Thomas Shelby closed the door to his lodging before locking it. His quickened step down the stairs was the only sound in the quiet building. The sky was overcast as he shoved his key into his trousers before turning left to walk toward Maze's house. He stifled a yawn as he walked, passing by early morning wanderers and those heading off to a day's work. His mind was filled to the brim with all the events that kept popping up around him.
Days ago, he read the Grimoire, learning about his role as Alpha and his…. attraction to Maze. It stunned him how easy it was to accept that she was his mate. He figured he would fight the idea, claiming it was impossible that she would be his mate, let alone his wife. He dreaded telling her the next time he saw her. Thomas wasn't sure if she was ready to hear the truth. She knew what he was, but didn't know the intricate details of his Pack or his role as Alpha. To her modern senses, it might resemble an arranged marriage. It would be something completely out of her hands and out of her control, as if she didn't have a choice in the matter.
As he continued his journey to her house, he wasn't sure if she would accept his words or run from him. Thomas took a pause. A growing excitement grew in his chest, as it would be interesting to hunt her if she tried to avoid him. Thomas wet his lips in anticipation, but carried on with his journey. As he walked, he sidestepped a large puddle from the rain the night before. Now that he knew what she was to him, it would be hell on him to keep his hands to himself.
The urge to bed her and mark her warred in his mind. He couldn't tell his family nor his Pack. They would demand he mark her by the Vernal Equinox. If she'd been any other woman, he would have done as his Pack demanded. However, he knew Maze wasn't typical.
The impromptu meeting with Billy Kimber proved to be fertile, even if the man was an arsehole. Cheltenham was in two weeks and he hoped his men could secure the money and possible security employment for Kimber's bookies until Thomas was ready to remove Kimber and take his place.
Once the Blinders stepped in to take on the Lees at the racetrack, the Lees would come after Thomas. He made a mental note to prepare his men for any attack coming from the Lees. Maybe he would speak to Maze about patching up his men if they became injured. He didn't know how, but the war between the two families would escalate until someone was injured.
The sound of hammers and metal clanking loudly reached his ears as he tried to tune out the noise. A horse neighed close by and he turned his head to see the animal. He let himself think about his previous meeting with the Inspector and how his demands, at the time, seemed reasonable, but he worried that the Inspector would do something drastic.
He stopped in front of Maze's home. The whitewash outside walls needed to be cleaned. A front window was opened, letting a cool morning breeze inside the parlor. He could see smoke coming from the tallest chimney. He stepped through the black iron wrought gate and up the small walkway to the front door. Normally, he would sneak around the back and enter through the kitchen.
The door opened a second after he rapped on it. Maze stood there, wrapped in a short silk robe that showed her bare legs and her hair pulled up high upon her head. His nose twitched, inhaling her scent of springtime and lemon. He wanted to touch her, have her body pressed against his, but refrained.
"Morning, Thomas," she said quietly, yawning in the process. She stepped back, opening the door further to let him inside. Doffing his hat, he shoved it in his overcoat pocket before removing the overcoat. Hanging it up, he watched as she sauntered toward the kitchen where he could smell breakfast food cooking.
As he stepped into the kitchen, he passed the dining room where an empty plate sat. He turned to look at her standing in front of the coal stove, frying bacon. He envied the way she had access to a variety of food that wasn't accessible during this time period. Though she never stopped him from eating what was in her pantry.
Unlike the kitchen at Polly's, Maze placed chairs around the large block table she used to prepare food. He removed his jacket, draping it on the chair before he sat down. Thomas leaned back in the chair and watched her cook for a few minutes.
"You look tired," he mentioned, moving his arm as she sat a cup of tea in front of him. A bowl of sugar, a pot of honey, and milk were placed in front of him before she turned to the stove. On the table was a basket of fresh green beans.
"Worked late last night," she replied, flipping the bacon over.
He made a humming sound under his breath as he reached for the sugar. "How did you know I wanted breakfast?"
She sighed, shaking her head fondly at him. "You always stop by for breakfast, Thomas. You know, people talk about you coming in and out of my house."
"Oh? What do you tell them?" he asked, amused.
"That you can't live on cigarettes and whiskey," she replied with a teasing smile.
She set two eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast on the plate before setting it in front of him. Taking the seat across from him, she reached into the basket and pulled out a bunch of green beans. As she snapped quietly, he ate breakfast. He didn't ask if she'd already eaten, knowing her source of life was coffee.
"Cheltenham is in two weeks," she said casually, tossing a stem into a small bucket by her feet.
"You're not going."
Maze sighed, barely refraining from rolling her eyes at his words. "What if I've purchased a ticket, hmm?"
"Then you can return it," he replied, lowering his fork.
She squinted her eyes and peered at him for a few minutes, trying to figure out why he was adamant that she didn't go. Tapping her short decorated nails on the table, her bucket of green beans forgotten as she thought.
"What?" he asked, finally getting irritated.
"You're up to no good," she said finally. "It's always the reason you don't want me to go somewhere."
Thomas raised a black eyebrow at her. "What makes you think that?"
She scowled at him. "Don't be evasive, Thomas."
"I'm going. There's something I have to do."
"Something to do with Billy Kimber, perhaps?" Maze asked, leaning back into the hardback chair. He scowled at her, reaching for his cup of tea.
"Don't give me that look."
"That," he said, taking a sip, "isn't any of your business."
"I'd go with you, you know." she supplied, rising from her chair and walking toward the back door and opened it, letting cool fresh air in.
"I'd not want you to go with me this time." he said, watching her walk off.
Maze frowned, giving Thomas a sharp look. She inhaled slowly, fighting off the burning questions about why he didn't want her to go, and nodded slightly, turning her attention to the bucket of green beans. Seeing the bucket was half full, she grabbed it and set it under the facet to rinse.
Thomas noticed her body language seeing her sullen and sighed. He rose from his chair and walked over to her. It hurt to see her sullen at his request, but he couldn't risk her being there while Kimber was. Placing his warm hands on her hips, he drew her close to him. He felt her breath hitch as he buried his head in the crook of her neck, his lips ghosting against the silk robe.
"I'll take you anywhere you want to go, but not this time," he whispered in her ear, feeling her head nod against his.
Her scent assaulted his nose as he inhaled her deeply. His body itched to take them upstairs to her room. Thomas wanted his hands sliding over her smooth skin as she panted in need of him. His hands scrunched the silk robe, pulling it mid-thigh. He nudged her earlobe with his nose, feeling her body tremble against his. Thomas gently spun her around and trapped her between the sink and himself. He slid a hand into her messy hair, tugging her head back gently.
His body was aflame with desire for her. Thomas heard the wolf whine softly in his head, begging to get closer to her. Little prickles of heat danced along the pads of his fingers as the digits skimmed her soft thighs. She was his mate, his wife, and he wanted her desperately.
Her hands gripped his waistcoat, fumbling with the buttons as he placed a gentle kiss on her jugular. A hand slid down her hip to caress the bare skin on her thigh as his cock thickened painfully in his trousers. The wolf moaned in delight, his mouth being utterly close to her. Her intoxicating scent drove him mad.
He lifted his head, his amber eyes opening to gaze at her. Her eyes fluttered open slightly, barely enough to see her darkened eyes. Thomas could feel puffs of her breath on his chapped lips. He wanted to kiss her, like he did the day he left for France, but he knew if he did, he could count on her running from him.
He raked his blunt nails against the softness of her thigh, making her leg tremble as it wrapped gently around his hip. Thomas groaned as he inhaled, her arousal assaulting his nose.
"Fuck, Maze," he groaned again, pressing his cock into the juncture of her thighs.
Maze moaned quietly, feeling his warm chapped lips kiss along her throat. Her body ached to be touched intimately by him. Her nimble fingers unfastened the buttons of his waistcoat, exposing the white shirt underneath. She wanted to tug his shirt from his trousers and run her hands up his stomach before slipping into his trousers.
"Thomas," she whispered, shivering as his cheek brushed hers. "We have to stop."
"I don't want to," he uttered. He wanted his scent all over her as his fingers glided further into her silk robe to caress her arse, giving it a small squeeze. He grunted, hearing her yelp lightly, but didn't pull his hand away from her arse.
"We have-," she began, but stopped hearing a loud knock on the front door.
"Mazie! Is Tommy in there?" They heard a voice shout. Thomas swore hearing his brother John at the front door.
He didn't want to move, but John would become persistent the longer he was forced to wait. Thomas lifted his head to look at the panicked expression on Maze's face and sighed. Brushing her lower lip with his thumb, he released Maze a second later. He buttoned the waistcoat quickly before grabbing his jacket. He slipped it on as he walked down the narrow hallway to the front door. She followed a second later, fixing her robe. The knocking continued as Thomas muttered under his breath, grabbing his coat and slipping it on before he opened the door.
He didn't look back as he stepped outside and closed the door behind him, leaving behind a flustered Maze.
"Since when did you become an errand boy?" Thomas asked John as they walked away from Maze's house.
"What are you doing there?" John asked, pointing back to the house.
"Eating breakfast," Thomas replied.
John gave him an inquiring look, but brushed off the question that tethered on his lip. "Arthur wants to know when you're going to call a Pack meeting," John whispered.
Thomas sighed in dismay, fishing a cigarette from his coat and lighting it. He couldn't understand why Arthur didn't come to him personally about a Pack meeting. The last full moon run helped him sort things out in his head. He hadn't let them know he read the Grimoire yet. That would be mentioned at the beginning of the Pack meeting he needed to call.
"I'll get it done as soon as I can," Thomas replied. John nodded his head at his older brother.
Thomas followed John to the Betting house, where they parted ways after Thomas stepped inside to check the ledgers. The Betting house was noisy for a Friday morning. Since the Cheltenham races were about to start, people were lining up to see what horses they could be on.
Exiting Polly's house, he walked toward the Garrison. The street was crowded with people milling around. The clanking of metal and hot fires caressed his coat, making him warmer than normal. He truly envy these people. They simply led their lives without worrying about someone trying to hunt them or arrest them. As he walked, he wondered how long it would take before he could safely hand over the guns. Despite what Polly might think, he wanted them gone. Thomas knew the risks and, unlike most people, he was willing to take those risks, even at the cost of his life.
He pushed the doors to the Garrison, letting the morning sun stream through. The pub was somewhat crowded for the time of day; the patrons enjoying their drinks. He pushed the door to the private room he commandeered years ago. The small door to the bar was open, which wasn't unusual. It was normally closed when he had meetings. He knew well that anyone could listen through the small glass door if they chose to.
He would have to consider a new place to have his meetings. An office, perhaps. He pursed his lips in approval. A nice office with in his own building. A company name on the front door. The idea had merit.
Giving the counter a sharp rap, he gained Grace's attention. She turned to him, giving him a half smile.
"Bottle of whiskey and three glasses," he instructed, tossing a few coins on the counter.
"Irish or Scotch?" Grace asked, her hand hovering over the bottles.
"Irish," Thomas replied, turning to look out the window before turning back to her.
A second later, a bottle of Sadler's, and three glasses were placed on the counter. "I'm going to need another two pounds and ten shillings for the dress," Grace said, giving him a coy smile.
Thomas raised an eyebrow at her, amused that she would ask for more money for the dress when he was sure she had a suitable one at home. "Oh… I've already given you three."
"How much did you pay for the suit you're wearing?" she asked, eyeing his tailored suit.
"Oh. I don't pay for my suits. My suits are on the 'ouse. Or the house burns down," he explained to her, hoping to convey that he was dangerous and to leave him alone.
"You don't want me to look like a pauper, do you?" Grace asked as innocently as she could muster.
Thomas gripped the three glasses between his fingers and snatched the bottle of whiskey with the other. "What I want doesn't matter. It's not me you're dressing for," he exclaimed, closing the small door to the room, leaving Grace alone and pondering what he meant.
He stood there as the two men strolled into the private room. Thomas opened the bottle of whiskey, his nose twitching at the aroma. Thomas waited as they sat down, pouring each of them a drink. Sitting in his customary chair, he reached for his cigarettes he left sitting on the table. Opening the box, he pulled one out and watched as the man closest to him down his drink in one gulp.
"You'll excuse me, Mr. Shelby, if I indulge a little," the man said, reaching for the bottle of whiskey and pouring himself another drink.
"Now you said you had business," Thomas said, placing the lit cigarette in his mouth, the smoke billowing around his face.
"Aye, we do," the man closest to him said. "It's of a…." he hesitated and looked at his friend before turning back to Thomas. "... delicate nature. It's a question of who knows what."
Thomas paused, looking at the two men. He wasn't sure what they were on about, but he had a gut feeling it had to do with the guns he gained. He wondered how the word got out that the Peaky Blinders had the stolen goods. Someone was talking, and they pointed the finger at him and the Blinders.
It was enough to piss him off.
"It's about the factory, the BSA," the man continued, taking a drink of his whiskey.
Thomas looked at both of them quickly, assessing if they were a threat to him.
"Rumors get started in big places, like factories."
"Rumors there was a robbery," the second man said, finally speaking up.
It was about the guns. Thomas could have cursed out loud with frustration. "Robbery of what?" he asked, hoping he was wrong.
On the other side of the room, Grace leaned against the wall, listening in. Her interest peaked when she heard the words robbery and BSA. These men, whoever they are, were talking about the guns. This was the opportunity she was waiting for. It would be better if Thomas admitted to knowing where they were.
This was news that Campbell needed to know. These men were Irish, which meant they probably had connections to the IRA. Her blood steamed at the thought of the IRA and what they did to her family years ago.
"Guns, Mr. Shelby."
"What business is that of mine?" Thomas asked, fidgeting slightly with his cigarette. He reached over to pick up his glass of whiskey, raising it to his lips and taking a slow sip.
"Word is that they were taken from the proofing bay and the Peaky Blinders took them," the man said, eyeing Thomas to see if he would cave and tell them what they desperately needed to know.
A smile ghosted Thomas' face as the men presumed to blame him and the Peaky Blinders for theft. Of course, they didn't know that he did have the guns in a place that no one but three people knew about. But this information led him to think it was time to move the guns somewhere else.
"What we're trying to say, Mr. Shelby, is if you hear about where the guns might be, we'd pay good money for them," the man assured Thomas.
Alarm bells rang in his head. This is what Polly mentioned the day he confessed his sins to her. He knew, just as she did, if he sold the guns and was caught, he would indeed hang.
Thomas inhaled sharply, looking between the two men. "Who do you speak for?"
"The people of Ireland," the man assured him, lowering his cigarette and tapping it against the ashtray.
Meaning: IRA.
Another smile ghosted his face, and he suppressed the urge to laugh.
"Do you think this is funny?" the second man asked, taking a swallow of his drink.
"Am I laughing?" Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow at them.
Then the oddest thing happened. The second man, with the light colored hair, started singing an Irish song about the IRA. Thomas watched in slight amusement as the man sang the lyrics as his friend sat and watched as well. Both men stared at Thomas, trying to figure him out and failing.
It wasn't the worst meeting he'd ever attended, but it was unusual. Most times, the men he met didn't break out into song. Maze would be amused by this. Tapping his cigarette against the ashtray, he decided it was time to end this conversation. Thomas cared nothing for the IRA and their goals. Much like the Communists and their agenda, that infiltrated his city with the arrival of surviving men from France.
He would not sell the guns to the IRA. Thomas threatened Campbell to do so in their meeting, but Thomas had too much he wanted to do and execution wasn't on his list.
"Bravo," Thomas muttered once the song was finished. Rising to his feet, the men did as well. The second man began singing another song. Thomas walked the both of them out of the room, hoping to never see them again.
He didn't see Grace rushing back to her post as he walked out of the private room. He shook his head, chuckling to himself as he walked over to the bar and set the half-empty bottle of whiskey down.
"Thought you allowed singing on Saturdays," Grace spoke up amusedly, wiping down the already clean bar top.
"Whiskey is good proofing water," Thomas said, raising his cigarette to his lips.
"And what did my countrymen want?" she asked, trying to not sound nosy.
"They're nobodies," Thomas assured her. "They act like rebels and sing the songs."
"You sound like you're sympathetic to the cause," Grace supplied, fishing for information to damn the man in front of her.
"I have no sympathies of any kind for anything," Thomas assured her, tapping the cigarette against the ashtray.
Then she did something he didn't expect her to do...at least not right away. She offered to work for him. Be a translator. That should have put him on edge. A woman he barely knew offered to do something so simple as to sit in on a private meeting.
"You'd work for me?" he asked, amused.
She smiled coyly at him, hoping her ploy would work. "I thought I already was."
If she was going to work for him, she was going to the races with him. "So you're going to the races." he said, pulling out the correct money she asked for earlier. He sat the money on the counter. Then he thought of another thing before he walked out for the day. "Buy something in red to match his handkerchief."
"Who's handkerchief?" she called out as he walked out of the Garrison.
On the other side of town, Freddie Thorne waited impatiently for his bride to be. He leaned against the stone wall, checking his pocket watch every couple of minutes, wondering where in the fuck Ada was.
He heard the clacking of heels from a distance and turned just in time to see Ada come rushing at him in her bridal dress. Her beauty stopped his heart for a moment before he registered she was right in front of him.
"Ada, what in the hell?" he demanded softly.
"I dared myself to run through town," she said breathlessly. She wanted everyone to see Ada Shebly running away in a bridal gown. Part of her hoped that someone would tell Tommy. She couldn't wait for the fallout later.
"I love you," Freddie whispered, bringing her into a heated kiss.
"I love you too," she replied as he broke the kiss.
Freddie placed a comforting hand on her already swelling belly, marvelling that he soon would be a father. He took her hand to lead her to the church, where they would marry privately.
"Wait!" she stopped as he turned around to look at her. "How do I look?"
Freddie hesitated, but an enormous smile broke out over his face, lighting it in ways that it never had until he met Ada Shelby. It didn't matter that he didn't like her family; he loved her and only her.
"Like an angel," he finally said, taking her outstretched hand and leading her away.
Sitting behind his desk at the police station, Inspector Campbell stared at a slip of paper that came across his desk. He pondered how to ask the question that burned in his mind. His spy found an opportunity and came out successfully for the day. He read over the slip of paper several times before calling Sgt. Moss into his borrowed office.
"Moss," Campbell said, swivelling in his chair. "What do you know about The Black Swan?"
Moss gave a slight chuckle, understanding where this conversation was going.
"My operative has gathered intelligence and has supplied that it's a place where the IRA meets," Campbell continued, ignoring Moss's chuckle.
"Ah, it's a place where swabbies drink and sing songs," Moss reassured his boss. "Not a place for the IRA."
"Then why are two of them wanting to buy guns?" Campbell said, demolishing the mirth off Moss's face.
Campbell sighed as Moss asked about names. Placing his pipe in his mouth, he reached for a match, lighting it quickly. "A female operative has proved to be more useful than any of you men."
Miffed by the accusation, Moss pursed his lips and tried to keep an iota of professional composure. "If there has been a crime committed, then my men will do their job. Perhaps I'll send a few men down to The Black Swan and ask questions."
"You do that." Campbell said, dismissing Moss non-verbally as he swivelled in his chair, smoking on his pipe.
Without waiting for orders from Campbell, Grace left the Garrison after her shift to hunt down The Black Swan. It wouldn't be prudent for her to ask locals about it because she feared that someone would talk. After wandering around for an hour, she finally located The Black Swan in Sparkbrook.
She stood outside, watching and waiting for the man that came to talk to Thomas Shelby about the guns. Half an hour she stood there, hoping to stay inconspicuous and out of sight. Finally, he stumbled out of the Black Swan Inn singing a drinking song. Grace watched as he turned toward a row of side-by-side houses.
Discreetly, she followed the man, hoping he wouldn't turn around to see her. She adjusted the strap on her purse, shoving her hand in the bag to make sure her gun was still in there. Confident that she was armed, she kept her distance and followed the man from the Black Swan.
Her mission was simple. Follow the man and don't get caught.
She hid behind a wall and watched him fight off a dog before he stumbled away again. Unbeknownst to her, he knew she was there. He disappeared into a dark building, hiding on the other side, waiting for her to pass, unaware before he would step out and accost her.
Grace walked by the opened doorway, confused and hyper aware that the man disappeared from her sight. If she were smart, she would have turned around and left, but she stayed and kept looking around.
In seconds, he grabbed her by the face and forced her against a dirty wall. Grabbing her by the face roughly, he demanded to know who she was and why she was following him. Grace's heart throbbed, realizing that the man wasn't as drunk as he claimed to be. She slapped him hard on the face to make him back off her and was given the same treatment.
Unlike him, she flew back against the wall from the forced impact of his hand against her cheek. He grabbed her again and pulled her close to him roughly.
"I've seen your fucking face serving at the Garrison," he seethed, shoving at her again. He grabbed his gun from his trousers, pressing it against her face and threatened to take her in for interrogation.
For a moment, Grace feared she would die at the hands of this man in some back alley in Sparkbrook. She pushed him off her in desperation to be free. Twisting around, she pushed the man off her and pressed him against the outside building. With quick hand, Grace reached into her bag and pulled her gun. Pressing it against his stomach, she pulled the trigger.
The loud gunshot rang throughout the alley. The man slumped against the outside wall, surprise written on his face as he slid down to the ground, dying. Grace stood there, shocked by her actions for a long minute, before turning away from the man and running out of the alley, not realizing that someone had watched the entire thing.
