fight me off.

  "I'm just here for something to eat, sir."

  "In my restaurant?" I clipped. "In Trace's restaurant?"

  "Yes, sir. It's the only place to eat in town and not worry about being slaughtered before dessert."

  "Your safety is no longer GRIT's concern. You made your bed..." It hadn’t been since he fucked one of Trace's subjects and the result had been her suicide in the back of a truck bringing racks of cow into the city. "You fucking drown in the blood you shed in it."

  "I've paid the price, sir. I've paid for my sins."

  "You were granted a few more years of life, Morris."

  "I'm sorry, sir."

  "Have you told her that?"

  "She's dead, sir."

  "She's dead," I affirmed. "Because of you. I told you you were not to step foot in one of my establishments again." I laughed. I didn't find a second of an innocent woman's death funny, but his fear was fucking hilarious. "And yet here you are, mocking me."

  "No..."

  "That's exactly what you're doing, you disgraceful piece of shit." I pulled the Swiss Army knife from my pocket and flipped open the blade.

  "Please..." he begged, raising his hands in defeat.

  I didn't care. I rammed the knife into his stomach and pulled it out. No one went against my orders and escaped with their life.

  "Be a good boy," I sneered, slapping his cheek. "Make it outside before you die."

  I swiped the blade down the lapels of his jacket, eased it back into my pocket and led him back to his seat.

  "Christopher is feeling a little unwell," I said, leaning over the whore's chair, noticing her shiver in repulse. "Take him home. Now."

  I ran the backs of my fingers down her cheek and crossed the restaurant to return to my Ashford.

  "Where did you go?" I asked when Elias sat back down and poured himself a glass of wine.

  "I just had to deal with a little business."

  "Of the questionable kind or the justified kind?"

  He shrugged, refusing eye contact. "Both."

  "Don't ruin tonight," I whispered, reaching across the table to take his hand. He took it, twisting our wrists so our hands settled palm down with our fingers entwined.

  "I won't. I'm all yours now."

  I loved it. I loved the soft side of him that had joined me tonight. I would keep this Elias forever if I could, and let him love me the way we both needed.

  We sipped on wine as we talked casually, Elias recalling stories from Sandhurst with Trace and the rest of his cousins, me diving into my passion for art.

  "Wait..." He said, his knife sinking into his steak. "You draw?"

  "I dabble," I lied, concealing the fact that art had always kept me grounded, providing me with the comfort of fantasy when I couldn't make sense of reality.

  His eyes narrowed. "Do you sell it?"

  "No." I shook my head. "I'm not good, and if anyone saw what I drew, I'd be on several hit lists."

  "Why?"

  "I draw the world how I
see it. There are no rainbows and butterflies in my sketches."

  "I'd like to see."

  "One day." I popped a potato in my mouth, thinking of something else to talk about. My gaze slid to the floor, where Elias' briefcase sat just under the edge of the table. "What's that for?"

  "For when your food has been digested. You don't eat enough."

  "Something to do with you making my stomach empty itself," I said. I was trying to be playful, to make light of the fact that he'd made me physically sick—twice. But his eyes had darkened and regret clouded his features. "The steak is good though. Will you show me once I've finished?"

  Elias simultaneously nodded and shook his head. He was agreeing, but not promising not to change his mind.

  "What about dessert?"

  "If you get a bit of sugar in me, I'll keep it down. Nothing would make me throw up dessert."

  He laughed and shook his head, reaching for his glass to steady his uncharacteristic show of happiness. He regarded me over the rim of his glass and my breathing hitched. I knew what he was thinking before he said it and set my blood on fire.

  "I know what I'd like to put in you."

  "I bet you do."

  The scrape of his chair made me jump as he slid to the side of table and placed his hand over my thigh to drag the dress up my leg.

  "Elias..."

  "Shh." He silenced me with his fingers stroking over the lace of the gift he'd bought me. "Stay quiet and you'll be rewarded."

  I felt my skin heat as he slipped my underwear to the side and circled my clit. My hips bucked and my legs clamped around his hand. One patent-shoed foot kicked my feet apart and opened my legs for him to dip a finger inside me.

  "Always so ready, Ashford," he hummed. "Always so wet for me."

  "Always," I breathed.

  "Shh. No talking, no sound. Just feel it."

  I did, to the depth of my being as Elias' finger fucked me in a restaurant full of people. He bit his bottom lip and kept his eyes on me as my lips parted to accommodate heavy breaths and my hand gripped the edge of the table with force I didn't know I possessed. My body climbed quickly, from the thrill, the fear, the excitement, and the expert fingers scissoring deep inside me.

  "Good girl," he comforted, stroking my hair with his free hand.

  My insides began to quiver, my pulse was erratic and threatened to burst through my veins. My heart hammered against my rib cage and my pussy drew Elias deeper as I ground against his hand. The orgasm tore into me and I shoved the knuckle of my thumb into my mouth, biting down on soft flesh to stop the scream that wanted to rip from my lungs. Elias stilled his fingers, letting me ride my orgasm out, then he slipped them out of me, making me jerk, and he placed my pants back over my slick pussy. When he shoved his chair back to sit opposite me, he slipped his fingers into his mouth and sucked hard.

  "I love the just fucked look on your face," he said with a cocky smirk.

  "Mm hmm," I hummed, closing my eyes for a second to compose myself. "You're evil. Now show me what's in the briefcase."

  "Always so eager for information, Ashford."

  "It's to stop me jumping across the table and riding you in front of all these people."

  Elias stilled with his palms flat on the table as a wicked glint settled in his eyes and his tongue sneaked out to lick his lips.

  "I may ask you to one day."

  "And I may say no."

  "Then I may have to force you."

  "I hope so."

  I won. Elias said nothing. Instead, he closed his eyes and when he opened them again, dangerously deviant Elias had returned as he reached under the table and pulled the briefcase onto his lap.

  "What are they?" I asked when he set a pile of folders on the table with a heavy thud.

  He'd ordered our plates to be cleared, and demanded the entire table be emptied, aside from the wine. He slid my glass towards me and jerked his chin down to tell me to drink.

  "You'll need it."

  "Why?"

  "You asked for full disclosure. The brutal truth of the life we live today is in these folders." He leaned closer, glancing around him before he continued. "I think I know Ruby's plan..."

  I did feel sick. My stomach roiled and the steak punished me as I took a gulp of wine, finishing the entire glassful to try and settle my panic. Elias had pictures; folder after folder of heinous crime committed on our streets.

  "I think she wants you to take her place," he said, opening another folder and turning it around to face me.

  It was of a little girl, blonde ringlets in her hair, daisies stained with blood scattered around her body. She had been killed—brutally. She had been disfigured so badly, the only way to know it was a girl was the small patch of the pink cotton of her dress that wasn't soaked with her blood.

  "They don't care who they take. It doesn't matter if you're old, young, fat, thin, rich or poor...if you're on the streets at night they will take you. We have to stop it. We have to stop more children being murdered like Bettie was."

  "Bettie?"

  "That was her name," he said, tapping his finger on the photo of the girl. "She was just a little girl, Trixie. She didn't deserve to die because the underground is protesting."

  "Why are they protesting?"

  "It started in the nineties, with the riots. The walls hadn't been erected, the world was one, and crime still thrived as we tried to control it."

  "Why couldn't you?"

  "The Government gave up. Criminals weren't punished and more and more psychopaths saw no reason to resist their urges. There's a little bit of madness in all of us, Ashford, and without risk of being punished for exposing it, why would we not?"

  "Morality. Conscience. Humanity."

  "Three things that we use to claim righteousness. You're telling me you never once wished you could kill someone? Someone who cut you up on the road? Someone who bumped into you in street? A snotty rich customer who thought you were stupid because they had the money?"

  "I've never wished I could kill someone." When Elias stared at me I backtracked. "Sure, I've said it, but I would never do it. I didn't really want to."

  "That's because your conscience told you it was wrong, therefore your mind told you it wasn't a true desire."

  "That's not true."

  He sighed and opened another folder. "Let's say it is."

  The contents of this one was not of a crime committed, but a punishment carried out on a member of the underground. I could see from his worn trench coat and the grime smeared on his face that he had no home. I could also tell, from the wet, eroding wall behind him, that he was in the dungeon. He was pinned to a bed, a faceless man in a black suit standing over him with a bucket and a rag.

  "Let's assume that desire to kill, the one you've regressed through fear of punishment broke free. Let's say you began by kicking a dog, or drowning a cat, just to see what the consequences would be." I winced and shuddered. I didn't want to do that. There was no desire to hurt, I was positive of that. "Let's say there were no consequences, do you think you'd become cocky? Do you think you'd push to see how far you could go?"

  "I can imagine someone would."

  Elias smirked, refusing to believe this hypothetical someone wasn't me.

  "Right. So you follow."

  "I think so."

  I'd never cared much for psychopathy and the psychology behind criminal behaviour. I'd never really cared about what happened inside the human mind, because it couldn't be changed. I couldn't control or explore what other people thought or why they behaved the way they did, so I trusted Elias could. I trusted he had more than assumption behind his justification for what he did.

  "This is waterboarding," he said, pointing to the man in the picture. "This man didn't commit a murder. No, he worked with a group and was part of the orchestration of an attack on Scotland Yard to free those who did. They were successful too, but this idiot was too low down on the ladder to be granted protection."

  "So what did you do?" />
  "We interrogated him. We tortured him with the sensation of drowning until he gave us the names of the organisers. We are the only organisation in the city capable of dictating how crime is controlled and eradicated. An uprising would have led to war, and we wouldn't allow that."

  "Did you kill him?"

  "Eventually." Elias shrugged. "But not before he gave us the names of those in charge, and the address where we could find them."

  "Did you?"

  He smiled in pride, as if amused I'd doubt GRIT's abilities.

  "Of course."

  I slid the folder back to him. I couldn't see any more images. I couldn't look at another death, or someone sentenced to it.

  "Go back to Ruby," I said, looking for another server to ask for some more wine. "What do you mean by me taking her place?"

  Elias raised his hand above his head and clicked his fingers. Almost immediately, a waiter stopped by the table and placed a new bottle down. It was already open and had already had time to breathe. I was impressed, but no less queasy.

  "Surely you've noticed the absence of women in our generation?"

  I shrugged. "There's Mae."

  "Mae married in. Love has no place in GRIT."

  I gasped, but tried to hide it. That wasn’t what he'd said earlier.

  "That's not what I mean," he said, easing my anxiety without me having to ask. "Mae has no standing of her own, so her marriage to Richard is nothing but a man and his wife. She has no place within GRIT."

  "I understand."

  "I don't think you do. I think she wants you to be the head of the family. I'm the leader of GRIT, but I answer to Ruby."

  "That's what Ambrose meant," I whispered, worry tearing through me when I remembered his harsh words. "By me threatening your position."