With a sigh, she stepped from the train. Scowling at the stink that filled her nose. She couldn't help but to stare at those around her. Fair-skinned and pudgy, they all looked the same to her. She knew she stood out. She was chosen, specifically, for that purpose. Seeing as her father took it upon himself to clear his debt with a fucking racketeer, using his only daughter.

She pushed through the crowd, her eyes landing on a slim, middle-aged looking man. A sign between his fingers told her, he was who she was looking for.

He didn't even look at her twice once she approached him, merely guided her to the car awaiting her arrival outside of the station. She didn't know much about Billy Kimber, but she knew he was a wealthy man with a taste for fixing races, particularly in Islington, North London. It's how her father got caught up with the gangster. Originating from New York, his trip to London nearly cost him his life, until he'd used her as a bargaining chip.

She had been to London once; her father's second marriage. Her mother passed after she was born, so her father was really the only parental figure she had. A drunk, gambling bastard, she'd learned to get by with the skills she acquired from her childhood friends. Not the best group, but she managed to be the only one who was never arrested. That's when he met Billy Kimber and dug his own grave- or mine, she thought to herself.

As they drove through the city, she gazed out at the crowded buildings, the dirty kids running around as they played their games. She wanted to be happy and smile, be grateful to be away from the bastard. But, being alone in a foreign place was unnerving. Especially when she was being sold to a man who seemed to be the ring leader of North London.

"Ms. Pearce?" The drivers voice pulled her from her sightseeing and she looked to him with an eyebrow raised, "we're arriving at Mr. Kimber's home."

Groaning internally, she nodded, forcing herself to relax in the backseat of the Bentley.

As they pulled up the driveway, the size of the house took her by surprise. She had never seen a house like this in person, only in movies. There was an open field that circled the house and the rustic look of the building made her feel homesick. Wealthy, he was.

As the door opened, she could barely bring herself to take the gloved hand offered to her. Her nerves were starting to get the best of her. She felt nauseous, her stomach flipping over itself.

Biting it back, she allowed the driver to guide her to the entrance of the house. Within minutes, she was sitting across from the infamous Billy Kimber. As she looked over him, she concluded he resembled a rat. His ears came out and his jawline was nearly non-existent. He was a lanky man with a god-awful accent. She knew the British accents were heavy, but this man seemed to exaggerate every word he said, which thickened the accent furthermore.

"Ms. Pearce, you are aware of why you're here, yes?" His expression was an amused one and she had to fight the scowl that tugged at her lips.

"Yes, sir." She spoke, her voice soft, but loud enough for him to hear.

"Good. Stand up for me." He clapped his hands together, impatient, when she hesitated, and she stood quickly. His eyes bore into every inch of visible skin as he circled her, drawing the nausea back, "Mr. Pearce wasn't fibbing, now was he? You're a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart."

She cringed at the way he said the pet name. Hearing it come from his mouth was like hearing a father trying to seduce a daughter and seeing as this man was nearly old enough to be her father, it sickened her more.

"Now- you, Ms. Pearce, will be very valuable to me," he began, sitting back in his chair and she took her seat, "In Small Heath, I am having an itch I can't scratch." Tossing a file in front of her, she took it and flipped it open. A small photograph was paper-clipped at the corner of a gorgeous man in a World War One uniform, along with a name. He continued as she scanned over the profile, "Thomas Shelby, presumably around 30. Served in the First World War. Thinks he's a right man because he served, but a huge pain in my ass. Stealing my money, multiple of my men killed, etcetera."

"Sorry- but, how am I supposed to help with this man?" She questioned, eyeing Kimber closely.

"I know you're American, education isn't as advanced, but I know you're not that dull in the head." His insult made her frown, but she forced herself not to roll her eyes. "You will keep Mr. Shelby company. Learn his plans and reciprocate them to me."

She didn't know what the man had planned, but she honestly didn't want to know.

"So, you will be staying in your own apartment in Small Heath, it's a block from the Garrison Pub. I think they're hiring for a barmaid, so why not get another job while you're at it. You will report to me, once a week, leading up to the races, as well as after. I need to know everything that bastard is planning."

"Alright," was all she could manage to say as Kimber stood and gestured for her to follow him back out to the car.

She was confused, but she knew not to question and risk angering him.

"Now, keep this in mind," he began, closing her door behind her as she settled into her seat, "if I get shot, you die. If I die, you die. It'd be a waste with a pretty face like yours." He said it all with a matter-of-fact smile and a peppy tone. She wished she could rid herself of this man already.

After wishing her farewell and half an hour of uncomfortable silence, she was brought into her new home. It was a quaint house, no dust in sight. It had been taken care of. It reminded her of her home.

She unpacked her belongings, eyes wandering along the vintage wallpaper. This house, she knew, had a story and it sparked her curiosity to see what the rest of the town was like.

Changing into a simple black dress, she pinned her hair back, allowing a few brown curls to frame her heart-shaped face. She checked her reflection in the mirror before making her way towards the Garrison. Mr. Kimber had been very precise with his directions and, being new to the country, she figured she'd better follow them and avoid getting lost and risking her safety.

An older man was in the middle of cleaning the empty bar when she walked in and he seemed surprised to see her.

"How can I help you?" He asked, not minding her as he continued to sweep the dirty floor.

"I saw you're looking for a bar-maid," she spoke softly, forcing a smile on her lips as she gazed around the bar.

"Not from around here, are ya?" He stopped, leaning against his broom with a curious expression.

"No. New York, actually." She brushed a curl behind her ear before taking the chance to show him, rather than let him decide she wouldn't be worth the time. She knew women were hardly even allowed in bars without a man on their arm in Birmingham. She had done her research and the way he watched her with caution showed he was on the verge of kicking her out.

Making her way around the bar, she hummed softly to herself, taking the spit cans and emptying them one-by-one. Her hums turned to a soft tune, one she knew from her childhood. In The Bleak Midwinter began to echo within the empty room and the man watched her, astonished.

As the song came to a finish, she gave a small curtsy as he clapped, a grin on his worn face.

"What's your name?" He asked, setting his broom to the side as he gestured for her to come to the bar.

Taking a seat, she gave him her best smile, "Eve. Short for Evelyn."

"Well, Eve, welcome aboard." He held his hand out and she shook on it.

The Garrison was rather busy, she thought, as the men poured in later in the evening. Many gave her a wary glance as she served them, but a flirty smile was all she needed to ease them of their concern. Some made remarks about her accent, but she waved it off. Simply stating she needed a new start- not a complete lie.

A man caught her eye as he sauntered in, the bar going quiet, yet she continued to work. However, from her peripheral vision, she watched as he disappeared into the snug by the door. Her curiosity peaked, though, she focused on her job as man after man declared another round.

"Is it always this busy?" She shouted to Harry, who merely laughed, shaking his head.

"Not quite. These boys are on their way to a football game; St. Andrews." He replied, laughing at her confused expression to whatever the place he spoke of.

She fought the urge to blush, fighting it off as she filled drink after drink.

"Hello!" A voice rung out, catching her attention as she turned to the window that connected the snug to the bar.

Blue eyes pierced hers as she made her way to the small opening. His picture didn't do him any favors. In person, Thomas Shelby was a strikingly beautiful man. His jaw was chiseled, as if sculpted by an artist themselves. He hesitated, surprised at the sight of her, as she lifted an eyebrow in question. He seemed to catch himself.

"I need a bottle of rum." His eyes dropped to his wallet as he pulled out a bill.

"Eve? Whatever it is, it's on the house." Harry whispered into her ear and she narrowed her eyebrows at this.

"A whole bottle?" She asked, to which he nodded, "dark or white?"

"Don't care." He spoke lowly, uninterested.

Doing as she was told, she took a bottle of dark rum from the shelf and brought it to him, sitting it on the counter of the open window, "Harry said it's on the house."

"You're not from here, are you?" This caught her by surprise and she nodded, her accent giving her away. He seemed to be in thought as he watched her carefully.

His gaze unnerved her, entirely. She felt as if she were being accessed for an exam she just failed. After a moment, he left, and she shut the window behind him.

"He's one of them you warned me about." She said to Harry as she slipped behind him, grabbing a mug to fill with beer for a man near the end of the bar.

"Look, Eve, if I say something's on the house, it's on the house to whoever you're serving." He seemed nervous as he ducked his head down, his voice low, "if they decide they want you, there's nothing anybody can do about it." Moving around her, he finished with a sentence that left her curious, "Lucky for you, ever since he got back from France, Tommy doesn't want anybody at all."

Days passed before she saw Thomas again. This time, she just happened to catch him sweet-talking his spooked horse as he made his way to the Garrison. He seemed to be in thought as she stepped out back for a quick smoke break.

She had inhaled her first hit when he caught her eye and she acted surprised to see him as he approached her.

"What's his name?" She asked, taking another drag from her cigarette.

"Doesn't have a name." He retorted, pausing. "Do you have something to say to me, Eve?"

She froze as he spoke her name, she hadn't known he knew her name. Though, she figured Harry possibly told him, seeing as at least one of the Shelby family members were always there.

"I'd like there to be one night a week where singing is allowed." She spoke confidently, forcing her voice not the shake as she tossed her cigarette to the ground, crushing it with her heel, "I think it'd be good for everyone. Saturday nights." She paused, watching as his expression turned to amusement, yet a smile never graced his face. "I figure I'm the only one not scared to ask you, so."

"Yet, you're not?" He questioned, eyeing her as he swept a hand along the mane of his horse.

"I love to sing." She said softly, pressing her lips together to suppress a smile. Singing was therapeutic to her. She remembers learning the songs through her friends parents on the few occasions she was taken along with them to church.

"You may not be from here, but you sound like one of those rich girls who comes from Dublin for the races." Pausing, he moved to the opposite side of his horse, "do you like horses?"

When she didn't answer, he continued, "How do you fancy making some extra money?"

This sparked her interest, "doing what?"

Pulling himself onto his horse, he situated himself as he spoke, "Dig out a nice dress. I want to take you to the races." Before she could agree or deny his invitation, he was off. Disappearing and leaving her lost in thought. Exasperated, she stepped back into the bar.

Later that night, once the drunken men forced themselves home, Eve found herself lighting another cigarette. The stress of so many men really worked on her nerves.

A pounding on the door had her groaning as she moved to the door, surprised to see Thomas there, looking more tired than he had this morning.

"We're closed, Mr. Shelby." She spoke quietly, her eyebrows narrowing as he continued to walk into the bar.

"Just get me a drink." He spoke, sounding annoyed.

Not wanting to irritate the man before her, she did as she was told, watching as he took the bottle of rum and his glass from the bar top.

"Should I leave you alone?" She asked, watching as he flopped down into his seat.

"I came here for company." He said, filling his glass. "Where's Harry?"

"He took the night off…" She said, watching Thomas closely as she moved to sit in the chair across from him. "How's your beautiful horse?"

Leaning back in his seat, he looked at her with something that resembled sadness, "I just put a bullet in his head."

This caught her by surprise and she felt her mouth part at the sudden news.

"Was he lame?" She asked, her eyes meeting the blue she had become used to.

"He looked at me the wrong way," he began, his eyes not leaving hers, "it's not a good idea to look at Thomas Shelby the wrong way." He paused, tipping back his drink and wiping the drops of liquor from his lips, "You know, in France… In France, I got used to seeing men die. Never got used to seeing horses die." He wasn't looking at her now. His gaze elsewhere as he spoke, "They die badly." Pulling a cigarette from his pack, he offered her one and she took it.

"I picked out a dress like you asked." She said, hoping to clear the air and, although she knew the answer, she asked anyways, "Is it Cheltenham you're talking about?"

"The king will be there." He said, shaking out the match after lighting their cigarettes.

"King George?" She asked, sounding surprised which seemed to amuse Thomas.

"Nope. King Billy Kimber and all his men." He said, smiling slightly. The mention of Billy Kimber made her stomach churn uneasily. She was here to fuck over the man before her, and here she was playing with fire. She could die if she made the wrong move.

"And what will I do?" She asked, keeping her nerves at ease as she inhaled more smoke.

"For two pounds, you'll do what I ask you to." He stated.

Narrowing her eyebrows, she put her cigarette out, "I want three." His laugh made her smile as she continued, "if I'm meeting a king, I won't be in a cheap dress, Mr. Shelby."

His eyes didn't mover from hers, he seemed in thought as he considered her conditions.

"It's part of the deal now." She finished, sitting back in her seat and crossing her legs.

"Since when?" He asked, lifting an eyebrow as he studied the woman before him.

"Since you nearly smiled." She watched him carefully as she spoke, the hint of a smile on her lips.

This seemed to catch his interest and he puffed on his cigarette, "Alright. Saturday nights."

A grin formed on her lips at his statement, happy to have one way of calming the men who were so prone to drinking to the point they wanted to kill one another. Birmingham was filled with such angry men, yet her singing seemed to soothe them. They would usually sing along, watching her with adoration as she sung.

She knew this would be a good change and, when he left that night, she left to her house with a sense of satisfaction.