It was no surprise that Arthur Shelby was drunk when he stumbled into the empty boxing ring the next day. The moment he left Polly's house, he succumbed to a bottle of whiskey. He hadn't a clue how many bottles he drank before he stumbled out of his flat and onto the busy Lane. No one paid attention to him as he wandered around Small Heath, but word would get back to Tommy eventually. The anger and shame he felt for being hoodwinked by his father disturbed him, then it fucking pissed him off. He wasn't sure how he found himself at the boxing ring, but he felt nausea roll over him, making him feel sick.
He was angry.
Angry that his father lied to him.
Angry that he failed to prove that he could handle business.
Angry that Thomas took over the Blinders, leaving him to do the bitch work.
Angry that he wasn't the Alpha. It was his, by the right of succession!
Placing the half empty bottle of whiskey to his lips, he swallowed too much and choked as the amber liquid burned his esophagus. The war might be over, but the war in his head raged on. He grunted as he stumbled against the wooden beam before righting himself.
Swaying heavily from the inebriation, he saw three men standing by the squared circle, conversing quietly.
"Who wants to fucking fight?!" Arthur screamed in the nearly deserted boxing ring. He could feel the wolf snarling in his head at the notion of a fight. Arthur grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged hard, trying to shut the wolf up to no avail.
"No one wants to fight," Marsden said placatingly. "We're packing up and moving."
Anger coiled in him, his eyes flashing. "I said, who wants to fucking fight?"
Marsden took a step back, his hands raised in surrender. He wasn't brave enough to fight a man whose eyes flashed. There was something wrong with these fucking people, and he wanted out of the city before nightfall.
Arthur spun drunkenly as Marsden moved to intercept one of his men from fighting.
"Who wants to fight me?" Arthur slurred, his resolve weakening.
"Go home lad," Marsden tried again. "Before you get yourself a spanking." The men turned around and walked out, leaving Arthur standing in the empty boxing ring alone.
The Garrison was busy for the early evening as Grace stood by her post, pouring drinks for the patrons. She hadn't seen Thomas Shelby in a few days and his lack of attention to her worried her. She counted back the days to make sure she hadn't messed up her position in his company, nor with her lies. Grace was behind the bar when Harry came over to her. She could tell something was wrong by the concerned look on his face. He removed the white towel from his shoulder, placing it on the counter and leaned forward.
"My brother in Digbeth says the police are coming down from Derithend, coming in numbers. They're asking for Tommy Shelby by name."
Before she could ask what was going on, the front door of the pub opened, revealing Thomas. Her heart fluttered for a moment before she schooled her face. He would need her today, she was sure of it.
Thomas wanted to viciously kick the door open that led to the Lane but refrained. His anger wasn't directed at anyone but himself. As he closed the door, he knew today was the day that he would have to leave. He wrote a letter to Maze, hoping to have Finn deliver it. In the letter, he apologized for his abhorrent behavior the night before on the full moon. He told her he'd have to lie low, leaving Small Heath until things blew over with Campbell. Her anger at him for this would be in the record books.
He sighed, running his hands over his face as he walked toward the Garrison. Last night wasn't their first fight, but it was the worst. He should have made her leave before he lost control. If only he had hid the box. None of it was her fault, and he hated to see the flicker of fear that crossed her eyes last night before he nearly threw her out of his flat. He grunted, rolling his neck before fishing out a cigarette. His body ached from a failed shift, the muscles strained by keeping him in human form. The wolf in his head was quiet, tired from the fighting, and Thomas refused to feel guilt.
He paused his step briefly, closing his eyes at what could have happened last night if Maze had still been in his room and he failed to keep from shifting. He shuddered, shaking the image away from his mind. There wasn't a reason to worry. It didn't happen. Campbell didn't come for him last night, but today was another day. The persistent copper could stop him at a moment's notice.
The letter he wrote her burned a hole in his trousers. He wanted to go to her house and deliver it personally, but knew she would be furious, yet cautious with him despite there wasn't a full moon that night. In the letter, he told her he loved her more than life itself, that he always loved her. Loved her since he was twenty and she was sixteen. Thomas knew a simple letter wasn't enough of an apology. He would have to apologize to her the next time he saw her.
Pushing the door to the Garrison, he stepped in and spotted Grace. Giving her a look, he walked past the bar and opened a glass door to the back room. She followed quickly behind him. He closed the door quietly and turned to her. Anger rolled in his veins at seeing her, but she was the one person who knew what was going on. He knew she didn't know about his discovery, nor would he tell her yet. It wasn't the right time to call her out for her duplicity.
As he pinched the cigarette, he figured she could help him. He couldn't turn to anyone in his crew or his brothers because they didn't know that everything. Unfortunately, she knew more than most people did, which was why he came to her. He could get himself out of town, and she was going to help him leave. Of course, suspicion set in his mind that if he told her where he was going, she would most likely run to Campbell and tell him.
"I'm going to have to lie low for a while," he said quietly, refusing to look her in the eye.
"Why?" she asked, confused.
"This copper…." he paused, glancing briefly at her, "it's just me and him now."
Panic flooded Grace as fear settled in her core. She didn't catch the subtle twitch of his nose as she stared at Thomas, contemplating what he might know. By now, she was sure Thomas knew the guns were missing. It infuriated her that Campbell broke his word to her. Her former boss was coming to arrest Thomas instead of keeping him out of it. She remembered pleading with Campbell to spare Thomas and take the guns back to London and leave the Shelbys, especially Thomas, alone.
But he wasn't.
Something changed Campbell's mind. Maybe it was her refusal to marry him that sparked this new direction. She looked at Thomas and realized that Campbell would most likely kill him or have him executed for crimes. Grace couldn't have that. In a split second, she decided to help him.
"Harry said the police are already in Digbeth," she murmured.
"Yea," he replied.
The door opened as Finn rushed in. "The coppers are on the Lane!"
"Come on," Grace said urgently, grabbing Thomas by his coat sleeve. They rushed out of the back room and through the pub without saying a word to anyone. Grace grabbed her purse from the small nook she found and almost kicked the back door open.
Thomas followed her silently as she led him down the back corridor until they were past the Garrison. This wasn't the way for an escape route, but he followed. Fear and panic were consuming Grace as he followed her out the back and down the far end of the Lane, away from Campbell. He smiled cruelly with triumph as he made his escape. Keeping Grace around proved to be one of his better ideas. If all else failed, he could use her to take the fall.
The already busy Lane became congested as coppers piled out of their vehicles. All waited for the command to storm the pub for Thomas Shelby. Other coppers stopped by the Shelby house and broke in, looking for Thomas, but came up empty-handed. It was luck that no one was at the Betting den at this time of evening.
Campbell climbed out of the truck. Satisfaction coming over him like an intoxicating wave. He would have Thomas Shelby in chains tonight. The man who ruined all his prospects, who blackmailed him, was going to get his dues tonight. Even as a God-fearing man, Campbell would push for the highest execution and wouldn't pray for Thomas Shelby's soul. A criminal like Thomas Shelby didn't have a soul to pray for.
He pushed the door open to the Garrison, as several coppers followed in behind him. As his beady eyes scanned the room, he didn't see the man he was looking for, but it wouldn't take much to threaten someone with the information. He wanted to burn this shithole down, along with the half the city.
Campbell saw the faces of several of the men who associated themselves with Thomas Shelby, but left them to the coppers. He would go after someone who he could threaten. Placing his gun on the bar top, he looked at Harry Fenton. From his reports, Campbell knew that Harry Fenton used to own the pub but was bought out by the Peaky Blinders months ago.
He hoped that resentment stirred in Fenton deep enough that he would rat out Thomas's location.
He slid the gun down the bar top noisily until he reached the end. Turning around, he looked over at the crowd. "I am looking for Thomas Shelby."
A rush of anger clouded his vision, seeing the men in the pub look around without saying a word. These fucking heathens would not talk without prompting. Their loyalty to this fucking man incensed him.
Harry noticed no one was speaking to the copper. They all knew from experience that if someone came in asking for Thomas Shelby, it meant something was going on or something was about to happen. The people of Small Heath would be caught in the crossfire of the Peaky Blinders and the coppers. Harry inhaled deeply, knowing he would have to take the reins on this. Approaching the bar top, he leaned on it and gave Campbell what he thought was a friendly smile. He just didn't know that Campbell hoped Harry would speak first. "Never heard of him."
"You'll never find him," a small childish voice spoke up from a hiding spot amongst the men.
Campbell turned slowly, his ire already building at the statement. He suppressed a wolfish grin, seeing the youngest Shelby running amok inside a pub. Campbell knew enough about the Shelby's that Finn Shelby didn't have parents. The young boy had an aunt and brothers to care for him. He took a menacing step closer to Finn Shelby, prompting the men in the pub to become restless.
"Go home," Campbell said coldly to the small boy. He didn't want Finn Shelby. He wanted his older brother. For the moment, Campbell would spare the youngest Shelby.
The silence was deafening. The men were a mixture of Blinders and Pack. No one would rat out their leader without bloodshed. Many would die before they turned in Thomas Shelby. When no one spoke up, Campbell grabbed his gun, spinning it lightly in his hand. "I will ask again, where is Thomas Shelby?"
The silence continued, much to Campbell's ire. Finally reaching the end of his patience, Campbell turned toward Harry Fenton. Harry would make a good martyr…. a good example of the power behind the police force.
"Fine," he growled and looked at Harry. "On your knees."
Harry wasn't part of the Pack, so his senses were dull like a human. As he stood there waiting for this scene to play out, he didn't know a copper had snuck up behind him. His heart hammered in his chest, seeing Campbell's attention on him. With that command, the copper behind Harry grabbed him roughly, forcing him to his knees as Campbell walked toward him, his gun aimed at Harry's face.
The hard wood flooring pressed into his tired knees as Harry fought to have the coppers release him. When Campbell pressed the barrel of his gun at Harry's temple, he finally felt fear rocket through him. If only the Peaky Blinders hadn't bought his pub, but he had to think that he would have been in this situation, regardless. "Understand this, barman. I don't care whether you live or die."
"I swear I don't know!" Harry cried out, shuddering in fear. He truly didn't want to die.
Men of the Pack and Blinders stood by and watched with interest. While many didn't care for Harry Fenton, it would change the scene if Campbell shot Fenton in front of them. If he told the Inspector where Thomas was, many of them wouldn't have an issue skinning the flesh from the bartender.
Campbell cocked the gun, pressing the barrel into Harry's temple harder. Harry's panic and fear flooded the pub, making many of the Pack restless. The scent was overwhelming for many of them, but they held their ground, watching intently.
Harry gulped as a sheen of sweat bloomed over his panicked face. He knew if he didn't say something… anything, the copper would put a bullet in his head. In his head, he prayed Tommy would forgive him for what he was about to do. He would take the beating if it meant he stayed alive.
"He left with the barmaid," Harry choked out. "I-I think they were going to her place."
The words slammed into Campbell's psyche. Tommy Shelby was with Grace. His Grace. It didn't matter to him if she turned her back on being on the right side of the law; he was in love with her. To see her help a criminal escape, almost forced him to change his mind about her, but he didn't. Snarling, Campbell lowered the gun and stormed out of the pub. He never noticed the looks the Blinders and Pack gave Harry Fenton for ratting out their Alpha. Harry gulped as the two men walked slowly toward him. Hands lifted him off the ground and dragged him to the back of the pub and out the door.
No one said anything as Harry disappeared and Campbell walked out, defeated.
Campbell stood in the middle of the crowd of coppers and thought furiously to himself. He couldn't risk going to Grace's place and arresting Thomas in front of her. Despite her marriage refusal, he didn't want her to see that side of him.
"Call it off!" he gasped, lowering his gun and shoving the object in its holster.
"But sir!" Sgt. Moss protested, wondering about the sudden change in plans. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. "We should go to…"
Whirling around, Campbell's face was red with anger, "I said call it off!"
Fuming, the Inspector stormed off, leaving Sgt. Moss to handle his coppers.
After escaping the pub mere minutes before Campbell's arrival, Thomas followed Grace to a hiding spot that only she knew of. When they journeyed closer to a set of houses, Thomas raised an eyebrow at her forwardness. She was taking him to her lodging. Thomas followed Grace up the narrow steps to her flat. It would be his first time there, and he hoped it would be his last. Entering her flat, he leaned against the wall and watched her move around in her small kitchen.
"I won't be here long," he said quietly, looking around the flat.
"Why not? If the copper is coming after you…."
Thomas smirked, hiding his reasoning behind coming to Grace. It would take an idiot to not figure out Campbell's interest in Grace. Campbell's interest in Grace amused him because Tommy knew well that Grace had feelings for him, not the Inspector. It was obvious. Thomas knew that if he left with her, Campbell wouldn't dare harm him nor arrest him in front of Grace.
Thomas took the same approach concerning Maze. He never wanted Maze to see the dark side of him. To witness how ugly and cruel he could be. She saw it once, long ago, and never breathed a word about it, but she knew how dangerous he could be. It left a niggling worry in the back of his mind. Oh, sure, he knew she wouldn't say anything, but he couldn't help but worry. He would stay long enough at Grace's until he was sure that Campbell wouldn't come after him tonight, giving him enough time to fix the situation he was in.
"He won't be coming after me," Thomas said, undoubtedly.
"Why not?" she asked again. Realization hit her. He was using her to keep himself out of chains.
"You're using me," she accused softly. "To hide from the copper."
"I spend time here with you. I don't get arrested."
Thomas could have done the same to Grace as Campbell did to Maze. But unlike Campbell, Thomas didn't harm a woman. So he used her differently. He knew she was a spy that worked for Campbell. The reason didn't matter to him. She was his enemy, even if she helped him escape. That was the only reason Grace Burgess wasn't dead right now.
There were a lot of things he could understand, things he could forgive someone for, but he never forgave betrayal. And Grace betrayed him. She eased her way into his life, getting him to start trusting her until she betrayed him with Freddie's arrest, making him the wicked man in the situation.
As she paced around her small flat; he wanted to tell her he knew of her treachery, but didn't. He hoped that once Campbell fled Birmingham, Grace would follow him and stay the hell out of his city.
"You're a bastard," she hissed. "Using me like that."
"Don't flatter yourself," he snapped, twisting his hat between his hands. "I'm sure you would have done the same thing."
"Get out," she seethed. "I don't care if the copper arrests you or not."
Thomas pursed his lips and shrugged lightly. "Fair enough," he said, and turned to open the door to leave.
Quietly, he walked down the narrow stairs until he reached the bottom. He pressed his body against the door and listened for any noise. Hearing a distinct signal, he opened the door and looked out. Across the street was a truck. He smirked, seeing Scudboat rise from the driver side of the truck to flag him.
Looking both ways, Thomas slipped his hat on his head and jogged across the street. He came around to the back of the truck and slipped between the flaps. He heaved a breath and relaxed on the bench.
He turned his head to look toward the front of the truck and saw a body tied up and laying on the bed. Looking at Lovelock, he jerked his head to the body.
"What's happened?"
"Harry Fenton told the copper where you would be tonight," Lovelock replied, giving Harry a kick.
The man groaned in pain at the sharp kick. Harry tried to talk through the rag in his mouth, but Thomas didn't feel like hearing it. He trusted Harry to keep his mouth shut and at the moment of life or death; he ratted Thomas out. Once this was over, Thomas vowed he would deal with Harry personally.
"Where too, Alpha?" Scudboat asked, twisting his large body around to peer into the back of the truck.
Thomas sighed and realized he could apologize to Maze quicker than expected. "Take me to Maze's."
With a curt nod of his head, Scudboat turned around and pressed his foot on the accelerator.
"What do you want to do with him?" Lovelock asked.
Thomas pulled out a cigarette and lit it quickly. He took an inhale, looking over the bloodied body of Harry Fenton. He had such hopes for Harry, but there was a seed of resentment from Thomas buying Fenton out months ago.
"Take him to the tobacco wharf. Keep him alive. I'll deal with him once this is over."
Lovelock nodded in the dark and opened his mouth when Scudboat stopped the truck. "We're here Alpha."
Thomas nodded and moved to push the flap to the side so he could crawl out, but was stopped by Lovelock. The man shook his head slightly at him and Thomas leaned back to let Lovelock look around first.
Thomas wanted to bitch, but he knew his men took their job seriously. They would do everything in their power to keep their Alpha alive. He waited until Lovelock gave the go ahead.
Climbing out of the truck, he closed the flap as the truck pulled away from the curb. Crossing the street, he stood in front of Maze's house and saw a light coming through the downstairs parlor. It didn't surprise him she would still be awake at this hour. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked down the crumbling sidewalk to her front door and made a note to himself to have it fixed.
He gave a rapt knock on the door and waited. The door opened a minute later as Maze stood there wrapped in her silk robe. She frowned at him, but stepped aside to let him inside her house. He walked in, removing his hat and coat before hanging it on the coat rack. When he turned around to look at her, he sighed at her silence. She was angry with him.
"I'm sorry," he said abruptly, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets. "For last night. I was…. losing control."
Maze said nothing as he stood in front of her. She wasn't frightened of him, but the night before he'd been unbridled. He could have hurt her if he hadn't controlled what little sanity he had left.
"I never wanted you to see that," he confessed, taking a step toward her. When she didn't move, he took another step.
"I know," she whispered, not looking at him. She didn't flinch when he ran a hand down her arm.
"I can't promise I'll never get angry again or that we won't have another row," he mumbled, sliding an arm around her narrow waist. "But I can promise I will never do that to you again."
Maze sighed, leaning her forehead on his chest and closed her eyes. A warm tear slipped from her left eye and she brushed it away quickly. Relaxing against him, she allowed him to embrace her. They stood locked in an embrace for a long time before he pulled away from her and pressed his lips against hers. She wanted to fight him, but didn't have it in her to fight.
Succumbing to his kiss, she let him lead her upstairs to her room, where he stripped her slowly before pushing her back onto the bed. He kissed her deeply once more before sliding inside her.
Maze smiled, feeling tender kisses on her shoulder as his hand slipped around to caress her flat stomach. With a gentle nudge, he rolled her onto her back, kissing her lips softly. Breaking the kiss, she looked up in his blue eyes, "What happened tonight?"
"I-," he paused, moistening his lips, "Campbell was going to arrest me tonight."
She sat up abruptly, nudging him back as she looked at him. "Do what?"
"It's been taken care of, love," he replied, reassuring her.
She nodded her head, still wondering what he'd done to have the Inspector try to arrest him that night. It burned on the tip of her tongue, but she had a feeling that Thomas's possible arrest wasn't the subject he wanted to discuss. "I know you're angry about last night," he began, feeling her tense. "But I haven't used it since we got together."
Maze pushed out a sharp air from her lips and ran a shaky hand over her messy hair. "You said it was for the nightmares."
He nodded. "It was. Every night I could hear the shovels. I could hear the clink of the metal as the Germans shovelled their way into the tunnels. The opium helped ward those off…. at least some nights it did."
"Opium is used as a painkiller and a sedative…." she murmured to herself.
"But when I'm with you, I don't hear them." he leaned back on the bed and ran his hand over his face. "You set me free," he whispered, rolling his head to look at her.
"You're it for me," he confessed quietly, caressing her cheek. "You always have."
She blinked back unshed tears. It never really occurred to her how much he relied on her. Relied on that tiny bit of stability in his chaotic life. It humbled and terrified her how much he relied on her. Hope beat heavily in her chest as she watched him.
Never once, in either lifetime, had anyone relied on her so much. She had friends and family that needed her, but no one outside that. Looking at Thomas, she felt her heart beat wildly in her chest. She never confessed it to herself, but she knew she'd been in love with him since she was sixteen. Maybe even younger than that.
Maze understood his wolf nature was the biggest reason for his overprotectiveness. The way he tried to keep her safe all these years, even giving her a bodyguard after Campbell harmed her. She was angry at him for hiding his addiction, but to hear him confess she was his saving grace humbled her.
She was his Luna, and he was her Alpha.
He sat up, sensing a shift in her emotions, and slid his hand to the back of her head and pulled her close to him. His lips slid over hers, nudging them. "I love you," he whispered.
Her breath caught in her throat upon hearing those three words. She never expected him to love her. Never expected they would ever happen.
A tear slipped from her eye. "I love you too."
Arthur Shelby stood in the empty boxing ring. The shame and anger he felt over his father lingered in the back of his mind, making him melancholy. Arthur knew he was a failure. He couldn't lead the Pack nor the Blinders. He remembered what Thomas said to him earlier in the year.
"I think, Arthur, so you don't have to."
Arthur didn't think. He relied on instinct instead of using his mind to think several steps ahead of any scheme he could conjure. The failed attempt at a Shelby Casino and hotel made it very clear in his mind that he was a failure. It never occurred to him to pitch the idea to Tommy.
He knew his brother would say no. Arthur knew he should have fought for the leader position of the Peaky Blinders from the very get go. Until the war started, Arthur revelled in the position it gave him. He was the leader…. until they came home from the war.
A small part of him hated Thomas. Hated him for taking everything away from Arthur. Everything Thomas had was his by birthright. It sickened him. He wandered around the empty boxing ring, contemplating his next move.
No one would miss him. Not one person in the family would. They would remember him as the Shelby who failed. The one they would refuse to talk about in the future. His eyes scanned the empty boxing ring again for something to end his misery. Finding a rope, sitting on a stool, he thought to himself how convenient this rope was there during his misery.
He picked it up, testing its strength and pleased to see it wouldn't break as easily. Walking across the boxing ring, he looked up to see the rafters above him. From his vantage, they looked sturdy. He set the stool down and leaned over to cry out in anguish. The wolf in his head mourned realizing what was about to occur.
Carefully, he climbed on top of the stool, wobbling a little as he came upright. The rafter was above him, easily reached with his tall stature. Slinging the rope over the rafter, he looked at it closely before grabbing it roughly with his hands to wrap it slowly around his neck.
He stood there on the stool, reciting the Lord's Prayer and wishing for a different route. A sign that would prevent him from doing what he was about to do. When nothing happened, he inhaled sharply, looking out over the empty building and stepped off the stool, knocking it over.
He hung there, the rope tight around his neck as the air slowly slipped away from him. His life slowly disappeared until, by some miracle, the rope broke, dropping him to the ground. He heaved for air as he laid there, still feeling like a failure.
Chester Campbell sat behind the desk he commandeered when he first arrived in Birmingham. The plan to arrest Thomas Shelby several days prior failed, putting him on edge. When he found Thomas Shelby that night, the man was in Grace's apartment. Campbell refused to let Grace see him at his worst.
He needed to report to Winston Churchill about the retrieval of the guns. All but one gun was retrieved from the grave of Daniel Owens. His row with Thomas Shelby aside, Campbell wanted out of Birmingham. He came here to clean up the city. To remove the filth and scourge that lingered in the alleys and pubs, but he failed at his mission. The man responsible for everything walked away clean and Campbell would be finished in this town.
He picked up the telephone, pressing the receiver against his ear and spoke, "Send a telegram to Mr. Churchill. Tell him the business I came here for is complete. I'll be leaving the city. There's just a few loose ends I need to tie up before I depart."
Campbell sat the receiver back into the cradle and leaned back against the chair. He would tidy up a few loose ends and then he would leave. He'd been watching and waiting for a way to destroy Thomas Shelby and he may have found a way.
He remembered the day he met Mazella Hawthorne. How he found her intriguing, yet naïve, of all Thomas Shelby's doings. It would be easy for him to find her and use her. Campbell was angry with Grace's decision to not marry him because she fell in love with the criminal.
But he couldn't bear to harm Grace, no matter if she told him no to the marriage proposal. He watched Mazella, had someone follow her until they learned her routine. He learned that Thomas Shelby frequented her home and didn't leave till morning. Kill her and Thomas Shelby would do something to have himself arrested or given the opportunity, dead.
