Rose knew from the moment it happened that this was the beginning of the end for her.

Although she had known for a long time that, given the opportunity, her eldest brother would be ruthless, she never expected him to actually get the chance. With her mother and father gone, though, he could now do whatever he pleased.

It took several weeks for the situation to escalate. Charles Moore had suddenly become one of the richest and most famous businessmen in the country, inheriting his father's wealth and horse racing business, along with all of his responsibilities and contacts. That much power handed out in such a short space of time did even worse things to the young man's head; he became twisted and paranoid, determined to make the business even greater. On the side, they all knew he still ran his whore house down in Birmingham – he said that was his own little claim to fame. Personally, Rose thought it was sick.

At first, it was not too bad for his younger sister. Although he often spoke to her like she was his maid, just a low-born peasant, initially the beatings never occurred unless she spoke against him in some way. But in a short amount of time they began to get worse. Even looking at him in the wrong way could secure Rose a black eye in a second, and her younger brother who had tried his hardest to protect her, had been turfed out onto the streets by Charles. He had promised Rose he would write to her when he could, but as yet there had been no word, or her older brother had intercepted the mail.

Either way, Rose was losing hope. She had been accustomed to a privileged life where she was treated by her family and those who knew them like royalty. In the business world, her family practically had been royalty, respected by all. Since Charles took over that respect had dwindled drastically, even more so than it had when her mother had been in charge. There was nothing she could do, though. Rose felt helpless, but she had yet to find out exactly how twisted her eldest brother really was.

It happened one morning, early. As the sun creeped over the distant hills, Charles Moore was restless. Bored. Being powerful, it seemed to him, was not all it had been cracked up to be; the important meetings and large sums of money soon grew tiresome to handle, as everything became routine. Routine was not what Charles wanted. No, not at all. And he knew exactly how he could amuse himself.

Rose's translucent lids fluttered open as a soft beam of sun fell across her porcelain skin, and she felt the warmth dance over her face. She smiled a little bit and the serenity of the moment. But then she remembered what had happened to her, and who she was. Any smiles falling on her supple lips never lasted nowadays. How could she be happy when she had nothing left in the world. Not even her sweet younger brother, Freddie.

The young girl's reverie was interrupted abruptly by the sharp rap of knuckles against her door. She opened her mouth to tell whoever it was to come in, but before she had the chance the door swung open. Into the room stepped Charles, already adorned in a fancy suit and coat. On his head he wore a hat – he looked like he was going somewhere.

'Come in,' Rose griped at him sarcastically, her voice rumbling in her chest as she had only just awoken. Why on earth was he bothering her at such an unearthly hour as this? Surely nothing could be that important, could it?

'Ahh, my sweet young sister, it is most pleasing to learn that you have not lost your charm as you slept.' Charles took a step further into her room, and his stance seemed authoritative. It sent a cold shiver down her spine.

'But of course I have not,' she smiled sweetly at him, 'your mere presence invokes such delight inside of me.'

Her older brother's previously blank expression suddenly turned cold, and it was as if all the air in the room had been sucked out. His thick eyebrows bunched together and the crinkles in his forehead added years to him. It was safe to say that Charles looked nothing like his deceased father, Rose noted.

'Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Rose,' he chided, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. The noise rang in her ears. 'Now get up and dressed. I have business to tend to and you are needed.'

The young girl yawned in an exaggerated manor, unable to stop taunting her brother no matter how harsh she knew the repercussions may be. But it was strange, today. She got no rise from the proud young man; not so much as the flicker of his balled up fist. No, instead he was composed and cool. Purposeful, even. It worried Rose just what that purpose may be, although she suspected he would be using her as a means of interesting his fellow business associates; a pretty young girl never goes amiss with slimy, rich men.

'Why on earth do you need me with you?' Rose wondered, stretching her arms out above her head. In the sunlight which caught them, her deep purple bruises seemed even more harsh. She quickly retracted her arms and hid them beneath the fold of covers. 'Are you too afraid to face the nasty businessmen alone?'

'Shut the fuck up you little whore. And wear something nice…something…sexy.'

Rose opened her mouth to argue, but before she had the chance Charles had left the room with a swish of his coat.

It wasn't until she was certain he had left that she allowed the tears to finally come. She wasn't a weak person – or at least she had not been, before her mother and father's deaths. She had been strong and independent; that's how she'd always liked it. Her mother had used to say it was down to her fiery red curls. Rose just thought it was being brought up around two brothers. A girl has to learn to stand up for herself in a man's world. But since grief had consumed her every day, it was hard to stay strong in front of anyone, let alone Charles. She pretended that his words did not hurt her, but the truth was that they hurt her more than the bruises she felt on her skin. She missed her father and her mother, it was true. What she missed more than anything was her sense of independence.

She had to snap out of this, Rose finally decided as she swiped the back of her hand across her damp cheeks. She had to stay strong and survive this. She had to escape, if she could find a way, but for now all she could do was comply with her brother's demands to keep herself safe. She slipped out of bed at long last, her feet shocked by the cool wooden floorboards against them.

Wear something sexy, Charles had told her. She would do no such thing. Just because she was being controlled by a monster, that did not mean she was going to start losing the ways of wealth and glamour she had learnt all her life. Rose threw open the door to her clothes room with a large sigh, wondering what on earth she could wear that her brother would find acceptable. It would help if he actually told her the occasion.

Her fingers caressed all of her beautiful ball gowns and dresses, each one silky and soft to the touch, intricately designed by the finest makers. But which one should she choose? Sexy she knew that she certainly could not do, even if she did want to, but stunning – she knew a little about that. Red. That was what she needed. The colour of danger and death, yet ironically love and lust also.

She paced around the room one final time before her small hand curled around the soft material of a long red dress. It would have to do – if her brother wouldn't tell her what it was he wanted then how the hell could she be expected to comply?

With the elegance of a pixie she slipped the dress on, noting how it fell ever so slightly looser over her tiny frame. She must have lost weight since..what happened.

'Rose!' She heard her brother yell at her from the other side of the door, his voice loud and angry. She could practically smell the alcohol on his breath. 'What on earth are you doing in there, why are you not ready yet?! I don't have all bloody day you know.'

With a quick roll of her eyes Rose pinned the sides of her hair back in elegant twists which met at the back, before sliding on a pair of shoes and rushing to the door. She opened it hesitantly, worried about the sort of state she might find her brother in. Since he inherited his father's wealth, more and more of it had been spent on fine alcohol; wines, whiskies, rums – you name it, Charles drank it. A lot of it. He was becoming a raging drunk.

'There's my gorgeous Rosie,' her brother smirked arrogantly as he eyed her up and down. Rose wanted to be sick at the way he gawked at her. It was like she was some cheap prostitute. 'Don't you look dashing on this fine day.'

'It is a shame that you do not,' the young girl quipped back, eyeing his shirt which had been buttoned up wrong. He was a mess. But when he was a mess, she knew that Charles Moore was also his most dangerous.

'Don't you start with me, lady.'

Rose averted her gaze, noting the serious brutality he carried in his grizzly tones today. He meant business, and so it was best to leave it be. 'Sorry.'

'Red, hmm? The colour of love? I think not. But lust and anger…perhaps. Come, sister, we must leave.'

Charles took her hand tightly in his own, practically crushing it. Rose pulled her underskirts up with her spare hand as they raced down the grand staircase, clearly in a hurry to get to god knows where.

Rose hadn't been scared of where her brother was taking her. And that was her first mistake.

They took the car, just her and him. That was the first thing she noticed was strange about this little jaunt out. Normally, Charles always made sure he had protection in the form of some of his men around when he was going to important meetings. And he only ever allowed Rose to go anywhere when it was one of those meetings. So why was everything different now? Where were they going?

During the drive, Charles kept a careful eye on his younger sister. She sat beside him, hands in lap, wearing the most attractive dress he had ever seen her in. Not that her beauty or innocence would be any matter to him, anyway. But he needed her to look her best. And she did. Each violet bruise blossoming on her skin was a mark to show that she belonged to him, and him only. He could do what he pleased with her…and he intended to.

The car sped along the winding roads and narrow lanes as the pair of siblings got closer and closer to their destination. By the time they had almost arrived, Charles was practically itching with anticipation. Rose, on the other hand, was half-asleep. Her soft and ample chest rose gently with each breath she took. The young man couldn't help but stare at her, as she slept. This girl with fiery red hair, full of innocence and determination. Yes, he could make use of her. Very good use.

If only Rose had known exactly where Charles was taking her.

/

Hi there! I hope you're enjoying this story so far – I love writing it, however I have to apologise, my writing may be a little rusty as I'm not used to writing in third person at the moment. If you like it then leave me a review! I'm so obsessed with Peaky Blinders right now, it has become my favourite show. Also Tommy Shelby. All I'm saying.

Ellie x