The Uprising (GRIT Sector 1 Book 2)

by Rebecca Sherwin

  He hummed, flaring the blade in his hand like an expert. "You taste divine, Trixie Blackwood. It's the only part of you no one else has had."

  "Not true."

  "No time for romantic bullshit," he said, knowing what I would say next. "The heart is there to pump blood. I claim your heart when I drink from your veins."

  "Elias..."

  I didn't know this man. This cold, sociopath of a man. He was a stranger, and I wanted to kill him for shedding my blood. It was mine. I wouldn't let him claim the one thing that kept me alive. He'd claimed everything else, and this was mine. Even now, wanting to watch his blood run free, I wanted him inside me. I wanted him filling, stretching, dragging blood to the surface as he sucked on my skin.

  "Yes, Ashford?" he asked as he mounted me, knees either side of my waist as he pressed the blade into my collar bone. The tip of the dagger twisted, piercing a hole in my flesh and I gasped, releasing a strangled moan when Elias dipped his head and sucked from the wound, siphoning blood without my permission. He hummed and groaned in delight, his fingers digging into my ribs as his heavy cock pressed into my stomach.

  "Stop."

  He didn't. He sat up, grabbed my hand and loosened the tie. When he’d balled my fingers into a fist, he held onto my index finger. He brandished the dagger, nicking my fingertip with a sting that rivalled every paper cut I'd ever had. My heartbeat throbbed in my finger as blood ran and dripped onto my chest.

  "Taste it," he rasped, guiding my finger to my mouth. "See how good you taste."

  I complied, sucking on my fingertip and rolling my eyes closed when I imagined tasting him. No. I didn't want to taste blood. I didn't want this, despite the ache in my womb, the prickle of my hard nipples cocooned in my bra; the wetness that made my pussy sticky, clammy and desperate.

  Elias smirked, reading my thoughts and nicked his own fingertip, sliding it into my mouth to join mine.

  "This is what I want," he declared, giving me no choice over whether he took it or not. "I want to fuck in blood. I want to drown in your existence. I need to know who else has fucked you, Trixie."

  Whoa. The shift gave me whiplash and I bit down, ignoring the pain in my own finger, focused on hurting him enough to force him to free me.

  "Two people," I said, panting when he withdrew with a growl. "Two people and then you."

  "Who?"

  "Please." My voice quivered and my lip trembled. "Please don't make me tell you." He shook his head, unrelenting. "I lost my virginity the weekend Richard cast me out. I was twenty-three, pissed off, and I don't remember who he was. It was also the first night I got drunk."

  Elias snarled, squeezing harder, but not to punish me. To punish...himself.

  "You let someone take advantage of you." His voice was a whisper of regret. "I should have been there."

  "So you could do it instead?" I spat. "So you could introduce me to sex with blood and brutality?"

  He shook his head. "So I could protect you, and ask you to wait for me." He slapped my cheek with the blade and I recoiled. He laughed. He knew he wouldn't have cut me. "Who's the second?"

  "It was two years ago, Elias."

  "The underground doesn't work to a schedule, Ashford."

  Underground. He thought I had something to do with the underground.

  "What's going on?"

  "Answer the fucking question."

  "No." I shook my head. "I won't."

  "You will."

  He slid lower, dropping the dagger to the floor with a thud as it hit the thick carpet beside the bed. He squeezed my thighs, holding me open despite my best efforts to tense against him. He worked the soft flesh in heavy circles, moving closer and closer to my pussy.

  "Blood makes you wet."

  "You make me wet. Stop being a prick."

  "Language," he said, and nipped my thigh. I jolted, bucking my hips with a moan that betrayed my denial. "Who was the second?"

  One lick. One fucking lick between the lips of my pussy; from my entrance that clenched with the desire to be filled, to my clit that pulsed with need for my sick husband. I mewled and crashed my head back to the pillow as my back arched.

  "Who?"

  Another lick, slow and deliberate. Strong and intoxicating. Dominating and domineering. He was toying with me, bargaining with me; hanging an orgasm in front of me with a price tag. Confession. I didn't want to confess—I shouldn't have had to. But I wanted him to get me off. I was sprung tight, like a coil that had waited centuries for release. Is this what it felt like to live in the past? Prisoner to the man who commanded history like it was the key to our future? Elias pinched my clit and drove his tongue inside me.

  "God!"

  "God won't help you," he mumbled against my sensitive flesh. "I hold the key to your release and you know what I want in return."

  "He was a nobody!" I cried, hating myself for becoming one of them. One of GRIT. One of the monsters who belittled others. "He was a minion. An employee. Someone I was attracted to, who had no problem fucking the boss's daughter."

  I fought against the ties that held my wrist bound, and clamped my free hand over my mouth when I realised I'd said too much and Elias stilled with his head between my legs. He glanced up at me as I looked down. His five o'clock shadow became a cloak of jealousy. His eyes became a storm of possessiveness. His hands became clamps of rage.

  "What?" I shook my head. I didn't need to repeat myself; he'd heard me. "You fucked a man who'd been assigned to protect you."

  "You know better than anyone that urges cannot be controlled."

  "Like hell they can't." He reared up and loomed over me, heavy hands either side of my head as he glared into my eyes. "Who was he?"

  "I don't remember."

  "Liar!" He struck my cheek and tears pooled. "He deserves to be punished for touching what's mine."

  "I wasn't yours then."

  "You've always been mine."

  "We didn't know each other existed."

  "I've always known of your existence." He sighed. "You were just a girl." Then he growled again and my heart lurched. "Who was he? I demand to know."

  "You know enough."

  "Hardly. He's the one."

  "What?"

  "Name."

  "No."

  He shoved a finger inside me. I cried out at the intrusion and begged him to stop. Not now. Not while he was thinking of another, with so much rage swirling inside him I couldn't trust him not to punish me.

  "Name, Ashford."

  "Will you make me come? If I tell you, will you fuck me and erase him from your memory?"

  "I'll fuck you until every shred of your cunt is scraped raw. I'll clear your canvas so you know exactly who you belong to. Now," His thumb circled my clit, smearing my wetness and catching my breath. "Tell me his fucking name."

  "Alex. His name was Alex."

  "Motherfucker!"

  He tore his finger from me, ripping the ties from the bedposts with one hand, while he freed his steely cock with the other. Fisting the base, he shoved against me as I wrapped my legs around him. Slamming into me in one move, Elias stole my breath and folded me up to drive to depths that had been undiscovered before him. Every thrust was a punishment. Every pound was a prayer—not for me, but for him. He knew my second partner. He not only knew of him, but he allowed himself to be burned by the betrayal. Rough fingers dug into my hips as his thick cock did as he'd promised. He bruised. He brutalised. He cleansed. He pounded over and over until my cries morphed to screams and my lungs ran dry, halting all other sounds but sharp breaths and hitched inhales.

  "Did he fuck you like this?" he asked on a growl. "Did he know how rough you need it to get off? Did he claim you, Ashford? Did he take the one thing that was destined for me?"

  "No!" I gargled, falling into an orgasm that was neither pleasurable nor tolerable.

  It was earth-shattering. It ruined me. This wasn't what I'd agreed to. This wasn't what I wanted from the man who claimed he loved me. "You bastard."

/>   "Better believe it, princess,” he grunted, shifting on the bed to drive even deeper. "I'm the bastard who's going to strip your cunt bare and murder the man who touched it when the right was not his."

  "Please." I choked and spluttered, digging my feet into his back. "Please forget about him and love me."

  "I do. God damn it, Ashford, I do."

  The confusing emotions. The bare pain of my broken husband tore me in two. Half wanted to hate him for using my body so carelessly. The other half wanted him to take me over and over again; to take whatever he needed from me to obliterate the guilt that he hadn't been able to stop it.

  "Fuck's sake, Trixie." He smacked my cheek to drag me back to reality. "Come. Come for me, baby. Let me own you."

  "You do." I cried as Elias freed my wrists and I wrapped my arms around him. "You always have and always will. No one needs to die."

  "You're wrong," he groaned as I toppled over the edge and clenched around him. I surrendered my will to Elias Blackwood. "We all die, eventually."

  With a roar that would rival the gods, Elias threw his head back and the first hot spurt of cum filled me. He became my balm. He became my retribution. He became my salvation. My monster. My warrior. My sick, twisted lover.

  "It's him," he said pulling out of me. When I opened my eyes, he was already on the phone. "Find Alex and bring him to Sector 1."

  Just like that, our love was forgotten, as my husband began another journey towards a fucked up idea of justice.

  "Just one day," I growled, accepting the tumbler of whiskey from Trace. "One day where we're not worrying and panicking and fighting an uphill battle that will never end."

  Trace sat down opposite me. It was one in the morning, my Ashford was in bed sleeping after I'd tucked her in with a heavy heart and aching limbs, and my cousin and I were in the parlour, drinking and smoking. It was a Saturday thing—had been before life and love and lust had got in the way. I'd made a point of calling him in tonight, while my mind was reeling and I'd pushed Trixie too far to ask her to carry me. I'd never do that. I'd never trust her as much a man should trust his wife, because there were too many secrets I could never expose. It was my burden to bear, not hers. But I did blame her for one thing. Alexander fucking Addison. I knew him—knew him well, in fact. While I'd worked under my father at the bank, sitting at a desk all day in the downstairs office, stamping contracts exchanging money for life, Alex had worked in the security office at the front of the building. There was always the risk that someone would storm in and demand their fortune back, and Alex would be on hand to remind them who they'd dealt with, and usher them out the door before they could cause a scene. We'd spoken. We'd laughed over menial things such as European football, or a Hollywood movie portraying romanticism and hope. We'd sat together on the first floor and drank decadent brandy while smoking Cuban cigars. Alex hadn't been in deep enough to need to be treated like a dog. He was low enough down that he somehow became an equal, a peer; someone who offered a short break from the life I led in lieu of something modern. Something casual. Something that had all been a lie. I couldn't remember the exact date he'd been promoted to one of the Sectors. I couldn't remember if he'd been assigned to 2, 3 or 4. But now I knew. He'd worked for Richard, been in his home where my Ashford lived. He'd seen her, knew who she was; he'd befriended her under the cover of mutual attraction...and he'd fucked her. He'd been inside her. She'd clawed at his back. He'd sucked her soft flesh. She'd clamped around him, drawn him deeper. He'd filled her, heard her euphoric cries.

  "Elias?"

  I leant forward and pinched the bridge of my nose. The images were too much. The betrayal was too far-rooted. Alex knew he wasn't permitted to touch us. Any of us. That included Trixie...especially Trixie.

  "Do you remember Alex Addison?" I asked Trace, hating the way a name I'd once said with fondness now burnt my tongue with venom and bitterness.

  "The guy from the bank? Yeah, he came to work for us a few years ago."

  How long had he been around Trixie before they'd fucked two years ago? How long had he watched her for? How long had he had to map out her features, read the way her body moved, listen to the siren-song that played whenever she was near?

  "He fucked your sister."

  I hated that I'd dropped the bombshell, but I was relieved someone else could feel the sting, drown in the imagery that was as good as taboo in this life, and I was glad it was Trace. I knew he would feel the betrayal as strongly as I did. They'd been friends. Perhaps they still were.

  "Jesus!" He swatted his hand through the air, batting away the sick montage playing tricks on his vision. "What the hell, Eli?"

  I shrugged. "I told you someone knew your sister. Fucking her isn't as bad as it gets."

  "What are you talking about? And stop staying that. I get it, I heard you, now stop."

  "The twelve bodies. Remember I told you whoever did it knew your sister?" Trace nodded. "He knew her intimately."

  "Elias, why me?" Trace groaned, resting his head back on the sofa and shoving fisted hands to his eyes.

  "I know this is awkward, but we've seen worse. Your sister is a woman. Don't pretend you didn't know she was sexually active, and don't pretend that Trixie and sexual torture in one entity aren't possible. Grow a pair and help me deal with this." Trace made no sound, but he didn't have to. He knew I was right. He had to close himself off and treat her like any other woman.

  "Go on," he said without moving.

  "She's had two sexual partners. Some schmuck in a bar or something. It's not him, although I'm tracking down CCTV footage to serve him a lesson on why he shouldn't touch drunk women. The second is Alex. Alex is the only one with a connection to Trixie and GRIT. It has to be him."

  "Okay." He sighed. "So Alex worked at the estate. He was tasked with watching over Trixie and they...cool. Okay. I get that part, but why would he have anything to do with what happened at the house?"

  "Because there was a portrait left behind, of your sister in all her naked glory that was far too fucking accurate for me to ignore."

  Raising his hands, Trace grimaced. "I get it. So we'll put him under surveillance. Maybe he drew the portrait and it was planted. They were killed with poison, Elias. That isn't something a man with an agenda would do. I don't understand where his motive would come from."

  "Maybe we're dealing with a team. Maybe there are more. I'm not satisfied with Hamish’s conclusion. None of it makes any fucking sense."

  "Have you been to the club?" Trace asked, whipping me in the other direction.

  "No."

  "Maybe you should."

  "I don't need to."

  "But..." He shut up pretty quickly. "You didn't."

  "One minute you're grimacing at the thought of your sister fucking an employee and the next you're asking if your cousin made her bleed. Make your choice, Trace. You either want to know, or you don't."

  "I already do." He sighed again, conflict marring his soft features. "Just...be careful."

  "I know what I'm doing."

  "Yeah, that's what he said."

  I wasn't the first Blackwood to suffer a fetish where death was a very real—and common—occurrence. But I would control it. I had done my entire life, and protecting Trixie was far more important to me than smothering us both in her blood.

  "I'm not him."

  "Okay." Trace tossed the rest of his drink back and reached for the bottle to refill. "So what do we do?"

  "Where’s Addison?"

  "He works at Ashford House."

  "I want him out on the streets. If they get him, they get him, but I want him out of your home. Put him to work on the streets, keep him the fuck away from me and Trixie, and have him watched at all times. I want to know where he goes, who sees, how many times he jacks off."

  "Got it."

  "How's Annabella doing?" I asked, changing subject as I imagined my once-was friend pumping his dick to thoughts of my wife. My blood began to boil.

  Thoughts of Annabella calm
ed me. They became the soothing I needed when Ashford was upstairs, no doubt pissed off with how far I'd pushed her, and disgusted by what she now knew about me. I'd seen it in her eyes. Disgust. I knew I was vile and now she did, too. The one woman who could have calmed the demons now knew they existed and she'd lost all power to control their urges.

  "She's fine. Adjusting to work and life on the estate. It's amazing, how together she is after everything she's been through. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was one of us. She's strong. She's funny, too. Her English improves by the day, and I'm working on finding out if she was born here."

  I frowned. So she'd been smuggled out just to be trafficked back in. It didn't make sense, but this was Trace's domain and he knew what he was doing. He'd returned women who had been brought in from the most remote parts of the planet and if Annabella was English by blood, he'd find out.

  "You think she was?"

  He nodded. "Certain mannerisms. Could be environmental factors, but she says bloody a lot."

  "Bloody?"

  "Bloody this, bloody that. The bloody bread rolls were too hot the other day."

  He laughed. He'd bonded with her. I felt a pang of sadness; he missed Trixie, and he'd taken Annabella on as a surrogate. He'd protect her, I knew that. He'd help heal her, I knew that too. My only worry was that she'd become another Katya. I wasn't sure Trace could take it.

  "Stop analysing me," he said with a laugh. "I'm just helping the girl adjust."

  "Of course you are."

  "Have you told Trixie about the ball yet?" His turn to change the subject.

  "No. I'm going to surprise her."

  "So there's a heart inside there somewhere." He leaned forward to punch my chest, but I caught his wrist and shoved him away.

  "Don't touch it. It's so fragile, it'll disintegrate," I said, blowing out a cloud as I spoke.