Elias (GRIT Sector 1)
Page 38
Sector 1.
He led us through the dark office, wasting no time in sliding the bookcase across in haste and dragging me down the steps into the passage.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"You have a task to complete."
We'd been married a few hours and already he'd shut me out. He'd closed down, donned his armour and erected his walls. He had a one-track mind.
GRIT.
We stopped at a door and Elias pulled the key from around his neck. Was it selfish of me to hope he'd left it behind on our wedding day, or just ignorance to the fact that our destiny never left us alone?
He tore open the door and shoved me inside. My foot caught the bottom of my dress and I stumbled to the cobbled ground of the cell. It wasn't my cell. It didn't smell like the place I'd come to call home when my soul was missing its abode.
Elias left me on the ground and as I shifted to my knees, preparing to refuse to stand, I heard the sound of chains and gargling of blood. We weren't alone.
"Are you prepared to kill your parents' murderer, Ashford?"
"You know I'm not."
"Just as I thought." He pulled the prisoner's head back with a fistful of his greasy hair, and I looked into the empty eyes of both men. "Look at this face."
I did. I saw nothing. Elias had been right when he said this man had no hope, no life, no future. He didn't deserve to live, but I did. I didn't want to live with the guilt of stealing a life. Elias shoved the murderer's head back to the wall with a sharp crack and a spurt of blood shot from the man's mouth to coat his chin.
I felt nothing.
My time in prison had desensitised me to empathy.
Elias crossed the room and I watched him reach onto the wooden surface for something. What he picked up was thin and metallic, wide but sleek. I couldn't see if it was silver or gold, but I knew it wasn't a blade or gun. It wasn't a weapon.
I was wrong.
Elias tossed it to the ground in front of me, face up. A picture frame. The photo was of a family; a husband, wife and a little girl of around four-years-old. Even from the old, grainy image, I could see this family was important. The child was of importance. She had thick dark hair and rosy cheeks. Her eyes sparkled with indulgence and innocence—a combination that rarely went hand in hand. She was smiling. The woman was smiling. The father was smiling. This was a happy family of status and wealth.
The little girl was me.
The husband and wife were my parents.
"Tell me he doesn't deserve to die, Trixie."
I said nothing.
"Tell me you shouldn't be the one to take his life now you know what he took from you."
Still I said nothing as anger seeped into my bones and rage made my blood turn to lava.
"Tell me you wouldn't want our child to avenge us if we were taken from her. If we left her to fend for herself. If he forced her to live a life of loneliness and seclusion."
I couldn't speak, but I could reach for the frame. I held it in trembling hands and caressed my parents' faces. We were happy. We should have been together, caring for horses, protect by GRIT. This man had stolen that from me. He had brought me here. He had made a choice, and it was the wrong one.
I would right that wrong.
I raised the frame above my head and crashed it to the floor, feeling thick shards of glass cut into my fingers. Taking a piece of the broken frame in each hand, I got to my feet and launched myself at the man.
I'd been wrong. I'd assumed Elias' wedding gift to me wasn't a weapon, but with each stab, each time I impaled my parents' killer and wrenched the glass back out to stab a fresh spot, the picture frame became nuclear armoury. I lost control. I became an animal. I became a glory-hunter, a revenge-seeker, an integrity-forgoer and a trust-destroyer.
Suddenly GRIT weren't the bad guys.
For one fleeting moment they were my heroes.
For the rest of my life I'd be a killer.
A criminal.
A vigilante dancing on the wrong side of the law and claiming righteousness.
Right now, I was a murderer in a wedding dress that was stained with the blood of the man who had ruined my life.
I killed him.
And I felt nothing.
Acknowledgements
February 2016, I had nothing. I had a million stories in my head and no idea where they would go and what I would release next—if there was a next release. The first few months have been tough; I’ve suffered ultimate lows and forced myself to get back up and head towards the highs. I’m almost there.
I’ve always had an obsession with superheroes—the characters that come to us when we need them most and, behind every masked avenger, is a human (or not) fighting for something that relates to the real world in real-time. That was the inspiration behind this story. To explore the darkness inside the good guys.
Thank you to Alfie, for being my superhero. For being the little ray of sunshine in my darkest days.
Thank you to my Tiger, for being my masked avenger. This story is a part of us—in another life, in another time, in another world.
Thank you to Edward A Stanbridge, Tracie Podger, Alison Parkins and Cameron Lincoln for being my sounding boards. Thank you for helping me iron out the kinks and figure out which direction to take next. Your friendships are invaluable and I’d be lost without them.
To Tracie Podger, my partner in crime and sister from another mister. Thank you for being there with me since the conception of this fucked up little tale. You know I’m grateful for everything you do and the friendship we’ve been lucky enough to find…I don’t need to tell you I love you, but I will anyway ;)
To Alison Parkins. Thank you for kicking my arse when I need it. Thank you for sending me offline, dragging me online, covering when I’m having technical difficulties and being there for every step of this journey with me. I would honestly be lost without you running things behind the scenes when all I want to do is mute my phone and hide away. I love you, too. I don’t say the L-word often, but you’ve earned my love ;)
To Di Covey and the Twisted Sisters. I swear to God, I’ve found my home with you. Thank you for accepting me into the group, not judging me when I post things that would make most people plot a way to have me committed. Thank you for being the darkness I need to get through each day, and the spark of deviance I crave in order to feel whole. You rock, and I love you. The Sisters rock and I fucking love them, too.
To The Twisted Angels…thank you for everything you do for both Tracie and myself. Knowing you girls are helping not only to promote our work, but to read, advise, and offer somewhere we can go when we need to force ourselves to take a break, is something we are eternally grateful for.
To Rebecca’s Romantics. You guys are my tribe. Thank you for hitting that join button, reacting to posts that are in a closed group for a reason, and giving me somewhere to hide when the world becomes too much. You’re all fucking nuts and I’m insanely grateful to have you here with me.
Thank you to my readers for allowing me to continue to do this thing. Thank you for asking for more books, and giving me reasons to write them. Thank you for posting things on Facebook and Instagram and Twitter…and other places. I may not interact all the time, but I’m watching. You might just inspire a story or two ;)
About the Author
Rebecca is a London born and bred mother, writer and psychology student. She is the mother of a superhero (who is currently growing his hair like Thor!) and spends her days with her nose tuck in a textbook, her fingers tapping away at the keys…or she’s building forts and eating gummy bears.
A lover of all things dark and deviant, Rebecca’s stories are intended to make you uncomfortable while you desperately turn the pages. They will make you question everything you thought you knew. If you think you’ve figured it out…you haven’t. If you think you know where it’s going…you don’t.
Between the covers of Rebecca’s tales, you will find strength in love, and peace in d
arkness. You will find happiness in deviance, and depravity in the happy ever after we all crave.
You’ll be begging for rainbows and butterflies, whilst clawing at black hearts and withering flowers.
Contact Rebecca
Facebook: https://www/facebook.com/rebeccasherwinauthor
Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/RRSherwin
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rebecca.sherwin
Email: missrsherwin@gmail.com
Rebecca’s Reader Group: https://www/facebook.com/groups/RebeccasRomantics
GRIT Support Group, Blackwood Babes: https://www.facebook.com/groups/231616140528645/
Other Titles
Hearts and Flowers
Second Chance Hero (A contemporary seaside romance)
Dark hearts and withered flowers
Survival (Twisted #1)
Revival (Twisted #2)
Thrive (Twisted #3)
Allegiance (Twisted #4)
Pitch black darkness and flowerless deviance
Marked (A Twisted Story)
Coming Soon
GRIT Sector 1: The Revolution
Seeing Double – An Erotic Thriller
Ronnie, A Masked Psychopath
To keep up to date with news on Rebecca’s releases, sign up for the Romantics newsletter:
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