Elias (GRIT Sector 1) Page 4

  Silence. Too silent. The quiet music that Seb had chosen to relax our guests played softly in the showroom next door, but the quiet chatter had stopped. I couldn’t hear Seb’s voice, which was the real warning.

  Something was wrong.

  Someone was here.

  I prayed it wasn’t Lion Man. I prayed I hadn’t detonated his bomb, pulled his trigger…convinced him to call his friends in to ruin us all. Time slowed down and stretched out as I waited for something—anything—to come from the other room. I stepped back slowly, reaching behind me for the door of the walk-in refrigerator. I’d sooner die of chill than let one of them take me away. I pulled the handle down slowly, hearing the crack of rubber as the door opened. The hinges squeaked and tickled the appliances into another metallic echo. It was like ripping off a bandage. I had to do it quickly. I tore the door open the rest of the way and launched myself inside the fridge, rushing to the corner to curl up in a ball to stay warm, to look small, to feel safe and to hide. I couldn’t let them find me. I rested my forehead on my knees and closed my eyes. I took deep breaths and listened for signs of life.

  Trace had said he would assign protection. That was all I could think about as the seconds disappeared with the whirring of the refrigerator and I began to feel epically cold. Winters in the city were harsh, but fridges were harsher. Much harsher. I reminded myself that it was summer, that I’d be warm when I got out of here, and I reminded myself that my brother would keep me safe. He’d told me he would, and he’d never let me down.

  I didn’t want to work here. In truth, I wanted to draw. Like Reaper I drew pictures of the real world. I drew pictures of real life, real people and real pain. Pain that gave me comfort to depict, like I was able to bleed mine out onto the page. Richard had asked me to work for Sebastian, not long after I’d graduated college. No, he hadn’t asked. He’d ordered. That was how the Ashford’s worked. Everyone had a responsibility—a job they were assigned by the elders and while my brother, cousins I’d never met and second cousins I would probably never meet were brought into the family business, I was sent to work for Seb, to be at his beck and call until Richard told me otherwise.

  If Richard hadn’t been so interested in my boss, in the building or surrounding area, I would have been at home drawing, reading with Ruby…or maybe I would have gotten out. Maybe I’d be beyond the perimeters, away from blockades and barriers.

  Maybe.

  But right now I was in a fridge…which was next to the fire exit with stairs to the outside world.

  For Christ’s sake.

  I heard muffled footsteps and prayed they were Trace’s. Someone was in the kitchen; I could hear the door swinging back and forth, and still there was no other sound. Just footsteps. One set. I listened carefully as they stopped, rounded the island and approached the fridge. My heart swelled until it felt like it would burst through my chest. My hands clamped onto my shins, numb from the cold and frozen in fear. My eyes squeezed shut and I refused to open them until it was time. I didn’t want to die, I didn’t want to see it coming, but I wanted to see it happen. I wanted to know if my imagination had done what I’d drawn justice. Would they ever be found? Would they be sold off as the scribbles of the stupid girl who had let herself get caught? Almost twice in twenty-four hours. I couldn’t get lucky twice, could I?

  I would later discover that no. I wouldn’t die tonight, but I was in no way lucky. I should have left out of the fire exit and risked what lied beneath.

  The handle of the fridge squeaked and slowly the door opened. I didn’t look. I couldn’t. But I heard the footsteps stop. Then I heard a chuckle. It was colder than the temperature in my hide-out. It was filled with amusement at my hiding place, not because ‘oh, hey, she hid in a fridge. At least she was trying to stay alive,’ but because ‘Oh look, she hid in a fridge. A fucking fridge, for God’s sake.’

  “What are you doing?”

  Lion Man. I knew it. He was from the underground. He’d tricked me into talking to him, and he’d killed our guests. Seb! He was an idiot, but I hadn’t wanted him to die.

  “Go away!” I said, my voice muffled from talking into my crotch. At least I still had enough heat inside me to ignite the area between my legs that I wished would freeze over first. I didn’t want this reaction to the man who was going to kill me.

  “Trixie.”

  My head shot up, my eyes snapping to his as he stood leaning in the doorway, refusing to be stupid enough to step into a fridge, let alone hide in one.

  “How do you know my name?” I asked, the panic rising. “Who are you?”

  “Get up.”

  “No.”

  “Get up.” That one was more of a growl. If he was going to kill me I’d make him work for it.

  “No.”

  “I’m not going to ask you again. Get. Up.”

  “I’m not going to say it again. Nnnn…Ohhh.”

  He shook his head, seeming shocked at my audacity to want to hold onto my life for a little while longer.

  “Are you always so stupid?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Language.” He snapped. He barked like a dog and it took everything I had not to laugh. Another prat who didn’t think women should swear. Well, I’d made sure I was his most annoying victim ever.

  “Fuck you and fuck your underground.”

  His lips twisted. The corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t. He didn’t smile, he didn’t smirk, he didn’t even blink…and I wasn’t sure he ever did. I knew we lived in a doomed land, but I didn’t think we’d reached the supernatural point yet.

  “You want to be careful what you say, Trixie Ashford. I can assure you, your father will be disappointed to hear of your disrespect for the name you carry.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He sighed. The expletives really were getting to him, and he looked bored. I was boring him. Good. Maybe he’d fall asleep and I could get out of here. I didn’t even care how he knew my name anymore. I just wanted to get out.

  “Are you cold?” he asked, his lips doing that twitch thing again.

  Was it bad that I wanted to make him laugh? That I’d suddenly set myself a goal to make him guffaw. And I hated that word. Today really wasn’t going according to how I’d planned when I’d only been three minutes late this morning.

  “Fucking freezing.”

  He didn’t like being goaded. His nostrils flared, his eyes flashed with anger…I smirked.

  “You are impossible. Stop swearing. Stop the swearing and get up…and I’ll let you live.”

  “I don’t deal with the devil. Go away and I’ll get up. And since you’ll be gone, you won't hear me call you a-”

  He surged into the fridge then, like a ninja or something—so fast and fluid I didn’t see it happening. He grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me to my feet; my knees cracked on the way up. They’d started getting used to the cold and had settled in for the long haul.

  “I told you to stop swearing.”

  “Whatever. You’re going to kill me anyway, how can you punish me worse than that?”

  He shook his head. “You have no idea.”

  Lion Man pulled me from the fridge, carrying most of my body weight in my struggle to keep up. He had a few inches on me, a load of muscle and enough testosterone that I was sure he could have hauled a truck behind him as well as me.

  Once out of the fridge he stopped, turned and carelessly dumped me on the counter. When I thought it was time to die, he patted my thighs as if gluing me to the spot and took his jacket off. When he settled it over my shoulders and locked me inside it by doing up the buttons, my skin prickled. He smelt good and God damn, I loved a man in a mask. But I hated masks. The cold must have been getting to me. There was something about him that became magnetic and it was an effort not to lean closer to him. But actually, my skin was prickling because he wasn’t going to kill me. Which meant one thing.

  Richard would.

  “You’re the protection
, aren’t you?” I asked with a wince as he rubbed my arms roughly.

  There was nothing caring in his touch. He was simply warming me up because it was his job to keep me alive. I had a feeling he’d be in more trouble if he arrived home with a frozen Trixie Ashford than he would if the underground had swallowed me up.

  “Unfortunately.”

  He didn’t look at me, instead keeping his gaze fixed behind me as he continued to rub my arms and shoulders.

  “Sorry.”

  He didn’t say anything. I wasn’t really sorry, either. That was the most fun, the biggest rush I’d felt in a long time, and I wanted to do it again. I wanted to feel that again, to tease something that was entirely absent in him…but he’d played. I knew he’d had a little fun, even beneath the tough security-man exterior, and I wanted to do it again.

  “No,” he whispered as if reading my mind. “Behave yourself.”

  I pouted. He looked briefly, but kept a stoic expression and looked away, removing his jacket and shoving his arms into it.

  “Go and get your coat.”

  “But…”

  “Now.”

  He stepped back and I slid from the counter. I turned to face the exit and paused.

  “What is it?” Lion Man asked.

  “My coat is out there.”

  “So go and get it. I don’t have all day, Trixie.”

  “It’s night-time.” He growled. I jumped, both feet leaving the floor before I stumbled a step and righted myself. “Okay, okay. Anyone ever told you you’re impossible?”

  “You have no idea.”

  I nodded. I didn’t. I wanted to, though.

  “Is it safe?”

  A hand on my shoulder shoved me through the door and out into the empty loft. There were no bodies, there was no blood…there were no signs of a struggle. It was just empty. I said nothing as Lion Man led me to the cloakroom and I collected my jacket, noting that the other guests’ items were gone, too. I was confused. For the first time since he’d found me in the fridge, I was speechless. I didn’t want to antagonise or play or be that annoying woman that probably would have earned me a punch in the face before I’d gotten home unscathed. I just wanted to go home. Lion Man said he was my protection, but he was the only person here, alive or otherwise. What was he protecting me from if everyone was gone?

  Himself.

  He didn’t push me to hurry. He allowed me to embrace my confusion and afforded me some time to come up with my theories. I had none. There was no reason for the loft to be evacuated if there was no threat from the underground, and they always made a mess.

  “I’m done,” I said, holding my jacket in both hands in front of my legs. “Can I go home now?”

  He nodded once and gestured for me to lead the way. I did, passing him to exit the cloakroom, careful not to touch him and set him off again, and made my way across the eerily empty space to the stairs.

  “Wait.”

  He reached out and grabbed the top of my arm to stop me, then he stepped next to me and threw his arm around my shoulder, folding my body into the side of his. I’d never felt so safe in my whole life…so safe and in danger. I knew why he was holding me. He couldn’t protect me from behind, because of a frontal attack. He couldn’t protect me from in front; they could grab me before he’d even noticed we had company. Holding me like this, this close and intimately, although I was convinced he’d seldom experienced either, was the only way to keep me safe. I wanted to thank him, but I didn’t think he was here because he wanted to be. I didn’t think he cared either way, as long as he was getting paid. I wanted to say something because we were about to step out into the jungle, into the corporate free-for-all. There was the risk we wouldn’t make it and I didn’t want the last thing I said to him to be a tease.

  “Ready?” he asked, his deep, husky voice resonating through his body and mine.

  I nodded against him, my chin brushing his chest. He stiffened as if I’d burned him, but recovered quickly and led us down the stairs out into the street.

  The car waiting for us was flashy and bulked up with reinforcements. It had probably once been a Range Rover, but now it looked like a tank…an expensive, modern tank, like something a superhero would drive to plough through crowds of villains…maybe that’s what he did. Trace had said it was going to be a blood bath. Maybe he’d sent someone who was prepared to knock through the killers like bowling pins.

  I wished I could go bowling…

  The door lifted up—not open, up—and Lion Man turned his body to cover me like a shield while he shoved me inside and closed the door. He didn’t rush to the driver’s side. He sauntered. He took the time to smooth down the suit protecting me had obviously disturbed, and he took the time to run his hands through his unruly hair. It was the only thing about him that wasn’t textbook perfection; different to Trace, but perfect all the same. He unbuttoned his jacket, opened the door to place it on the backseat of the tank, and then he rolled his sleeves up to the elbow before sliding in next to me and locking the doors. Bolts slid across the opening, some sort of cage fell over the windows and there was a whirring sound of locks I couldn’t see.

  “This is really something.”

  “Isn’t it?” he deadpanned, a strange imitation of our earlier conversation. He didn’t like this car. It wasn’t his.

  He shoved the keys into the ignition, hit a button on the dashboard and the tank hummed to life. He peeled away from the loft, screeching along the deserted streets like there weren’t people out there waiting to kill us.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer, but I could sense that it wasn’t out of not wanting to talk, or being rude. Which was new. I felt like we were making some progress. He didn’t answer because he wanted me to elaborate. I was a woman of many words…very few of them actually made any sense.

  “One minute I was opening champagne and the next I’m hiding in a fridge because I heard a gunshot...”

  “A gunshot, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were popping corks, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “There are many sayings I could recite about paranoia, Trixie.”

  There were. I’d popped a cork. There was no reason I couldn’t have imagined the sound. I was always wound up and on edge—I could have imagined it. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

  “And then you hid inside a fridge?”

  “I did.”

  “Because of the gunshot?”

  “Yes.”

  Pause. For dramatic effect, maybe? As if this guy wasn’t dramatic enough.

  “Interesting.”

  “Well…?” I reminded him that I wanted an answer.

  “I’m not sure my story can beat gunshots and hiding in fridges.”

  “Try me.”

  “I like to deal with art in private.”

  “What?”

  He glanced at me as he made a screeching turn around the corner.

  “I bought some of the pieces and I wanted the loft to myself to do it in.”

  “You bought a couple of pieces? Just like that?”

  He nodded once, his lips twitching again, and then his eyes returned to the road. They didn’t need to. He was driving too fast to be able to see where he was going. He had the roads memorised.

  “Just like that.”

  “Security must pay pretty handsomely.”

  “Maybe it does.”

  Maybe it does? What was that supposed to mean? Either it did or it didn’t…and it did. He’d bought…

  “What did you buy?” Silence. No answer. This was usually the point where I’d say someone’s name to get their attention. Only I didn’t know his name. “Excuse me?” I settled for instead, which sounded entirely too formal and inappropriate for a man who was driving me to safety…and away from where I lived. “Where are we going?”

  I wanted to smack the smirk off his face when the corner of his mouth raised up and taunted me.

  “
Which question would you like me to answer first?”

  “Are you going to answer any of them?”

  “Is that your first question? I’d ask them wisely if I were you. You don’t know how many you will get.”

  “What did you buy?”

  “Art.”

  This guy thought he was funny. I wouldn’t admit it aloud, but I was having fun. I was frustrated too, but I’d take that over death any day.

  “Which pieces did you buy?”

  “Careful,” he warned. “Is that really of importance here?”

  “Yes.”

  “In answer to your second question, my name is not ‘excuse me’. It’s Elias.”

  “Elias?” I tested the name on my tongue, on my lips, and I imagined how it would sound when I said it with confidence, in my bed…or his. Maybe that’s where we were going.

  “Behave,” he chastised. How could he read my mind and feel my reaction if he was so unaffected by being in the car with me? I was drowning in his conflicting pheromones and clawing at every little piece he offered, toying with the hostility we shared and playing with the flames that had sparked deep inside me the first time I met him standing in front of…

  “You bought it, didn’t you? Reaper’s piece.”

  “In answer to your third question, I’m taking you to Ashford House.”

  “Am I granted another question?”

  “Try me, and you’ll find out.”

  “Why are we going to Ashford House?”

  He shrugged. Was that an answer or did he have a twitch? I couldn’t tell. After a minute of silence, of me staring at him and waiting for him to tell me why we were going to the house I’d been banned from to wait for summoning, I continued my one-way conversation.

  “Why the full face mask?” I asked, wondering what he looked like beneath it; if he’d be soft and subtle or chiselled and edgy. I knew what colour his eyes were—dark like him—but I wanted to know what the rest of him looked like…all of the rest of him. I let my eyes slide from his masked face to his lap, where strong legs worked the pedals and his right foot pressed down on the accelerator when I’d assumed it was already touching the floor.