The Uprising (GRIT Sector 1 Book 2)

by Rebecca Sherwin

  6 am. The autumn sun had begun to rise in the sky with the promise and hope of a better day that would soon be slashed by the rain cloud rolling in the distance.

  6.15 am. Gym. Five mile run with an uphill gradient. Peace. Silence. Composure.

  Unease.

  6.45 am. Shower. Methodical. Silent. Heat, steam, sterilisation.

  Tension.

  7 am. Breakfast. Muesli, berries, toast and coffee...with sweetener and cream. The Business Times.

  Frustration.

  7.30 am. Shoes on. Suit smoothed down. Hair checked, teeth brushed, appearance double checked.

  Anxiety.

  I couldn't shake the strangulation that had been threatening me all night. I hadn't slept well, waking up every few minutes to check on my sleeping wife. She'd retreated again, much like she had when she was first threatened with death by the family who had adopted her. She was sleeping, but it wasn't peaceful. It was a comatose reaction to stress and anxiety. It was a physical silence and a mental tantrum. She'd be out for hours and when she woke...well, I had no idea what I'd find when she finally woke.

  Trixie had killed. She hadn't just pulled the trigger and made sure the job was done. She'd enjoyed it. She'd prolonged it. She'd craved it.

  She shocked me every day, because I had no idea who she would be when she woke up in the morning. I wasn't the only one with conflicting personalities; I had just found a way to bring them all together in a way to exist as one person, just for a while.

  I travelled through the foyer to the office that would lead to the Sector, and stepped in without hesitation, preparing for today's task.

  What had I done? I'd lost myself. The woman I'd always prided myself on being, in a world where right and wrong collided into a cloud of ambiguity, had slipped away from me with each day I'd spent on this estate. The most disturbing part of this transition was that I didn't miss her. I didn't want to go back to making coffee and rushing to get home before dark. Elias' mission had been accomplished. I remembered back to the day I'd found out I would have to stand with him. He'd told Ruby he would break me, and he had. So why did I feel the most pieced together I had in my entire life, even though my soul was in fragments and my mind was anything but present? I threw the bed covers back and sat up, my murdering hands reaching for the glass of water on the bedside cabinet. I drained it all, gasping for air as the liquid settled in my stomach with an icy burn. Elias had been here recently, to prepare me for when I woke. I took a shower; blood tinged the water with yesterday's mascara, until the floor of the cubicle was reminiscent of the materials used in Reaper's paintings.

  When I was clean—physically because my soul would be tarnished forever—I stepped out and dried off in front of the mirror. I still looked like me; I still looked healthy and alive and, dare I say it, happy. How could I be happy after everything I'd done? I braided my hair so I hung over one shoulder and moved into the bedroom to dress.

  When I reached the foyer, I listened for sounds of anyone nearby, but the house was silent. Deathly silent. I couldn't hear the staff going about their daily agendas; I couldn't hear Christen, my handler, following me to keep me safe from the owner of the estate; I couldn't even hear the birds chirping in the trees beyond the house. The Indian summer sun had given way to a rainy September day, and the birds had fled with the changing weather.

  I heard laughter. Male laughter from deep in the house and I listened for the source. I heard voices, too; one I would love with all my being until I heard it for the last time, and one that made my skin crawl. Elias and Ambrose were together, and it was then that I noticed the door for the office was ajar. I crept closer as their voices got quieter, not one word distinguishable as they disappeared into the dungeon. The door was never left open. It was always closed and locked so the staff couldn't gain access without permission. I crossed the foyer, looking around me, before sneaking into the office and closing the door. The bookcase had been slid over and the heavy steel door that concealed Sector 1 was left open. My feet moved tentatively over the worn wooden floor as I passed the threshold and crept down the steps. I followed the echoes of the voices, trying to hear their conversation, but I couldn't. I had to keep going; along the first corridor, past the jewel room, Sam's cell, and others I was yet to see—some I was more familiar with than I wanted to acknowledge. I turned left into the next passage, making sure there was enough distance between me, and the father-son duo I hated to hear conversing so casually. I heard the gate open before the voices quietened once more. I followed, in the near-darkness, light only provided by dim electric torches on the stone walls. I was afraid; my heart hammered in my chest and I scrubbed my sweaty hands down the beige trousers I'd worn in preparation to return to the village. My anxiety mounted the deeper I got into the dungeon, until I turned the corner for the next gate. I saw them then, and hid around the corner to avoid detection. Conversation had halted and the work had begun. The clean-up.

  "You shot them?" Ambrose asked. "Just like that?"

  "Just like that," Elias said as he hauled a body on either shoulder, tossing them carelessly onto an awaiting trolley. "They broke the law, I served their punishment. No interrogation necessary."

  He was dressed for work; black embraced his powerful body from head to toe and his posture was unrelenting, despite the weight of another two bodies slung over his shoulders. I watched as two by two, Elias cleared up after last night. Twenty-one bodies. Twenty-one deaths. I wanted to be sick. I wanted to spew all over the floor of the Sector as I thought about the repercussions of such actions. In one night, in one hour, we had taken almost twenty-one lives out of existence. I could only imagine how much worse it was on the outside. What if there were a hundred Elias’s? What if there were hundreds of men capable of wreaking havoc in the space of one hour? I did the math, calculated how many hours of darkness we had now winter was fast approaching. Thousands. There could have been thousands of people dying every week, and that didn’t include those being held hostage, tortured, and trafficked in or out of the city to put up for auction. It was overwhelming. Finally, I understood that things weren’t as easy as being part of a vigilante family who would save the world with one swipe of their mighty swords. This was so much bigger than I had first imagined. It was spiralling out of control and…

  “It’s out of control, Father,” Elias said, his words mirroring my thoughts as he pulled straps over the two trollies holding the bodies.

  Even a thoughtful act was chilling. He’d strapped dead bodies down, so they couldn’t roll off the trolley and become trapped under the wheels. I imagined hair being torn, more blood being shed in slow drips, void of a pulse to pump it out. Shaking my head, I listened on.

  “He’s been around her. He knows her. I don’t know how, but it isn’t Seb. I thought he was the only person she had contact with who wasn’t family.”

  Seb. She. Family. Elias was talking about me. I felt a pang of annoyance knowing he was talking to his father about me when I had no idea what was going on. What was he talking about? Why was he talking to Ambrose? What was spiralling out of control? Elias was always composed. He always knew what he was doing and he believed in every breath he took. So why did he sound afraid? Threatened? Who would dare to threaten Elias Blackwood?

  “Then you need to regain control.” Ambrose hadn’t warmed to his son, but I felt the desperation in the way Elias looked at him. He wanted his acceptance. He wanted his father to be just that…a father. “Have you spoken to the girl?”

  “No. I’ll head over there this afternoon. I’ve asked Trace to keep her comfortable until I get there.”

  “And Seb?”

  Elias sighed and grabbed the handle of the trolley, pushing off until the wheels creaked and slowly, the transportation of dead bodies began. The trolley gained momentum, before Ambrose took hold of his and pushed it along behind Elias. I waited until they moved further into the passage before I followed, conscious that light was wearing thin and my visibility was on a timescale. I didn
’t know how much longer I had left to see, and the thought of what hid in the shadows ground me to a halt as the squeaks of wheels began to fade.

  No.

  I had to go. I had to find out what was going on, where they were going to take the bodies, why they had suddenly bonded over the death of twenty-one people, and why I felt the unease begin to strangle me. The guilt weighed me down, insanity that had slowly begun taking over my soul, and the fear that Elias wasn’t as safe with his father as he wanted to be. I had to be there to protect him. Using my palm on the wall to guide me, I continued deeper into the Sector until I was submerged in darkness, like the depths of the ocean. The air was thin and hot, lacking oxygen but an abundance of tension rippled over me. I hadn’t heard Elias’ answer about Seb, but I hoped there would be more answers. More hints. Just…more.

  “Have you informed her of the recruitment ball?”

  “No. There are customs and traditions she’s yet to find out about.”

  “It’s only a few weeks away. Trixie’s participation is mandatory.”

  “I know, Father, and she’ll take part. I just haven’t told her about it yet. I’m waiting until the last minute to give her the lesson.”

  “Intentionally?”

  Elias hummed an affirmative. They were closer now and I had to slow down. How could they see where they were going? How could they navigate through pitch black darkness? They’d done this enough times to have mapped out the path without the need for sight.

  “Intentionally. I still want to surprise her, Father. She may be in this with me, but I’m still a man and I want to reward her with the kind of surprises she would have experienced out there.”

  The outside world. So this recruitment ball wasn’t something to be afraid of—it was something to look forward to. Something I would be able to enjoy with my husband. “Interesting.” Ambrose was silent for a long while and it wasn’t until he spoke again that I realised I’d let them get too far. Slipping my shoes off, I padded barefoot along the passage as the moisture in the air intensified until droplets settled on my skin and ran down my temples. The ground beneath my feet was wet and warm, and my toes sank into the streams created between the cracks in the stones. “How many times have you made her cry, son?”

  “Father.”

  “It’s my job to ask.”

  “I don’t know. Things have been…difficult.”

  “You haven’t taken her back to the Sector?”

  Elias cleared his throat. I imagined him shaking his head, before he grunted his wordless answer. Would Ambrose sense the change in him? Would he realise, like I had, that Elias was uncomfortable with the sudden shift in atmosphere.

  “How many times have you made her bleed?”

  What? Why was he reporting back to his father like it was his job to shed my blood?

  “I can’t be sure.” Elias’ voice was tight with conflict and desire. Discomfort smothered him and brought a deep growl to rumble in his throat. “Not enough times to warrant another night in the cell.”

  Another. Another night? What did that mean? He’d spent a night here, like a prisoner?

  “How many times have you made her come?”

  “Father.”

  Another growl, louder this time with a possessiveness that made my stomach flutter as heat moved south.

  “Answer the question, son.”

  “No.” I heard the scrape of two pairs of feet as the men ground to a halt. I imagined a stare-down where neither man could see the other, but wouldn’t back down. Elias was protective; he’d morphed into the lion protecting his lioness’s virtue. Why was his father enquiring about my orgasms? The thought made me shudder, as I remembered the day in the foyer…yesterday. God, it felt like forever ago. So much had happened since he’d had his hands on me and forced me to imagine screaming his name.

  “Elias.”

  “I’m not feeding it, I’m sorry. Trixie is my wife.”

  Another growl. This time it was more of a snarl, the beta challenging the alpha.

  “I can’t.”

  Elias was conflicted. He was confused. He felt guilty. Whatever reason Ambrose had for asking about our…intimacies, a part of Elias wanted to divulge the information and satisfy his father. I had a feeling it would satisfy him more than Elias realised.

  “Elias,” Ambrose breathed, a manipulative vulnerability leaking from his voice to snare my husband. “Please. I just want to know.”

  Pause. I smiled and allowed myself to take a real breath, albeit lacking in the rich oxygen I needed to stay conscious without the dizziness that had begun to whirl around my mind.

  “She’s my wife.” My smile grew. Elias wasn’t going to relent. “I make her come every day. I make her scream, I make her gush, I make her quiver until she relies on my control over her body to be able to breathe.”

  No!

  I could feel the response in Ambrose, without him having to say a word, or make a sound. Elias had betrayed me. What happened in our bed—or wherever else he took me—should have stayed between us…always. How was he not repulsed by saying something like that to his father? How could Ambrose bear to hear about his son fucking his wife without wanting to gauge his eyeballs out at the mere thought of his only child’s cock in action?

  Light. There was light at the end of the next tunnel and I saw the silhouetted bodies of my husband and father-in-law as they pushed the trollies of bodies to wherever they were heading to. How many entrances and exits were there? The final passage sloped out into somewhere on the grounds of the estate. When Elias and Ambrose had emerged into the daylight and I’d taken a lungful of fresh, autumn air, misted with cool rain that soothed my clammy skin, I left the Sector.

  More greenery. When I'd first moved here, I'd been ensnared by wonderment knowing I could watch trees blow in the breeze and smell flowers as they grew without obstruction. This area of the estate was no different. Thick bushes surrounded the exit; trees of all shapes, sizes and species grew around a large building not far in the distance, where Elias and Ambrose were heading. They were much further ahead now and I could no longer hear their conversation, but I could see the tension between them. It almost sparked with an aura that burned red and black. Elias was ashamed; I could see that his shoulders were hunched, his back was tense, and it had nothing to do with the hundreds of pounds of the deceased he was pushing towards the building. Ambrose was seething too, his tall wide frame permeating jealousy and hunger. I followed them, eager to find out more about the shift in atmosphere between the father and son. Their clashing moods didn't seem to match; why would Elias be consumed by regret if Ambrose was satisfied with what he'd learnt, if a little more spurred on by the information he'd requested and received? I didn't understand. I didn't understand any of it, and my mind whirled with a headache as my stomach growled for food and my tired legs began to thrum with lethargy.

  Clouds of white smoke billowed up from two flumes in the building; tall chimneys tens of feet tall extended almost to the sky, and I wondered how far we'd come. This place couldn't be seen from any of the windows in the house.

  The trollies stopped outside the two heavy double doors as a black town car pulled up outside. It obstructed my view and I crawled into a bush to continue watching and get a better angle. Percy stepped out of the car and spoke with the two men. I couldn't hear them, but when I saw Percy place his hand on Elias' shoulder, I knew he was providing him with the comfort he should have been given by his father. Percy turned and walked away, leaving the car idle outside the entrance as the doors open and darkness seeped out. Where was this place? I had half a mind to run back into the Sector and find my way back to the house, but I didn't know how. I was trapped in a bush on an estate the size of a city or something, and I didn't know what to do. Two men stepped out, wearing PPE consisting of rubber trousers, elbow-length gloves, goggles, a face mask, and an apron covered in grey dust. I knew what this building was. I knew what went on here. The eradication of all evidence the twenty-one people on th
ose trollies ever existed. A crematorium. Shit. My heart started to race and the adrenaline kicked in as I imagined bodies burning in an inferno, enclosed in a cardboard box—their final resting place. God. We not only killed people here, but we cremated them too? Turned them to ash and dust? I wanted a face mask of my own, afraid I was somehow inhaling the remains of dead criminals as their particles floated around in the air. I had enough evil inside me already, and I slept in a bed with the devil...I didn't need to breathe in the dust of death and destruction. Curling up with my knees to my chest, I buried my head behind them until my nose was hidden. Why did Elias not employ people to take the bodies here? Why was he a participant in the disposal when he had people at his beck and call? And why the fuck was Ambrose doing it with him, like it was some sick father-son bonding session? I felt sick. I felt physically sick and sitting down didn't prevent my mind from spinning as the world whirled around me. Curling myself into a tighter ball, I laid back on the ground and tried to rid my mind of the faces I’d seen on the trollies, a gun shot between the eyes of the men—nothing but pained expressions on the faces of the women whose lives I had toyed with until their lights snuffed out.

  When I woke, the car was gone. The doors were closed and there was no evidence anyone had ever been here. There was no smell, no smog from the pollution of burning bodies. I was still breathing clear oxygen, and I was still alone. And safe. For now. I got to my feet and forced my body to obey me. I'd never been more determined to carry out my plan. The Sector was mine. No matter what Elias kept from me, how he tortured, killed and burned behind my back, GRIT was still mine to take a share of and, after his rejection of my idea last night, I'd realised I had to do this without him. Trying to gather my bearings, I emerged from the bushes...at the same time my husband emerged from the building. He held a cardboard box under one arm, and a pink urn under the other. His hands were clasped together and he was inspecting his fingernails. He'd burned the bodies himself and he was checking to see if his hands were clean. They weren't. I could see the hanging memories of blood and death pouring from his gaze as if his hands dripped crimson silk to the ground at his feet. But there was something else in his gaze...not only was he mentally tallying his kill score, but there was a vitality about him I hadn't seen before. He seemed to breathe a little easier, stand a little taller—if that were possible, and hold himself with more pride than I'd ever seen in him. I stood and watched as he tossed the box into a hole in the ground, before he kicked the earth over it and stamped his foot on it to press it down. He didn't care about the ashes in the box. Not like he cared about the urn. He held it in both hands and caressed the metallic shell of whoever it held inside. I followed him as he crossed the land and headed back to what I assumed was the house. I hoped it was the house. I kept my distance, careful of his animal-like instincts and their ability to seek me out if I got too close. I paused when he halted and turned towards the path that I knew led back to familiar ground. We'd walked a mile, maybe more—I really had no idea, but when I looked behind me, the chimneys were out of sight. I turned again to see my husband remove the lid of the urn and stare at the contents.