The Uprising (GRIT Sector 1 Book 2)

by Rebecca Sherwin

  “Seriously, what good is this going to do?”

  “It’ll be fun…and you need to know how to use your hands.”

  “I think I do pretty well with my hands, actually.”

  Elias took a step closer, his heavy breath, a sign he was still in sex god mode, ghosted over my skin.

  “Yes, you are,” he whispered. “But I’d rather you learned how to differentiate between squeezing my cock and killing a criminal.”

  Elias had dressed me in black…while I’d thought there was little point in ruining one black outfit to replace it with another, I soon realised why he’d chosen elasticated joggers and a fitted vest.

  Training.

  It didn’t involve looking through binoculars and learning how to scope out a suspect.

  No.

  It involved sticks. More fucking sticks.

  Big ones this time. Elias called them Kali sticks. What the hell that meant, I didn’t know, I just appreciated that they were light and wouldn’t splinter. I had a personal vendetta against wood since I’d been confined to Elias’ bed for two weeks.

  Death. Murder. Kill.

  I’d already done that; I never wanted to do it again.

  “Now, grip the hilt,” Elias said, holding one end of my stick.

  “What’s the hilt?”

  “It’s the handle of your sword.”

  “But it’s a stick.”

  I thought I saw him smirk, but he hid it well. He was in teacher-mode. He wasn’t my husband right now and no matter how much I teased, I couldn’t bring out the playful edge I knew he held not far beneath the surface.

  “That’s because I can’t trust you with a big chunk of metal yet. So, stop distracting and grip the imaginary hilt.”

  “Yes, boss,” I teased, fisting the stick with both hands. “Like this.”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, like that. You want both hands on the sword…a flailing arm could well get chopped off.”

  I gulped. Would I actually be fighting with a sword? A real one? I swallowed and nodded, tightening my grip. I would listen to this lesson, if only to save my limbs when I was handed a real medieval weapon.

  “Naturally, you want to aim for a clean swipe across the neck, severing the head.” He spoke casually, picking up his stick and swooshing it around in the air like a gymnastic knight. “But cutting an arm off will do, and if you can go for the plunge, do it.”

  How could he speak like he was discussing the weather when he was talking about killing something with a lump of metal? Something that belonged in the world hundreds of years ago and should have been demoted to role-play and re-enactment meetings? I kept my eyes on his and felt them narrow. Who was this man? This soldier who stood strong and proud? His shoulders were squared, chin dipped down, eyes shielded by the sun that caught the blue hues in his orbs. He continued to perform, swiping the sword through the air, and in a figure-8 around his waist and under both arms.

  “Ow!”

  I screeched when he hit me in the thigh.

  “Had this been a sword and not a Kali, you’d be minus one leg.”

  “I’ve got the message,” I spat, rubbing at the assaulted area.

  “But have you? You don’t think there’s a time when you’ll be distracted? Temporarily disarmed? Charmed?”

  “Only by you.”

  “And when we’re fighting side by side, you’re just going to stand there and watch me?”

  I shook my head, “No,” while thinking, “Yes.”

  “Then raise your sword and prepare to fight for your limbs.”

  I should have been fighting for a mortgage, or the last pair of shoes on the shelf.

  But no, I was fighting for my limbs.

  What the fuck? This couldn’t be reality. I raised the sword in front of my face and watched it shake in my line of sight as my hands trembled.

  “Now, attack.”

  “How?”

  “Try and take my head off.”

  “I…” I choked. I stuttered and gasped and looked at Elias’ body from head to toe. “I…”

  “What, Ashford?” he goaded, cocking an eyebrow as a smug smirk raised one corner of his delicious mouth. “Are you afraid?”

  “Of you?” I said, forcing confidence. “Never.”

  I swung the stick, displacing the atoms in the air as I moved to attack my husband. My foot slid forward, planting to the floor to give me leverage.

  Elias raised his stick and the snap echoed around the clearing as the two collided.

  “Good. Good power.” He shoved me back and I stumbled a step before righting myself. “Now, again. Now you know I’m going to defend, you need to do the same…and you need to be smart.”

  I didn’t say anything, too focused on the challenge he presented, and determined to win. I had to be able to beat him at something. Sure, this was fun.

  But it was also war.

  I swished the stick past my hip and round above my head to try and knock his shoulder. He deflected, pushing my stick away with his. I attacked from the other side, out from the left to try and catch his ribs. His arms twisted out to catch it. As he moved back into position, I struck, smacking the stick against his bicep.

  Elias froze. He made no sound of pain. Had he even felt it?

  “I believe you would have just lost an arm,” I said, matching his cocky smirk from earlier with a triumphant pout.

  “I believe you’re correct, Trixie.”

  Of course, I’d assumed we were taking a breather…we weren’t.

  Elias hit me again, on the arm this time, mirroring where I’d hit him. He took a step forward, edging me back. He took another. So did I. All the while our sticks collided from side to side, swings upwards, swipes down; arms twisted, grunts sounded out; I squeaked every time he took a step forward and dominated the direction our dual took. But I didn’t give in. He didn’t hit me, and I couldn’t hit him. I aimed for his head. I aimed for his arms and legs.

  I aimed for his heart.

  I couldn’t touch it, just like I would always be searching for the parts of him he wouldn’t allow me to have. I couldn’t get to his soul.

  Snap after snap. Whack after whack. The wood held strong, refusing to splinter or snap, and I wondered if my leg would sooner break. Elias wasn’t going easy. I was out of breath, struggling to keep up with his pace and my hands were beginning to blister.

  “Elias,” I rasped. “Stop.”

  “Do you think they’ll stop?” he growled. “Do you think they’ll give in when they’re faced with so much determination it takes everything for them not to fuck you while they kill you? Do you think they’ll grant you mercy, or tear you apart from the inside once you’ve passed out from exhaustion? Tell me, Trixie, what exactly are you expecting to go up against?” Another step. Another. We were circling the clearing in the garden and I was beginning to lose my footing. This was no lesson for a rookie. This was no induction. This was no transition.

  This was hell. It was brutal and it was…real.

  Had we been joined by another Eli?

  “If you’re expecting humans with the capability to feel and listen to their conscience, you’ll make a mistake you won't live through to learn from.”

  “Please.”

  It was the final thing I said as I fought him swing for swing, snap for snap, step for step. Elias lunged forward on one leg, stabbing the stick into my stomach and propelling me over the bush behind me. I fell on my back, my throbbing feet tangled in the twigs and thorns. They cut into my skin, but didn’t chill me nearly as much as the dark figure who came into view as my husband leaned over me with his stick raised behind his head.

  “If you think those you assume to be the good guys won't turn on you and kill you themselves for their own sick gain, then I should put you out of your misery now.”

  I saw a flash of aggression before his control snapped and his stick came towards me at an impossible pace. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the silence of the death my husband promised.r />
  Thud.

  A thud and a squelch before the sound of something ripping. It displayed just how strong Elias was. It was the sound of brute force, monumental strength and undefeatable power. But there was no pain. He hadn’t hurt me. I kept my eyes closed and focused on every sensation from head to toe. Besides the pricking from the bush and the thumping ache in my muscles, I felt nothing. Slowly, I opened one eye and squeezed the other one tighter. Just in case. I could see the threat and stay in the shadow of ignorance that way.

  I couldn’t see Elias. I couldn’t hear him. I could feel him, so I knew he was near and like a newly magnetised compass, I knew which direction he was in. He hadn’t hurt me. Despite his desire to; despite his hunger—and ability—to take whatever he wanted from me, he hadn’t.

  I managed to throw my legs over my head and roll over onto my knees. Closed fists pressed to the wet leaves behind the bush and I took deep, careful breaths.

  The stick.

  Elias had rammed it into the ground next to my head. It couldn’t have been more than a few inches from where I’d lain immobilised and ready to die. He’d broken through the grass, split the mud and dispersed a lump of earth with it. And he’d snapped the stick in two…one half was strewn not far from the other.

  “I’m going to assume you refrained from killing me intentionally, and not because you’ve got bad aim,” I said standing up.

  I turned to face him immediately. I didn’t need to search for him—I knew exactly where he’d be. He was standing with his arms folded on his chest, the muscles straining against the short sleeves of his t-shirt. He was bleeding; I hadn’t noticed that before.

  “Your father was an exceptional swordsman,” he said.

  I convulsed and choked on a breath.

  “What?”

  My voice was shaky and instantaneously belonging to someone I didn’t recognise. He’d never spoken of my parents. Yes, he had. Twice. Once in the Sector when I’d been informed of my destiny, and once more before he’d made me kill the man who had murdered my parents.

  “Your father. He used to spar with us. He was exceptional, Trixie.” He cleared his throat. “I think you inherited his skill.”

  “My father was a swordsman.”

  “He came from a long line of them. It isn’t just men who bear our name who fight alongside us.”

  “He did that? He fought with GRIT?”

  “You know he cared for the horses. That isn’t new information.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You don’t need to fight with a sword to look after horses.”

  Elias tipped his head from side to side, the way he always did when he was contemplating how to tell me something—or whether to tell me at all.

  “He came from a long line of swordsmen. Knights, if you will.”

  “You’re a knight, too?”

  “I am.”

  “Did my father fight, too? Did he go to battle with you as well as caring for the horses?”

  “The horses were your mothers.” Elias chuckled. “Remember, Ashford, I was thirteen and away at school when your parents were killed. I don’t know much; only what I’ve been told.”

  “Who can I ask?” I closed the distance between us and gripped his t-shirt. “Who, Elias? I have to know more.”

  “May I suggest not asking Richard and Mae?”

  I frowned. “Why?”

  Elias’ brow knitted and he chewed on his bottom lip. Now he was angry, the urge to chastise simmering just below the surface as his eyes turned a molten black. What had I done now?

  “Your father left the grounds at night. He not only led your mother to her death, but he failed to protect you. Richard and Mae raised you…it would be inexcusable to turn to them with this excitement to learn about the man who almost ended your life.”

  I deflated, my excitement vanished. I was angry that my father had risked our safety and he and my mother had paid with their lives, but how could I not want to know more? GRIT were bad people; we captured, tortured and killed people, and yet I was expected to invest my faith in an organisation that was shadier than the corners of the city at midnight. But I couldn’t ask about my father? I couldn’t know more about what he had done, how he had lived, where he had come from—where I had come from? Because he’d stepped outside the barricades at night…just like Elias did? Why was that an unforgiveable act?

  Perhaps it wasn’t.

  What if…?

  “There’s more, isn’t there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I took a step back, putting some distance between us to protect myself.

  “I mean my father has been exiled from the story because of something other than going out at night.”

  “Is that so?”

  I nodded. I knew it. Elias hadn’t jumped into another smart explanation for why my suspicions made no sense. He had no defence. He couldn’t lie to me, I’d see straight through it, which meant I had touched on something. Something else he was keeping from me.

  “Yes. What did he do?”

  Elias stood strong. He wasn’t going to back down; he was going to stand in silence until I caved. Until I gave in because I loved him too much to fight with him.

  Not now.

  He’d asked me to push him. He’d asked me to hate him. He’d asked me to love him.

  I’d doubted I could do all three simultaneously but hell, I could try.

  “What did my father do, Elias?”

  I’d done this.

  I’d made a huge mistake.

  I’d taken a wrong turn the minute I let go and pushed Trixie’s skills. I’d seen her father fight; I knew he’d possessed more finesse and determination and ability than anyone had in our time. I’d made the wrong choice by rewarding her with a compliment that involved giving her too much to read into.

  I’d underestimated her ability to read me, to see past the defences I’d been so used to using as easily as I breathed. Trixie was different. She was in. No matter how much I tried to keep her out—to keep her safe, and let me keep a grip on reality—she found a way in. She was more powerful than me, and that fucking hurt. I’d spent three decades harnessing everything Trixie Ashford—Blackwood—had picked up in one summer.

  So now I had two choices. Tell her something and hope it was enough for her to keep her mouth shut.

  Or let her run to the elders—the only elder residing here—and sentence us both to a punishment worse than death.

  “Trixie,” I said, hoping our connection would save me. “Remember I said some secrets are better left untold? Remember you hadn’t trusted me and, in hindsight wish you had so you wouldn’t be here?”

  “I don’t wish-”

  “If you hadn’t asked all your damn questions, we wouldn’t be married and tearing each other apart at the seams. You’d be out there living your life in the daylight instead of wasting away inside more barricades.”

  “That’s what you think I think?”

  “Tell me you don’t wish things had happened differently.”

  “Of course-”

  “Then for the love of God, don’t push this.”

  “My father?”

  I nodded. I didn’t want to be brutal, but what other choice did I have?

  “You know him. You live on the same estate he did. You know he served a purpose and you know he died. You know he loved you, even if he fucked up by crashing out of your life before you were ready to say goodbye. That’s more than thousands of children in this city will ever know.”

  “So I’m being selfish?”

  No.

  “Yes.” I watched her eyes glass over as the stab of my insult brought the tears in like a tidal wave. “In today’s world, believe me, ignorance is bliss. Please, please drop this.”

  Her bottom lip trembled and she sucked it into her mouth as she looked away from me, towards the house where her father’s ghost and those of her own ancestors no doubt watched over her.

  “May I be excused?”

  I nod
ded. She hadn’t agreed to let it go, but I had to trust her. I had to believe I had influence over her like she did over me. I would walk the lengths of the earth just to bathe in her pheromones…I had to force myself to believe she had one obedient bone in her body, and it was at my beck and call.

  “Thanks for the lesson,” she managed as she turned away from me. I wanted to reach out and pull her back, but I didn’t. She needed space from me, and to think about her parents, and I couldn’t force her to return to me, no matter how much I wanted to. “And thanks for not killing me.”

  I said nothing, watching her walk away as she headed back to the house. I didn’t respond because she’d see right through whatever web of lies I spun. She knew I’d been ready to kill her. It was sobering to think she was so ready to believe I would…because I could. Because killing was what I did.

  And what better way to remind myself of that than go to Sector 1?

  I needed to get my frustrations out. It wasn't righteous. It wasn't just. It just wasn't...right. But still, I did it, and I didn't care that there was no real reason for it, although I could create one.

  "Where are you staying?"

  My voice was different. I was conscious of it now—of the change in tone and timbre and resonance. This time it was directed at a prisoner and I wasn't...nice.

  I whipped him, listening to the crack of leather against tight flesh. He was fixed to the wall, legs clamped together with a double cuff around his ankles, wrists bound to a chain above his head, and a rusty cuff was locked tight around his neck, holding him in place.

  "Fuck you!"

  "You weren't taught to respect those in power?" I seethed and whipped him again.

  I watched his skin split open, the torn flesh turning an angry red before blood escaped.

  "Where do you live?"

  He'd been caught by one of the Sectormen and brought here. He'd been tracked, followed and apprehended, but he's been careful. The smart bastard knew we were onto him and he didn't return home...to his base where we would have found the evidence we needed to 'convict'. So we had him detained; he would stay here and undergo interrogation while my men tried to trace his steps back to an abode.

  "I'm not telling you shit."