“Do any of the stories Elias has told you have a happy ending?”
I narrowed my eyes and stared up at the dark sky as I thought about all the lessons Elias had given me.
Finally, I shook my head. “That’s because they’re sadists. Every one of them. They can’t be happy. History doesn’t allow it. There’s no point of reference for them to live by. All they know is war.”
“But Elias is my husband. He loves me.”
“And Richard loves me,” she clipped. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t give it all up for freedom.”
“Why?” I reached out and grabbed the top of her arms, shaking her out of her panic. “Mae, you’re being cryptic like them. Tell me what’s going on.”
Her eyes were wild. The wind blew her silvering locks. She shook her head manically.
“There was a time, in 1990. I remember it well because it was the one year I remember being happy. Trace was little, bubbly and mischievous. Richard was in control of the Met and we hadn’t had a blip for months. The other Sectors were balanced. GRIT had become a 9-5 job with easy capture as a hobby. Crime was beginning to dwindle. We were in control, Trix.”
“So what happened?”
“Cecil happened.” I froze. I convulsed and retched and hiccupped with shock as my biological father’s name rolled from her lips. “He was raised to be a member of GRIT. He was promoted every year, until he as good as stood by Richard when he took his place as second in command.” She stroked a strand of hair away from my face and tucked it behind my ear. “You’re aware of the absence of women in the last two generations?”
“I am.” I nodded, my failing voice unable to carry my answer.
“Ruby was stern. She was mean and harsh, and she was terrified. Terrified her family would die out because none of the wives could give birth to a girl. None of us could conceive or keep a child after the first.”
“What did she do?”
“She noticed your father. She noticed you. He was everything she wanted in a warrior, but she had her sons. Adoption is something only done once before.”
“With the boys.”
“Yes, with the boys. She made a deal with your father.”
“He traded my life, didn’t he?”
It all made sense now. The animosity towards him. He’d never been mentioned. Never been honoured. Elias’ reaction when I wanted to know more. My father had a story, and it wasn’t one GRIT wanted to be written.
“He did. He was devoted to GRIT. He was more loyal than Elias. He lived for the organisation. He began to neglect his wife, he neglected you; he rarely returned to the village and he stayed by the leaders like a loyal pet.”
“Mae…”
“He signed a contract. Your mother was to raise you in the village and your father was to train you. He was to teach you everything you’d need to become the woman who would run GRIT. He taught you to fight. He taught you to lead. He taught you to punish. You were just a girl, Trixie, but the village children feared you. Your mother didn’t want a part of it—she had moved to the village because her safety was guaranteed and she desperately wanted you to have the best shot at a normal life. Your father made you a soldier. Soon it became a war. Your father pushed and pushed, your mother pulled and pulled, and you were stuck in the middle.”
“My mother.” I cried, allowing Mae to hold me in her embrace. She felt no venom towards the woman who had given birth to me. She felt no anger or hate.
“She was wonderful, Trixie. She loved to bake and she made beautiful jewellery that she took out and sold at the market.”
“She was your friend.”
“She was my maid. She was my friend, yes. Like Elizabeth and Isabel, your mother and I grew close. I trusted her with my life.”
“But…”
“But she was a prisoner. Trixie, your mother was born on Blackwood Estate.”
The world fell from beneath me, leaving me suspended in fear.
“Beatrice…”
I knew it! I knew it was true before Mae squealed and allowed a tear to fall from her own eye.
“Beatrice is your grandmother. You are named after her, Trixiebelle. Your mother and father met; they married and lived in the village here. You see how it all ties together. You see why I need to get you out?”
“I think so. I was born here, in GRIT.” My voice was monotonous. “They signed a contract for my life. I’ve been a prisoner since the day I was born. The mar…”
No!
“The marriage was arranged, wasn’t it?”
“It was suggested during many a meeting, but it was never agreed on. The line became too blurred. There was always the worry that you and Elias would be raised too closely, that there would be interferences that would make this wrong, no matter whose blood you had in your veins. There was just the hope…that you would find each other.”
“There wasn’t hope!” I shoved her off me, pushing back into the wall and gripping my hair. “It was arranged, just not around you because you took me in, and you felt all those maternal instincts because you wanted another. You let them do this, Mae!”
“No.” She shook her head and took a step closer. I didn’t have the strength to push her away when she pulled me into her and let me sob into her neck. “You were a child, a princess, with no parents, Trixie. I loved you because I loved your mother. I took you in and raised you as my own because I love you like you are.”
“It’s too much,” I cried, gripping her dress and allowing my entire existence to crumble. “It’s too much.”
“Your father was sent out one night. He was asked to deliver something to a restaurant we dealt with. GRIT has multiple covers and one of them was a restaurant not far from Blackwood International. Your father was in—he was so close, his life became as important as our sons’, because he was the father of our future leader. He was too confident. He took you and your mother with him, and you stayed for dinner. Richard didn’t know. He didn’t grant your exit—he wouldn’t have let you go without protection.”
“No…”
“You were on your way back to the car when you were attacked.”
“No…”
“Your mother was killed first. It was a quick death, Trixie. She felt very little pain. She wasn’t tortured. She wasn’t made to suffer.” I shook my head as sobs wracked my body, the pain wreaking havoc on my soul. “Your father was taken next. He shouldn’t have taken you out, Trixie. He shouldn’t have believed he was safe. He knew he wasn’t. He knew better than to test the underground.”
I swallowed hard, my cries running dry as walls clamped into place to protect myself against the people I’d thought were my family. They’d bought my life. They’d bargained for my loyalty. They’d paid for my incarceration.
A clap sounded out from behind us, then another, and another. I looked past Mae’s shoulder as the single applause pierced the air, but I saw nothing. It was dark. Too dark. We were safe here. We had nothing to fear on Ashford Estate. I was safe. Mae was safe. I would get us out, but I would do it with smarts and manipulation. It was how I’d been taken, it was only fair.
“I do love a good story time.”
Shit. My entire body prickled, from head to toe, inside out, when the voice crept over my skin and invaded my senses. His smell pierced my nostrils. His presence brought a sheet of fear to smother me.
“Ambrose,” Mae said, turning around to face the darkness, and pushed me behind her.
She was shielding me.
“Now, now, Mae Ashford.” Ambrose stepped into view. He was sheathed in black, only his glacial eyes visible in the shadows. “You know you shouldn’t tell stories without permission.”
“She has a right to know. You know what’s about to happen.”
“Oh, I know what’s about to happen. I don’t believe an Ashford harlot has been granted the same privilege.”
“You’re going to take more children,” I said, my voice carried by the breeze.
Ambrose sniffed, breathing in my sce
nt like a wolf would its prey. He licked his lips and hummed in delight.
“They’re going to ask for more children. They’re going to secure their lives in case there are more…blind spots.”
“In case no more girls are born.”
“Yes.”
“No!”
I tried to push past Mae, to get back into the house and stop girls being taken like I had. Ambrose’s hand shot out, colliding with my neck and he rammed me back into the wall. I hit with a thud, my breath escaping in a rush.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he seethed. Then he leered, looking past Mae like she didn’t exist, drinking in my elegant appearance with a hungry stare that boiled my blood and made my stomach churn. “Mae forgot one very important part of the story.”
“No.” Mae shook her head, and shoved at Ambrose. “No.”
“Tell her, Mae. Or I’ll tell her over your dead body.”
“Richard would kill you.”
“Perhaps.” He tapped his chin and stroked his finger over his bottom lip, like his son did whenever he was deep in thought. “But you said it yourself, we can’t be a normal family.”
“Ambrose, you can’t. You swore an oath to your mother.”
“She’s taken my power away, the promise no longer stands. And she’ll be dead soon. It all cancels out then.”
“Ambrose.”
“Stop saying my name,” he growled. “You have no right to utter my name. I should force you to your knees in front of me…” He looked past Mae to me. “I’d rather have your daughter. You know I like to keep it in the family.”
“What?”
I fucking knew it. Before I said it, I’d known the answer. It suddenly clicked into place, why he hated me.
“Go to your husband, Mae.”
“No.” Mae stood her ground, extending her hand behind her to make sure I was safe. “I won’t let you take her.”
“Did Abigail have a choice?” he asked, taking a step closer. “Did she win, Mae?”
Mae shook her head.
“No, she didn’t. You can’t beat me…but I look forward to the war.”
“What war?” I asked, taking a step forward.
My second step was loud, echoing around the front garden like a champagne cork. My second step was warm. It was metallic in taste, misty and lumpy in touch. My second step rang in my ears and flashed in my vision.
My second step was death.
I paused, forcing myself back into the present, when I’d unknowingly escaped it, to see Mae’s lifeless body fall to the ground. I stared at the blank expression of Ambrose Blackwood, before I looked down at the ground. Mae was leaking blood. What had happened? Half of her head was missing. What’s that? I raised my hand to my face and swiped warm wetness, itchy shards, and squishy lumps from my forehead. I looked down at my hand. Blood. Bone. Brain.
Mae.
I stood motionless. I knew what had happened, but my mind shut down. I couldn’t react. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t feel, I couldn’t scream. I just stared into the eyes of my mother’s killer and wished I could find the motivation to end his life. I wished I could feel something…but I felt nothing. I felt nothing. The old me was on the outside, banging on the door to the fort I’d locked my mind in to protect it. She was crying at me to do something, to piece the puzzle of Mae’s skull back together; to shove her brain back in the hole; to suck up her blood and pour it back inside her. The old Trixie clawed at me to do something, because she knew what was coming. But the new me was in shock. The new me was stunned…because I knew I was next. Because I knew I couldn’t stop it. Because I was a prisoner…what was the fucking point?
Ambrose stepped forward, pressing the smoking barrel of the gun to my forehead.
“Let’s go for a little ride, harlot.”
Someone approached me from the side and pulled a black bag over my head. The old me wanted to scream. The old me wanted to kick and fight. To claw and bite. To call for Elias or Richard or Trace.
The new me did none of those things. I was their prisoner; they weren’t going to save me. I was their prisoner. I was theirs. I was theirs.
I let Ambrose’s assistant throw me over his shoulder and I stared at the darkness in front of my eyes, remembered Mae and her half-head laying bleeding out in the corner.
I let them take me. They owned my life. It was their right to take me.
I was good at many things. Being a monster was one of them; being a liar was another. Disclosure was something I’d never been good at. I lived to keep secrets. I lived to protect a story only a select few were granted knowledge of. My entire life was a secret, because my existence was a mystery, not only to the people on the outside of GRIT, but to myself. I’d never known my mother. I’d never known maternal—or paternal—love, and it had fucked me up more than I’d ever care to admit.
I should have told Trixie everything. I shouldn’t have kept one secret of the past from her.
History had finally led to our downfall.
I’d shaken the hand of every new recruit or promoted employee. I’d handed out close to a hundred badges and congratulated as many more. What came next was the secret, because I knew Trixie wouldn’t understand. I was almost glad she’d slipped out of the room with Mae. It was time to secure the future of the women of GRIT. Men knew it was a standby option; Trixie and I were expected to bear children—one boy and one girl—as were the rest of my cousins. But GRIT always had a plan. We always had a failsafe, a backup. Nothing went unaccounted for.
I stepped from the stage to help Ruby up, as Richard took his place at the table. His job was done, his task completed, and he’d returned to his seat to wait for Trixie and Mae to return. I wasn’t sure why they’d been allowed to leave, but there were no alarm bells, nothing screaming danger. Ruby stood between Trace and me, and we stood with our hands clasped behind our backs. This was Ruby’s domain; it was time for her to take control. As my grandmother opened her mouth to address our guests, a loud bang cracked through the air outside. Everyone in the banquet hall turned to look at the only exit. The gunshot had been too close, and my instincts kicked into gear after the initial shock. Trace and I reacted immediately, ever in sync, reaching beneath our suit jackets for handguns, brandishing them ready to shoot. We jumped from the stage and charged towards the exit. GRIT fell into step; Elliott, Robert, Richard and Lawson followed after us. We tore from the dining hall and into the foyer, guns raised and ready to protect. We had never had to protect ourselves this close to home. From inside our home. All I could think about was Trixie somewhere in the house without protection. As Trace and I arrived at the front door, it swung open, crashing against the window next to it, sending the glass shattering outside.
“Elias…”
Ambrose stood in the doorway and bent to rest his hands on his knees. He breathed heavily, short on oxygen, high on adrenaline, wracked by fear I’d never seen in my father.
“It’s Trixie,” he said, gripping his shirt over his chest and meeting my eyes with terror in his. “She’s broken.”
“What?”
Fear slammed into me, making my legs weak, my heart swell to explode, and blackspots of impending disaster danced in my vision.
“She took my gun. She shot Mae. She took off and now she’s holding Beckett at gunpoint demanding you go to her.”
What had happened? What had Mae done? What had happened to make my Ashford snap?
“Let’s go.” I didn’t recognise my own voice. I sounded like an animal. A beast. The monster was shaking at the cage, demanding I dig deeper.
“No!” Ambrose shoved his hand into my chest to hold me back as we edged forward prepared to leave. “She wants you. She said she wants you to come alone or she’ll kill him.”
Silence descended on the foyer. Trixie had gone insane. She’d finally succumbed to the urge to kill and now our queen was calling the shots.
“Where’s Mae?” Trace asked, stepping next to me and cupping my shoulder. “Go to her, cousin. I
need to find my mother.”
“She’s bleeding,” Ambrose said, pointing past me into the house. “She ran to the back.”
Trace took off towards the back of the house with Richard. Elliott and Robert stood by with their guns ready to attack and defend, and Lawson edged forward as I did.
“No.” I held them back as I stepped out of the door. “Make sure Mae is okay. I’ve got this.” Turning to my father, I shoved him backwards in haste. He didn’t chastise. He was terrified. “Let’s go.”
We ran from the house, down the steps of the porch and into the first garden of night blossoms. Ambrose ran a little ahead of me, leading the way, while I tried to remain as strong as the soldier I’d been raised as, whilst the internal agony wreaked havoc on my soul. What had I done? What had Trixie done? Why hadn’t I foreseen this? Why did I misunderstand the glint in her cosmic eyes during the presentation, and assumed she’d finally seen that we were the good guys? Now…now I wasn’t sure who I’d married, who I was about to see, or why hadn’t fucking seen it coming. Again.
“How much further?” I asked, churning up the wet grass beneath my feet as I pounded them into the ground. “Where is she?”
“Gone.”
Gone.
“Gone?”
Gone.
“She’s gone, Elias.” Ambrose stopped, slowing his sprint to a jog, his jog to a brisk walk…a saunter followed.
“Come on. We need to stop this. Where is she?”
“It was the only way.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It should have been me. It should have been Abigail. Your Ashford isn’t as pure…you can’t break her and corrupt her, because she’s already fractured and monstrous.”
“Father…”
“You can’t fix this.”
He reached behind him for his gun. The one he said Trixie was holding Beckett hostage with. It all clicked into place. I was too late. I was too fucking late. I reached for my own gun, pointing it at Ambrose as he held his, with a perfect aim between my eyes.
“Where is she?”
“Gone.”
Gone.
“Ambrose, don’t do this.”
The Uprising (GRIT Sector 1 Book 2) Page 30