The afternoon was late when Thomas stepped into the Garrison for a cigarette and a drink. Instead of taking his usual seat in the private room, he leaned against the bar top and reached for the glass ashtray before lighting a cigarette. A minute later, a bottle of whiskey and a tumbler placed in front of him. He eyed the whiskey, but it's what he came there for. Thomas tapped the cigarette against the glass ashtray gently. The pub was quiet for the time of day, with no one bothering him.

He was glad for the solitude. No one seemed to want to bother him as he stood there, enjoying his drink. The past several days were catching up with him. He hadn't seen his father since the day Arthur Sr. found Maze and himself entwined in Thomas' office. Thomas sighed, dropping his head to look at the worn counter. It worried Thomas his father would betray him to their family despite the death threat. Thomas shifted his feet, reaching for his whiskey, and took a small sip as he contemplated why his father was in town.

The encounter had shaken Maze, but he reassured her he had a handle on it. That he wouldn't let anyone find out about them.

His family still wasn't speaking to him; their stoic glares reminded him every day how angry they were towards him. Thomas wanted to tell them about his suspicions, but he could see the row that would happen between him and his brothers. To be told it was their fault Freddie Thorne was arrested wouldn't settle well in the Shelby house.

He wouldn't be in the Garrison if it wasn't for the alcohol. His trust in Grace wasn't at an all-time low, but he kept a sharp eye on her as best he could. There was something she wasn't telling him and not knowing was driving him mad. He took another sip of his whiskey, hoping it would help wash away his stress.

Setting the glass down, he saw an unknown man walk into the pub. Glancing at him, Thomas turned away from him until the man came to stop and stand beside him. The man stared at him for a moment, unnerving Thomas.

"Mr. Shelby?" his thick Irish voice asked.

"Who's asking?" Thomas sighed internally and took another inhale on the cigarette. There went his quiet time.

"My name is Byrne." the Irishman said, resting his arms on the bar top. "I had a word with your man in Camden town that you wanted a parley."

Jesus bloody Christ, he muttered in his mind as it raced to figure out how to fix this situation. It wasn't his fault the man was murdered and the Peaky Blinders had nothing to do with it. He would know if any of them lied to him.

Thomas tapped the dying cigarette on the ashtray, leaving it there, and nodded his head. "Then parley it is."

"A man named Ryan came to this place some weeks ago to buy goods from you," Byrne said, keeping his eyes on Thomas. "He was met with an accident and shot."

From the corner of his eye, Thomas saw Grace pause her bookkeeping for a second, listening in. Her interest in the conversation should have unnerved him, but it intrigued him. He should have instructed this Byrne man to his private room, but didn't.

"I heard."

"He was a man with a quick mouth. I am wondering if he made any enemies here?" Byrne asked quietly, looking around the pub before turning his attention back to Thomas.

"Not that I know of," Thomas replied.

"Not the place to make enemies?" Byrne chuckled lightly.

"All are welcomed here, Mr Byrne."

"Including the Irish?" Byrne asked seriously.

Thomas moved his head in agreement. "Especially the Irish."

"Ryan told you he was a member of the IRA. Was he still welcomed?" Byrne asked.

Thomas set the cigarette down and reached for his drink. "Like I said," he paused, taking a sip. "We welcome anyone who comes in here and buys beer."

"Now, I'm thinking that you didn't believe him," Byrne said, leaning closer to Thomas.

Thomas understood the insinuation and turned to face Byrne. He didn't like how the Irishman was sizing him up, nor the implication that the Peaky Blinders killed the man. "People talk in pubs. Sometimes it's the whiskey talking, sometimes it's not."

"As a teetotal man, I find that amusing," Bryne replied. "Unless it ends in tragedy."

"Would you like a water and cordial, Mr Byrne?"

Byrne ignored the offer. "You see, even with Ryan's quick mouth, he was very connected to our organisation and by blood. He was my cousin. I'm from South Armagh and I am very, very connected there. Cordial and water would be grand, Mr. Shelby."

Thomas stared at the man in front of him, sizing him up and wondering how fucking deep this situation went. The two men stared at each other until Thomas took a breath. "Grace, bring some water and cordial. Follow me, please."

"Yes, Mr. Shelby," Grace murmured, keeping her distance. She overheard parts of the conversation and especially the part where the Irish gentleman stated he was the cousin of the man she shot months prior.

Thomas let Mr. Byrne walk in front of him as they entered the private room with Thomas closing the door as Mr. Byrne took a heavy seat. Thomas sat down, staring at the man without speaking.

"My cousin came to buy guns," Byrne said, starting the conversation.

Thomas rested his hands on his abdomen. "And I told him I didn't have any."

"Your man, Danny Owens, talks a lot when he's drunk," Byrne said unflinchingly. "He says the Peaky Blinders have the guns from the factory down the road."

Thomas stayed silent, his face impassive as he listened as Byrne mention the Lewis Machine guns and ammunition. Thomas heard the wolf growling the longer Bryne spoke. His keen hearing heard the door handle twist as Grace pushed the door open. Something would have to be done about Danny Owens and his drunken mouth.

Thomas reached for another cigarette and opened the small box. He needed the rush of nicotine. "Yep, that sounds like our Danny." He tossed the box back onto the empty table. "Like I said," he paused, hearing the doorknob turn as Grace walked in with Mr. Byrne's drink. "Sometimes it's the whiskey that does the talking."

Grace set the glass down on the table with a loud thunk, her eyes never leaving the man as she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Thomas lit the cigarette quickly, ignoring Grace.

"He says that your brothers are the only ones who know where the guns are." Byrne pressed.

"Danny also says he sees German infantrymen on the back of mill carts and shoots them with a broomstick, too," Thomas replied coolly.

Byrne sighed, tired of Thomas's evasiveness, and picked up his drink. "We have men working in the BSA factory and we have men working in the police station. We have a finger everywhere, Mr. Shelby, and that finger points in one direction."

Thomas silently watched the man across the table drink his water and cordial, wishing Byrne would choke and drown on the liquid. Just as he had fingers everywhere, the IRA was far more proficient with their people than he was. He hated to admit it, but he admired that kind of dedication.

One day, he wanted that.

Byrne finished his drink, sliding the empty glass across the table and clapped his hands. He leaned his body against the table to look directly at Thomas. "Let me get to the point. I don't care what kind of half-arsed tinker operation you've got here. I can assure you, Mr Shelby, that I represent a different organisation."

Byrne rose from his seat, trying to intimidate Thomas. "My cousin was shot. I am judge, jury and executioner, and I find you guilty. I know one of you shot him. Now, you're going to deliver the guns to me or I am going to bring hell's wrath on you and your…. people."

The entire time the man was talking, Thomas scrutinized him. He knew Byrne would bring destruction to Small Heath with the IRA in his back pocket, but what Byrne must not have realized was that Inspector Campbell would gladly want this man in front of him, if Byrne was indeed high ranking as he claimed to be.

The civil war in Ireland was growing stronger each day, and they needed the guns to fight against the British army station there. He understood the cause Byrne was speaking of but had no desire to celebrate it. Thomas cared nothing for it. Byrne was a threat to his way of life and his family. He needed to go and go quickly.

He could hear the wolf snarling viciously at the threat and had to push down the anger before it consumed him. Thomas tapped the cigarette on the ashtray and made a note to himself to contact Campbell to see if he wanted Byrne. If he didn't, war would come to the city and Thomas would be glad to lay the blame on Campbell's feet. The Inspector would lose his job and the guns in one go.

"Is one of your men responsible for shooting a hole in my pub a few months ago?" Thomas asked quietly as Byrne continued to stare.

Byrne thought for a second, looking at Thomas. "Maybe so. Did you get the message?"

It took everything in his power to keep his hands from removing his gun and putting a bullet in Mr. Byrne's head. That bullet could have hit his mate. If the bullet had hit her, Thomas would go to war against the IRA. "Oh, it was well received."

Although, if Thomas pointed Byrne at the guns, he could get rid of the guns and the IRA quickly. Campbell would have his guns back and the IRA out of Birmingham, and Thomas would be free of them.

He pushed aside the ashtray as a white cloud filtered around them. "I have a confession to make and to you only," Thomas said quietly, leaning close. "I have the guns and they've become a burden to me. Perhaps I need to release the burden….. for the right price."

Thomas fervently hoped the man in front of him took the bait.

Sensing a victory, Byrne quirked a smile and slowly sat down. He knew that Thomas Shelby would come to his senses and confess. They all did when faced with the wrath and backing of the IRA. Byrne agreed to meet him in a few days at midnight for the tradeoff.

Thomas watched as the man departed his private room and closed his eyes. He sighed heavily at the clusterfuck he found himself in once again. This meeting would not be repeated to anyone in the family. He would have to take care of this on his own. Thomas couldn't stand anyone that threatened his life or his family. Thomas glanced at the closed door, trying to simmer the wolf in his head and vowed that before Byrne walked out of this city, he would die.

The next afternoon saw Thomas hiding at Mr. Zhang's. It was one of the few places that he could hold a secret meeting and no one would ask questions. He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Inspector Campbell to arrive. Thomas sent a missive the day before asking to meet, and now the man was late. He hated when people made him wait. He could be in Maze's bed right now, but business came first.

He leaned against the wooden beam, trying to drown out the noise and smells around him, and flicked the dying cigarette ashes onto the ground when he heard a shuffling from his right. Looking up, he saw Campbell walk on the other side of the lattice separator. His eyes followed Campbell as he walked around to stand beside Thomas.

In his hand, there was a paper with a hundred pound reward for any of the men listed. Thomas looked over at the pictures, spotting Byrne instantly. He tapped it quietly, arousing Campbell's interest.

"Malacki Byrne," Campbell sighed, puffing on his pipe. "Bridage Commander of South Armagh IRA." Campbell snatched his pipe from his mouth and looked at Thomas pointedly. "You've snatched yourself a big fish there."

Thomas had thought the plan over. It would work, he hoped. Most of his ideas worked with a little luck following. There was no way he could take on the IRA without help. Bryne needed to leave his city before Thomas lost full control of what little he had left. "With these guns as bait, who knows who we will catch?"

"We?" Campbell scoffed. "Do you see us working together, Mr. Shelby?"

"You and I aren't so different, Inspector," Thomas replied evenly.

This was an opportunity that Campbell knew he couldn't pass up. "Can you deliver him?"

"With your help." Thomas replied, looking around before turning back to Campbell. "I want word in Ireland that I was not involved in this."

Campbell nodded his head. As he turned away to walk off, Thomas stopped him.

"Since we're getting along so well, you can tell me who turned in Freddie Thorne."

Campbell smirked at Thomas, happy that the man in front of him hadn't figured it out yet. "As far as all of Birmingham is concerned, you did it, Mr. Shelby."

Thomas glared at the man as Campbell walked away, not telling him what he needed to know. His suspicion of Grace and now Campbell's refusal to tell him the truth angered him. It truly outraged him that his suspicion was correct. Thomas didn't know what to do with Grace except to keep her around to see if she did it again.

If something from his operation was stolen or turned in, he would know it was her the entire time. He would take a wait and see attitude instead of rushing in like a madman.

Arthur Jr. didn't blink an eye when his father asked for money. Shelby money is Shelby money, in his opinion. Tommy didn't have to know what the money was for because he knew that his younger brother wouldn't give their dad a shilling if asked. The only snag he encountered was the amount of money. Five hundred pounds of it.

Arthur Jr.'s dreams of doing something more than Tommy's ambitions were set in his mind. He wanted to stand out amongst the Shelby's and get out from under Tommy's glaring eye. If Thomas would not give up the position as Head of the family nor leader of the Pack, then Arthur Jr. would have to do something drastic.

Without telling a soul, Arthur snuck away the five hundred pounds his father requested. It wasn't simple to obtain, but he did. He was confident in his love and assurance from his father that things would go their way and have a generous cash flow with his father's idea of a casino and a hotel.

He waited for the night when no one was at the Shelby house to find out what he was up to. At that moment, he couldn't have cared less what the rest of his family was doing. None of them, besides young Finn, had anything to do with their father. A quiet knock on the door at the late hour roused him as he carried a large stack of money through the parlor to open the door.

Stepping outside, the money tight between his palms, he sighed, seeing his father standing there waiting patiently.

"It's all there," Arthur Jr. assured his father as Arthur Sr. fingered the money like it was gold.

Arthur Sr. held the stack of money with two hands, weighing them. "It is indeed," he said, giving his son a wry grin. "We're going to build something with this, son."

"When do we start, dad?" Arthur Jr. asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Hungry for work?"

"Yea!" Arthur Jr exclaimed. He was more than ready to show Tommy what he could do on his own.

"Ship sails on Friday. Meet me at the boxing ring," his father instructed, clapping his son on the shoulder.

Arthur stood there leaning against the wet wall outside the house and for a split second wondered if he did the right thing. He turned to say something else to his father, but the man had already left, leaving his son alone.

The Garrison was empty of patrons as Grace set about to clean the pub before leaving for the evening. She was just finishing up when she heard a banging on the locked front doors. Setting her tray down on the bar top, she strolled toward the front doors, wondering who was awake at this hour.

Thomas walked in quickly, bypassing Grace as he looked around the empty pub. He was glad it was empty. Grace went to close the doors when he stopped her. "No, leave that open."

Thomas walked to the back of the pub to lock the door and went about setting a table ready for what looked like a midnight deal. He panted in his hurry to set things up before Byrne showed up for the guns. He didn't have the guns on him, but his heart was racing from the adrenaline. This was the night the coppers would show up to arrest Byrne and the associate he brought with him.

If the coppers did their job. Thomas didn't trust Campbell to do anything.

Once he had the table set as he liked it, Thomas removed his hat and walked to the bar as Grace went to pour him a drink. "No," he said, holding a hand to stop her from pouring.

"Are you expecting trouble?" she asked with uncertainty.

"Yea," he said, turning away from her and pulling his gun from the shoulder holster. He gave it a quick spin to make sure he had enough bullets in the chamber.

"At this hour?" she asked, clearly shocked.

"Midnight is as good an hour as any," he muttered.

"What the hell is going on?" she asked, glancing down at his gun.

"When St. Andrews' bell strikes midnight," he answered, pointing toward the double front doors. "Two IRA men are going to come through that door. When they have what they want," he continued, and walked behind the bar. "They plan to kill me."

"It will be your job to stop them," he said, refusing to look at her.

He was testing her. Testing her loyalty to him. He hoped she would come through for him during this. Maze would bring hell and fury if he was shot. He had been at her house when received the message Byrne and his associate wanted to meet at the Garrison for the exchange.

Part of him was glad Maze didn't question him, but gave him a kiss and let him take care of business. He wasn't even sure if he would tell her what had transpired.

"You could have given me some warning," Grace scolded.

"I just got the message myself. They want to meet here, alone," he said, making sure the hidden gun behind the bar was loaded.

"And barmaids don't count?" she asked incredulously.

"No, barmaids don't count," he said, brushing past her and walking around the other side of the bar. "You're going to be in the back room. I'm going to be sitting there," he said, pointing to the table.

He turned around to look at her, to convey his instructions clearly. "When I make a toast, you're going to come out with that thing raised," he pointed at the gun on the bar top. "You are not going to shoot, just point and I will handle the rest."

"Will you kill them?" she asked, her blood pumping at the thought of getting back at the IRA.

Thomas shook his head. "No, the police want them alive."

That startled her. "The police know about this?" she asked, incredulous that Thomas would go to the police over a matter like this.

He ignored her question and proceeded to show her how to hold a gun properly. He didn't want her to shoot anyone, but if she did, then it would confirm the suspicion that Grace killed Byrne's cousin. Too many things happened that kept pointing back in her direction.

The bell at St. Andrews began to toll as Thomas pushed Grace from behind the bar. He didn't want her there to see the two men that arranged this midnight meeting. He didn't see her disappear in the back room, but rushed around to grab a couple of empty glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

Taking his seat, he had little time to prepare. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he reminded himself to stay calm. This was one of the times he wished he never found the stolen guns from the BSA factory. He could be wrapped in Maze's bed right now, but he was waiting on the IRA to show.

He hoped the coppers would interfere before things went badly.

In the distance, the bell continued to ring as Thomas sat there waiting. Motionless, he watched two shadowy figures pass the large window before opening the unlocked door to the pub. His eyes flicked back and forth between the two men as they walked into his pub and took their seat across from him.

Pouring water for Byrne and a glass of whiskey for the other man, he set the drink down on the table with a loud clunk. It didn't surprise him when the man pushed the drink back towards Thomas without saying a word.

"Just show us where the guns are," Byrne seethed, his eyes trained on Thomas.

Thomas looked at Byrne again, reaching into his coat pocket, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. The two men across from him didn't notice that it was from an old newspaper and not the correct directions to the guns.

He held it up and looked between the men again. "Where's the cash?"

With a slight nod of Byrne's head, the man beside him pulled a large envelope stuffed with cash on the table and slid it across towards Thomas. Thomas eyed the money but didn't touch it. Slapping the paper down on the table in front of Byrne. "You're going to need a shovel." Showing that the guns were buried somewhere in Birmingham.

Byrne unfolded the paper, his eyes barely flickered over the writing, and smirked at Thomas. His associate did the same, knowing that in minutes Thomas would be dead and they would rush off to find the guns and take their money back.

"Do you think we'd let you live?" Byrne asked as his associate pulled a gun on Thomas.

"Make your peace, Mr. Shelby."

"I make my peace my own way," Thomas murmured, still hoping Grace was close by and listening for his instruction.

This was the moment. He picked up the half full glass of whiskey and made his toast. It was the moment Grace had been waiting for. Thomas took a sip as the back room door opened as Grace stormed into the main heart of the pub. She didn't hesitate to shoot.

The first bullet missed, flying through the air, but the second one hit Byrne's associate in the chest. He grunted as he slumped over on the table, dead. Before Byrne could pull his own gun at Thomas, Thomas jumped up, locking Byrne in a hold. They shattered glass as they fought. Thomas pushed Byrne on top of the bar, slamming his hand down to loosen the gun in his hands.

Grace stood by, her eyes trained on Byrne, her gun aimed. When she stepped too close, an arm holding the gun swung out and hit her on the side of the head. She gave a slight grunt as she fell to the ground, her head screaming in pain.

The two men fell onto the ground, rolling around, trying to unlock from one another. Bryne had a tight hold on Thomas' neck, suffocating him. He jerked and stuttered, his mind flashing from the days where he was inside the tunnel during the war. With a strength he didn't know, Thomas shoved his elbow into Byrne's crotch several times, loosening his hold on to Thomas's neck.

With a deft roll, Thomas had Byrne on his back and slammed his head into Byrne's. His eyes glowed amber as he reached for a spit can. Using the can as a weapon, Thomas continued to beat Byrne's face in. The anger that spiked inside him at the near death experience fueled him. He wasn't ready to fucking die.

The noise of the fight woke Grace. She scooted back against the bar and watched as Thomas beat Byrne's face to mush until he expired all his energy. She was frightened at his intensity at destroying Byrne. When he stopped, he sighed, letting the spit can rattle onto the floor. He glanced up at her and before he closed his eyes; she saw the amber glow from them.

He rose slowly, exhaling deeply from his excursion. Thomas felt no remorse at killing Byrne, but he knew there would be some kind of backlash from his incident. When he looked at Grace, he hoped he'd calm down enough that his eyes weren't amber. She saw him at his worst, unlike most. Maze had seen it once, long before the war, and never brought it up again.

He shuffled slowly over toward her, his body aching, his anger boiling at what she did. If she hadn't started shooting, none of this would have happened. Tightening his hold on her, he glared at her. "Why did you shoot Grace?"

Truthfully, she couldn't tell him she was falling for him. He didn't want her, but she hoped that helping him kill the two IRA men would prove her loyalty to him. To prove that she cared deeply for him. She wanted him. Wanted to be the one at his side and not another woman. The shock of killing someone shook her to the core, and all she wanted was to be in his arms. Throwing herself at him, she wrapped her arms around him, seeking comfort. Thomas sighed, happy that he was alive, and wrapped an arm around her lightly.

Thomas stepped back from her. He hadn't meant to let his anger control him, but when Grace shot Byrne's associate, he let go. The wolf fighting and snarling in his head, demanding that someone would die that night and Thomas let it. He wanted both of the men dead, especially Bryne, for threatening everything Thomas held dear.

He heard the doors to the pub open, and he released Grace and turned to see Sgt. Moss standing there looking at the mess. Another coil of anger sprung loose seeing the coppers walk in late.

"You were supposed to come on the fucking sixth chime!" Thomas roared, keeping the beast locked tightly inside.

He stepped aside as the coppers walked further into the pub, looking at the two dead men. Thomas leaned against the bar, irritated at the lack of assistance from the police. "They refused to surrender," he spat.

Sgt. Moss surveyed the two men, then turned to Thomas. "Well, he looks like he was beaten by a fucking wild animal."

Thomas barely hid a scoff. If only Moss knew what kind of wild animal lurked inside Thomas, what lurked inside all Shelby men.

"Still," Moss continued, never taking his eyes off Thomas. "They were never here. This never happened."

Thomas closed his eyes in a bit of relief. It was over. He'd survive this round. He could hear the footsteps of the boots of the officers as they went to retrieve the bodies of the two men to dispose of. It angered him that Campbell didn't come through for him. Now that he knew the copper couldn't be trusted to keep his word, Thomas would have to step up his plans.

Ten minutes later, he locked the doors to the Garrison and escorted Grace home. Nothing was said as they walked, as words were not needed. They shared a quick cigarette as Grace handed it back to him.

"Thank you," she whispered, hoping he would do something more with her.

Thomas shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, walking away from her, leaving her to escort herself into her house.

As Thomas walked away from Grace's, his mind raced over the incident from earlier. Everything was going fine until Grace opened fired. When he asked her why she did it, she never gave him an answer. Maybe she figured if she shot one, it would prove her loyalty to him. Proving her loyalty to him meant she had to listen to him instead of acting on her own. He didn't know what would come of this later on and would have to stay vigilant if another IRA showed in his backyard. The rain ceased, but he could feel cold air swirling around him as he tightened his overcoat around him.

Maybe he should have sent her home before Byrne and his associate showed up at the pub. Though he would have been killed once he handed the false directions over. The late show of the coppers angered him further. It was supposed to be a joint operation, but law enforcement declared they wouldn't help him. He couldn't wait for Campbell to leave Birmingham.

He stopped in front of Maze's house and sighed. Taking the last puff on the dying cigarette, he tossed it in the street and walked up the crumbling sidewalk. He paused briefly at knocking on her door, but didn't have to wait long when it ripped open.

His mate stood there wrapped in a silk night robe, her face full of concern. "Get in," she whispered as he nodded his head slowly.

She kept silent as he walked into the house and removed his hat and coat. Wrapping her silk night robe tighter around her, she didn't fail to notice bloodstains on his shirt and newly formed cuts on his face. It made her wonder what had happened earlier for him to leave her suddenly. She could ask, but he could refuse to tell her. It would infuriate her to no end, but she would respect his silence.

"Thomas," she whispered, touching his chin to move his head from side to side so she could get a better look at him. He grunted, trying to push her fingers away. He didn't want her touching him, not like this. "What happened?"

He stared at her. All her loveliness and concern for him radiating off her. Thomas debated on telling her what transpired but refrained in case the IRA sent another one of their men to his city.

"Thomas?" Maze pressed again.

"Nothing," he murmured, tugging her close to him despite what he wanted. "Just….. let me hold you."

"Are you hurt?" she whispered, feeling his arms wrap around her tighter. She frowned when he didn't answer her. He'd been fighting, that much she could glean from his appearance, but fighting whom; she didn't know. She rested her head on his chest, hearing his heart hammering beneath, and sighed. Whatever happened, he was alive, and that's all that mattered to her. Releasing him slowly, she slipped her hand into his, giving him a tug. "Come on, let's get you to my apartment and clean you up."

Thomas stayed silent as she led him to her office and handed him a silver bracelet. Within minutes, she had a hot shower running for him, stepping aside so he could undress and climb into the shower. Maze leaned against the wall, watching him in the shower as he ducked his head under the hot spray. When he opened his eyes to look at her, she saw pain and numbness in them. When he held a hand to her, it surprised her greatly that he wished for comfort from her.

She untied the belt around her robe and let it fall gently to the floor. Thomas pulled her close to him as the hot water sprayed over his sore body; he nudged her against the cold shower wall and kissed her. He sighed in relief as she gave herself to him with no questions asked further that night.