XXVI | ONE OF US
A SHARP KNOCK ON THE GLASS door of The Garrison's backroom interrupted a young brunette in her daydreams over the pub's purchase list for the month. The letters and numbers had started to dance around her vision some time ago, and all she could think of was a hot bath and a cold drink once she came back home, an oasis she would reach only once the list was finished. Caterina raised her eyes, chin propped by the palm of her hand, gone numb from disuse.
Tommy's head was first to pop into the small room, Michael following closely behind.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" She asked, leaning back into her chair as the duo shuffled in and closed the door behind them.
"We'll be out of your hair in a moment. Michael here needs to make a call."
"It's fine, I'm done for the day anyway," she closed the books, tucking some half written letters in it. Their interruption had come in the right moment, a perfect excuse, and the list was doomed to wait another day. "Who are you calling?"
"My mother," even to his own ears it sounded off and more unusual than before. Michael shifted on his feet. "I mean..."
"She's still your mother, I know," Cat smiled, gesturing to the phone hanging on her right. "And what are you going to tell her?"
"I'm going to tell her where I am," the boy started, voicing his determination only to be cut off in the middle of his sentence.
"And you're going to tell her you're going home," Tommy interrupted crassly, staring pointedly at the young man.
"Polly said I could stay for a few days," Michael protested, taking his cap off and seating himself on one of the chairs, confusion evident on his face. In the end, it had been Tommy that first approached him, why would he want him gone now?
"You really want to stay?" Cat questioned, though she shouldn't have been surprised. Who wouldn't want to reconnect with their family after a decade of separation?
Michael nodded firmly. "I've only just arrived," his voice held an accusing note pointed directly at the stern man hovering by the door.
Tommy disregarded his cousin's rising temper and leaned against the wall, taking out a pack of cigs. "What age are you Michael?" He asked, observing Polly's son.
"Seventeen."
"Seventeen," he mused. "Which means it's not up to you, right?"
"I'm eighteen in a few weeks," Michael defended himself. "I make up my own mind."
"You smoke?" Tommy ran the filter of his cigarette over his lip before placing it between them and striking a match in a fluid motion of his hand.
"No."
"Give it a week," Cat threw the remark over her shoulder.
"Drink?"
Michael shook his head. "Had my first pint two days ago with Caterina."
"Bad influence," Tommy chuckled, eyes lazily following the woman that buzzed around the room, stacking books in the cupboards in one moment and dusting the shelves in another.
"Mea culpa," she retorted drily, sitting down in the corner of the room.
"You're going to call your mother, going to tell her you're getting the next train home. And when you get there, you're going to write a letter to Polly saying when you're 18, you'll come back here and sort things out."
"I just told you. I make up my own mind," Michael raised his head up, unwilling to back down from his decision. Caterina felt a surge of pride run through her — not many people dared to talk back to the great Tommy Shelby, and she was more than glad she now had Michael to keep her company.
"Do you know what we do, Michael?" questioned Tommy, his icy blues boring into Michael's grey ones. "We, Shelbys."
"Yes. I think I know what you do," he replied.
"Yeah," Thomas said. "You've got smart eyes. But you're young, so you think what we do is all right. It's not all right. People get hurt."
Caterina rolled her eyes, growing tired of Tommy's brooding speech. "He doesn't have to be involved, for Christ's sake. If he wants to stay, let him stay," she crossed her arms over her chest, staring intently at the blue eyed Shelby from the other side of the room.
In many cases, talking to Tommy Shelby was like talking to a wall, only better dressed. "Call your mother and I will drive you to the station," said he.
The young Gray was as stubborn as expected. "No."
"In my village, there's this little wishing well. It's made of white bricks, right in the middle of the village green. Everybody says how pretty it is," Michael's voice rose as he talked, a shadow crossing his youthful face as his each word held more venom than the next.
"But I swear to God, if I spend another day in that village, I'm going to blow it up with dynamite. Probably blow my hands off with it, but it'd be worth it. Just to see all those pretty white bricks spread over the pretty village green."
For a moment, the other two occupants of the room stood silent, stunned by Michael's words. Thomas continued to take slow drags of his smoke, observing the boy's face.
"Yep. You're Polly's son, all right," he broke the silence, a wisp of smile tugging his lips.
Cat could help but scoff to herself, amused by the tense debate between the cousins,"Reminds me of someone I know."
Caterina took no joy in herding up the family members for an unexpected meeting in the betting shop that very afternoon. The situation with Sabini had just made a more darker turn and a permanent weight nestled in her chest ever since that damned telegraph arrived at the office, bearing Tommy's and her name.
She now officially had a target painted on her back and the boys refused to let her anywhere out of their sight, or without additional protection. Though she was used to one or two men trailing after her on an unnoticeable distance, Cat couldn't help but feel stuffy and claustrophobic now that she knew her every move was tracked and noted.
"This had better be good to interrupt my holiday," Polly stormed into the betting shop, looking expectantly at the assembled crowd.
Caterina noticed the lack of the newest member of the Shelby clan. "Where's Michael?"
"In the back room," she replied. "I only brought him because afterwards we're going to the museum."
"He wanted to come in and say hello..." John trailed off, disappointed he couldn't see his cousin. Their aunt made a point of shielding her long lost son from anything that had to do with the family's murky business and, apparently, that included his cousins.
"Shut up, John," Polly bit back sharply, effectively silencing him. "There is nothing of interest to Michael in this room."
"Tommy, get on with it," the eyes of the room focused on the man who stood in the centre, arms behind his back.
"Last night, one of our men had his throat cut in Winson Green. This morning, I had a telegram saying it was Sabini who ordered it," said Tommy.
"And it says here that Thomas Shelby and Caterina Cardinale are next," Arthur added, ripping up the telegram which held the foreboding words predicting the demise of his brother and the woman he came to think of as another sister.
"If our men think we can't look after them in prison, they'll not work for us. Sabini knows that," Tommy continued. Though he rarely doubted the loyalty of people that worked for him, he seemed to lose faith in more and more people as the days went by. "So we need to get the Green sorted out," he turned to one of his gypsy cousins from his mother's side.
"Scudboat, you and one of the boys break a couple of windows, get yourselves arrested. I'll have our coppers get you into the Green and you can find the bastards who did it."
Scudboat shifted in his place, raising his hand to say something. "Instead of breaking a window, can we pinch a car?"
"What?"
"Everybody else is getting a bloody car. I'm still on a donkey." Scudboat complained making the room laugh.
"All right, just get yourselves fucking arrested, it doesn't matter how," Thomas snapped.
"And before you all laugh, a boy is dead. He was just a kid," he looked around the room with a dose of displeasure, and Cat couldn't help but agree. The though of that young man that came to The Garrison, full of hope and life laying dead, throat cut because of them churned her guts and made her nauseous.
"We'll start a fund for his family, Pol."
"Agreed. So is that it? Can I go now?" Polly said impatiently, already fixing up her appearance and heading for the door.
"Well, as company treasurer, I need your permission to spend 1,000 guineas," he added, making his aunt stop in her tracks.
Polly blinked, waiting to see if it was some kind of elaborate joke he was pulling, or he'd simply gone mad from all the mess in his head. "On what?"
"On a horse," he replied simply.
"A thousand guineas on a horse?"
He tilted his head up, unwavering. "That's right."
"When was this decided?"
"You've been busy with Michael," he attempted to justify himself, only proceeding to dig his grave even further.
"Oh, my God. So, in the absence of common sense, you boys have had an idea," her disapproving eyes found Cat, leaning on the wooden post. "At least I hope you'd have some brains to stop their absurdity."
"I wouldn't call it-"
"Polly, there's a thoroughbred, quarter-Arab filly up for auction at the Doncaster Bloodstock," Thomas tried to persuade his aunt.
It meant little to her — a horse was a horse and a decent one could be purchased for much less than what her reckless nephew asked for. "What do we want with a 1,000-guinea horse?"
"When we make our move on Sabini's racing pitches, any men we get into the betting enclosure will be lifted by Sabini's police," Caterina raised her hand before anyone could but in. "But, a good racehorse is a passport to the owner's enclosure. We'll be in there with all the polished gentry."
"Yeah, with all the toffs," Arthur added. "Coppers won't know where to look."
"Yeah, the Epsom Derby, Pol. We'll be drinking with the bloody king." John chuckled.
"The Derby?" Polly choked out in disbelief, looking at John and then Tommy. "Did he say the Derby?"
"That's right," he admitted somewhat proudly. It was a well though out plan, hatched out of spite and in need of surgical precision. Thankfully, up to this point, Sabini proved to be a predictable opponent. "For the last 10 years, Sabini's made it his race. If we're going to take him down, might as well make it there, as a symbol."
"Did you come up with this idea in a pub by any chance?"
"We did in fact." Cat pipped up, shrinking once Polly whipped her glare in her direction.
"Pol. A good racehorse is an investment, like property. We need to diversify the portfolio," Polly rolled her dark eyes at his use of fancy words. Diversify, she thought darkly, Tommy she knew once was far gone now.
"So when is this sale?"
"Tomorrow," Cat was first to answer.
"Tommy and Cat had a death threat, so we'll have to go with them for protection," Arthur explained, making Polly chuckle in disbelief once again.
"So, you're going to close up the shop, go out on a piss-up and blow 1,000 guineas on a horse that's not even whole Arab."
"Quarter-Arab is better!" Curly laughed slightly. "Quarter-Arab, it means-"
"Curly, shut up." Polly cut him off rudely, only to notice Michael standing in the doorway a moment later.
"I thought I told you to lock that door," she hissed at John who raised his hands in surrender.
"He did. I used the key on the nail." Michael admitted sheepishly, trying to placate his fuming mother. "Look, I've been listening. I want to go with them."
"You see?" Polly cried, throwing her hands up.
"I love horses. I could even help."
"Over my dead body!" Polly retorted, folding her arms.
"It'll be all right, Mum," Michael assured her. It was the first time he called Polly his Mum, and somehow it felt perfectly right, as if he'd been saying it for his whole life. "I've been to loads of horse auctions before with my uncle. They're very respectable. People bring their butlers."
"Yeah, and their posh wives!" Arthur smirked over the rim of his glass.
John grinned, clapping his cousins shoulder. "And their mistresses."
"We'll bring Cat with us, she can be both."
"Oi!" Her stealthy finger reached out and pinched Arthur's ear, making the older man ouch and swat her hand away. "And you'll be a fuckin' butler."
"Let him come, Polly."
John nodded in agreement. "We'll go there, buy an 'orse, come back. I'll drop him back at the house in Sutton before it gets dark," he proposed.
"No," Polly breathed, shaking her head. "Fucking no!"
"All right, that's it. Back to work," Tommy ordered his staff before the family spat got worse. He ran his hand through his short hair, frustrated, growing increasedly tired of Polly's tempestuous attitude.
Caterina kicked herself off the pole, making a shooing motion at the men. "Come on, off you go!"
"Pol, it's not the end of the world," she then faced the woman. "Not only is Michael old enough to take care of himself, but we're all able and armed. There's nothing to worry about."
"You will have a right to talk when you have a child of your own," Polly spat, ignorant of the hurt writing itself over the other woman's face.
John interrupted them before any of them could worsen the situation. "Aunt Pol, when I was Michael's age, I'd killed 100 men and seen 1,000 die," he told her, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he reminisced the blood and death of the battlefields he buried deep in his mind.
"If you want to scare that kid away forever, carry on how you're going. If you want him to stay, let him come."
A day and much begging on Michael's behalf, their company of seven set off for Doncaster in an old truck, bouncing and coughing every time they encountered a hole or a minor hill on the country road.
Somewhere in the middle of their journey — if she had to guess, Caterina would say they were in between Nottingham and Sheffield - they decided to stop to stretch their legs and check out the ominous coughing of the engine.
The truck came to a stop with a screeching halt, making the passengers sitting on the benches in the back sway and jump.
"She's heating up, Curly," Tommy noticed once he opened the truck's hood. "Take a look."
"Let me out for a piss," Charlie complained, pushing out of the truck and into the open.
Caterina jumped from her place, squished between Arthur and Curly for the last hour. "Let me out for air! Do you lot know what a bath is? It's 1922 for Christ's sake," she complained to her chuckling companions, unfazed by her words.
She stumbled awkwardly, cursing her skirt as she had to lift her leg to exit and almost falling into the mud under the truck in the process. Were it not for Thomas lounging a few feet away, quick to catch her before she ended up face first in the soil, she'd be far from presentable for the event.
"How much longer, Mr Chauffeur?" She asked Tommy, giving him a thankful nod once he steadied her.
"I'd say about an hour," he replied, squinting slightly at the distance and the plains stretched in front of them. They were drawn back to the truck once they heard sounds commotion and Arthur's scoff of disbelief.
"What the bloody hell's that?"
Michael looked up innocently from the cloth in his lap, offering one of the neatly packed sandwiches to the oldest Shelby brother. "She made loads. Do you want one?"
"Sandwiches. Ham, I think. And we've got shrimp paste, too," Michael shifted around the package, looking for the other sandwiches at the utter disbelief of the spectators. "There's tea, but we'll have to take turns 'cause there's only one cup."
"What?" The youngest of them asked as he passed the flask of tea to John
"Sandwiches?" Arthur asked again.
"Yeah."
"Polly made bloody sandwiches?"
"She's gone all domestic, it scares me a bit," Cat remarked, eyeing the sandwiches warily, though there was a warmth settling over her heart. For the first time in a while there was no tension in the air, no stress or fear as they passed the flask around, smiling and joking as a proper family would.
"What's this? Teddy bear's fucking picnic?" Charlie looked between Michael and the rest of them, accepting the tea from John.
"All right," Thomas chuckled, taking out his smokes. "We will drink the tea and we will eat the sandwiches and then we will drive on. All right?"
He was met with a reluctant approval, the food and a warm drink quick to placate any disbelief the boys were feeling. Giving one more amused look to the domestic scene in front of him, Thomas clapped his uncle on the shoulder.
"No crumbs, Charlie."
"I'm sitting up front now, no discussion," Caterina said once she had her fill of tea and a smoke, not eager to continue the trip in the bumpy back.
"I'm sitting up front!" John retorted, offended, only to have a furious Caterina right in front of his nose. The others stifled their laughter as the woman, head shorter than him, looked up to the youngest Shelby with a righteous fury burning in her irises.
"I'm the only one with no cock between my legs so I get to choose!"
John turned to the rest of the men once she marched off, hiking up her skirt slightly so as not to ruin it in the pools of mud on the ground, only to be met with shrugs and nods of agreement coming from the rest of the men.
" S'got a point, mate."
"All right, lads, this is a respectable event and we will all behave accordingly. No weapons, no drinking. It also means, John, that we will stay together. No wandering off after skirts," Caterina narrowed her eyes at the youngest Shelby brother before reaching over and fixing his collar. She'd be damned if they didn't present themselves in the best possible light, as a respectable fuckin' company.
"When the horse comes up, I will do the bidding. I've already registered my interest with the auctioneer. So he knows to expect my bids," Tommy explained to the group as they walked up the stairs and towards the viewing platform.
"Do I get to run a hand over her, Tommy?" Curly asked with a bounce in his step, eager to take a look at the quarter Arab Tommy promised to buy.
"We'll have a vet's report, Curly. But keep an eye open when she walks."
"I've got a feeling, Tommy," he stammered, looking around the room with a dose of distrust. "Something isn't right."
"It's all right, Curly. You're just in an unfamiliar place, we all are." Tommy allowed Caterina to slip in front of him and press herself against the bannister to peer down to the floor where the horses were being paraded around. She could feel his looming presence behind her, daring her to take a step back and settle between his arms. But hardly socially acceptable.
"I get feelings sometimes," he said quietly.
"It's all right, Curly," Cat sent him a reassuring smile. "It's all right."
The auction was already in full swing, the auctioneer yelling out the prices and the finely dressed people around them nodding their heads or raising palms. Michael was not wrong when he said the auctions were respectable events — the gentlemen with thick cigars and elegant ladies whispered to each other, carefully selecting the well bred horses for their stables. She couldn't help but feel their scrutinising eyes on their group; no matter how well dressed or rich they might be, the world of the old moneys and aristocracy would remain out of their reach.
"Two thousand and six hundred. I am bid! Sold!" The auctioneer announced, slamming his mallet on the desk, quick to introduce the next horse up for sale.
"Morals of Marcus, Sedgemere stud, by Tetrarch out of Lady Josephine," a beautiful grey filly was brought into the yard. "We'll start the bidding at eight hundred guineas."
"All right, Tommy, this is her," murmured Charlie.
Caterina leaned over the railing to take a better look at the horse they were bidding for. "God, she's a beauty," she admired the lean muscle of the filly's legs, a perfect fit the racing.
"Do I hear eight hundred guineas? Eight hundred and fifty? Do I hear nine?" The auctioneers voice run through the area, followed by Tommy's nods.
"Do I hear nine? Nine, am I bid?"
Each time the price went up and Tommy kept nodding, Cat's grip on the bannister increased, blood pounding in her ears.
On the other side of the railing a beautiful brunette couldn't help but let her eyes stray to the dark man eager to bid for the filly, and his curious entourage. Her eyes trailed over the gaunt slopes of his cheeks, down to the clutching grip he kept on the wooden bannister, completely immersed into his need to obtain the said horse. There was something wild, something dangerous in the way his piercing eyes lifted ever so slightly to scan the rest of the room.
"Bid for this one," she told her father, busy with reading a dull, financial column in the papers.
"The grey? Why?"
"He's beautiful," she replied simply, not taking her eyes from the enigmatic man on the other side of the room. The thrill of the bidding only made him seem more intriguing.
The man looked up from his papers, looking at her as if she's completely lost it. "It's a filly."
"One thousand and one hundred. Do I hear two fifty?" The auctioneer continued as the price rocketed, making their company shift uncomfortably. "Do I hear five? One thousand and six hundred. "
"Who is that woman and what the fuck is she doing?" Cat hissed into Tommy's ear, making him glance to the other side of the room. The woman quickly averted her eyes, embarrassed at being caught staring but Caterina continued to look at her, judging her by her appearance.
"One thousand and seven hundred. Thank you."
"That's it, Tom, you have to stop. You don't have it in your belt," Arthur warned his brother, but there was nothing that would stop Tommy, not even the posh ladies with their deep pockets, not while he was so determined to have that horse.
But all Cat saw was red and she was determined not to let some posh lady win for the sport of it. "I'll add my fiver. 2000!"
"Yes, I do. We're having the horse," Thomas told his stable master, gripping the wooden railing as the bidding drew to an end.
"She's a sweet beast, Tom. But, stop, I tell you. I feel something bad!" Curly fretted again making Tommy his and shut him up.
"Do I hear two thousand and fifty?Last time. Two thousand and fifty?" Caterina let out a sigh of relief once the auctioneer slammed the mallet down one last time, signifying their victory. "Sold! To Mr..."
"Thomas Shelby," he couldn't help the satisfied smirk crossing his face, even when he faced his exasperated company on his way to deal with the paperwork.
"To the premises of Mr Charles Strong, Small Heath."
"What kind of premises?" The notary asked, lifting a quizzical brow at the two unusual people
"Boat yard."
"Yachts?" Almost snorting in amusement he simply replied. "Canals."
The notary took off his glasses, giving the man a one over, trying to solve the unsettling feeling he made him feel. "I'm curious. What is your business, Mr Shelby?"
"Import, export. But I also sell pegs and tell fortunes," he told him with a cheeky smirk, stretching over his face as the notary's face turned blank.
"Don't forget talking to horses," Cat added with a smirk of her own, taking over the paperwork from him.
He emerged from the office, leaving Caterina to deal with finance while he looked for his rambunctious family, only to be cornered by the woman that competed with him for the horse. "You beat us to it," the brunette's posh accent rang through the hall, making him stop and face her.
Thomas stopped, intrigued. "Did I?"
"I was trying to nab a filly for my stud," she replied, looking at him through her eyelashes.
"Sorry," there was not an apologetic bone in his entire body, but Thomas was curious to know more about the woman that managed to drain him from his money in a matter of seconds.
"Thomas Shelby from where?"
"From Birmingham."
"Goodness!" The woman exclaimed in surprise.
"Hardly any," Caterina added drily as she emerged from the office, subtly eyeing the fancy woman. It would be an understatement to say she was beautiful; her frizzy curls giving a dash of wilderness into her expensive garb, dark eyes unwavering as she watched Tommy's features.
"May Carleton. I breed racehorses and train them," she feigned not being aware of the other woman's arrival. "Oh sorry, and you are?"
"Caterina Cardinale, business associate," she gave her a tight lipped smile, noticing the rest of the boys down the hall. " An exciting bid, for sure."
"What is it you do?" The woman turned to Tommy again.
"I rarely answer questions, is what I do," Tommy shot right back.
"Tommy, come on, hurry up! We've got to go!"
"Well, before you go, if you ever decide to put that filly out, I'd be interested in having her."
Caterina replied before Tommy had the chance to. "We plan to race her."
"Do you have a trainer?" Caterina had to stop herself from scoffing at the woman's poor flirting attempts. Of course, she should have expected that Tommy would attract the attention of some woman or another, as he always did with his brooding looks and mysterious answers.
"I know people," May handed Tommy her card, briefly looking at it before passing it to Caterina who placed it in her purse.
"I know people, too."
"Tommy! We've got to get this kid back before dark or Polly will have your balls! She will have 'em!" John sang from down the hall.
"We know different people, I would guess," she added lightly. "My father knows Mick Hancock. Trained three Ascot winners. "
"Oh, so that was your father?" said he.
"Yes. We're joint-owners of the stud. He took the majority share when my husband was killed."
"Ypres," a beautiful, rich, military widow was exactly what Caterina didn't need in her life right now.
"Tommy! We've got to get back to the caravans! The chickens are hungry!" Cat had to bite back a laugh at their ridiculousness, but thankful as it made Tommy shift and turn towards them.
"So will you consider me?" The woman asked expectantly, watching as Caterina and Tommy exchanged a look.
"I will consider you."
"Come to Birmingham next week, we can discuss it properly," Cat extended her hand in an amicable manner, gripping the other woman's hand far too tightly for a friendly handshake.
"You still didn't tell me what you do," May called out as they disappeared down the hallway.
"Oh! We do bad things. But you already know that," with a cheeky wink to the elegant horse trainer, Cat rejoined their group with a quick stride.
"Right, about bloody time!" Arthur threw one of his lanky arms over Cat's shoulders, pulling her into his side as she squirmed and laughed, trying to wiggle out of his grip.
"It's the fucking truth, John boy. Rich women these days, all they want is working-class cock," he added, making the boys laugh and Cat grimace unintentionally.
"Tommy, maybe she was the something bad I had the feeling about!" Curly muttered as they entered the auction paddock, making their way to the exit.
"Ah! She looks all right to me, Curly!" exclaimed John, giving the boys a suggestive wink.
"All their men are dead, see. Officers, all shot."
"Yeah, by us."
"All I'll say is she has good contacts in the racing world," Thomas justified himself, taking his keys out of his pocked and throwing them backwards.
"Here, Michael, you drive."
"And she's pretty to look at," Cat added.
They noticed a man sitting at the auctioneer's desk almost a moment too late. "Thomas Shelby?" He suddenly stood up, brandishing a gun and aiming at straight at Tommy's head.
"Tommy! Down!"
Arthur pushed her down on the ground and out of harms way before he launched himself at the shooter. Grains of sand embedded themselves into her palms as she collided harshly with the ground. Through a spinning vision she could see another unfamiliar man chased down by John who shot at him twice before he fell to the ground, unmoving. The gunshots rung through the room until the didn't, and Cat was finally able to focus at the scene unraveling around her.
"Tommy Shelby? How about fucking Arthur?" The oldest Shelby continued to plummet his fists into the Italian man. "Fucking good to meet you."
"Get him off him!" Thomas yelled, motioning John and the rest to help him. "Arthur! Arthur! Get him off him!"
"Arthur, that's enough. Arthur, come on!"
"Come on, Arthur, come on," it took four of them to pry the feral brother off the shooter as he continued to trash and growl, lost somewhere in the abyss of red tinted brutality that clouded his vision.
"That's it. It's over."
"Arthur!" Cat used all her strength to push his shoulders back and down on the ground until he cooled off. The perpetrator was unrecognisable, beaten into a gory pile of blood and broken bones.
"Fuck, he bit his ear off," she cringed away and closed her eyes, the tea she drunk hours prior threatening to make a second appearance.
"He's still breathing." Tommy sighed in relief, kicking himself off the blood-soaked sand before he turned on his soldier side on, barking orders over the chaos.
"Don't get blood on the kid!" he ordered, picking Cat off the ground in a tight grip and walking her over to where Michael stood, completely motionless.
"Michael, you didn't see a thing. This didn't happen, all right?" He stressed, eyes wide and demanding. The boy simply nodded.
"Give me the keys," when the boy didn't budge he repeated the order. "Michael, give me the keys."
"I'm all right to drive," his cousin reassured him.
"All right. Go on. Cat, you have your gun?" She nodded, light-headed from all the yelling and gunshots. Tommy touched her cheek, as if reassuring himself she was alright before he reluctantly let her go.
"Right, go with Michael and bring the truck to the back exit," he muttered before turning back to Arthur and the rest in an attempt to salvage the mess they created.
Cat's firm grip snaked around Michael's upper arm, guiding him to the truck in long and firm strides. "You've seen things today. Do you see what we do Michael?"
"You're one of us now, Michael," she stated, looking warily at the boy's passive expression. He seemed almost unfazed by the blood-thirsty scene he witnessed only moments ago.
"I've always been one of you."
