He looked at her, told her the truth, unflinching. It wasn't up to him whether or not she could handle it.

"I already know who took him."

"You what?" He poured himself two fingers of Irish, drank them. She was looking at him like he'd just shot her.

"It was the Germans. Same gang that shot up my brother and me. They're getting involved in Brit politics somehow, something about a revolution. Maybe another war. I think your father," he pointed his empty glass at her, "found out."

"That's why he wanted your protection." Her voice was small.

"What?"

"That thing he wanted that you agreed to do if I got you out of the hospital. I think it was protection. From the Peaky Blinders." Her hands shook on top of the gilded gold of the bar. So she knew their name now. "Do you have vodka?"

He poured her half a glass, she threw her head back and tossed it down. It rang against the bar as she set it back down and she hissed through her teeth.

"Vodka, eh?" He asked.

"I'm being forced to branch out," she told him, but her eyes looked far away. "Whiskey makes me sick now."

He poured himself some more. "Funny," he said. "Whiskey is what stops my sickness."

He drove her to the yard, opened her door. She ignored his outreached hand as she climbed down, holding her dress up in her dainty hands, and he scoffed. Her perfume wafted past him, the only good smelling thing in the whole damn city. Charlie was waiting for them, standing near an enclosed trailer hooked to a truck that proclaimed Shelby Company Limited in flowing script. Chase was tethered to the trailer and was being brushed down by Curly, who was chattering excitedly.

"Hello again, Miss Tessa. And Mr. Horse Thief, sir."

"Charlie," Tommy cleared his throat. He had one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette. He looked so different than how she had grown accustomed to seeing him, wearing expensive clothes instead of bloody bandages, holding a smoke instead of a scalpel or a gun. A businessman instead of a runaway. His hat hid part of his face and his long black coat hung off his shoulders. She realized she was staring when he noticed her gaze on him, and she jerked her eyes away.

"He's a beauty, ma'am, really. Beautiful. Beautiful. Prettiest horse I ever seen, I think," Curly was chittering. She smiled at him. Tommy was still watching her, she could feel it like a pressure in her head.

"Thank you. I would offer to let you ride him, but he's got a bit of a temper, I'm afraid. That's what you give up for good looks."

"Ah, 's alright. This one's the same way," Charlie said, gesturing at Tommy, who fastened him with a sharp glare, smoke furling out of his mouth. Charlie stopped smiling. "Anyway, we'll have him hitched up in no time, if you want to give Curly your address, I'll have him drive the horse down tonight."

"Much obliged, thank you." She gave him another smile, mostly at Tommy's expense, and went over to Chase, checking his hooves and talking to Curly as he finished rubbing him down.

Charlie sidled over to Tommy, who was still watching Tessa, cigarette between his lips. "Well," he said, testing the waters, Tommy could tell. "Like horse like owner, eh?"

Tommy didn't respond, or look over. He took another drag.

"Tommy," Charlie said, his tone low. "What happened to her face, mate? Her neck? That have anything to do with you?"

Tommy dropped the finished smoke, ground it under his heel. "Don't take the horse to the Reilly estate. Take it back to my stables. Tell Curly."

He strode over to where the horse, Curly, and Tessa were gathered, breeze from the cut blowing ash around his feet and flapping his coat in the wind. Tessa had her cheek pressed to her horse's neck. Chase was breathing softly, his head lowered, making her hair flutter with the wind.

"I think the reason your mother is single is because there's no room for another man in her life, next to you," Tommy told the stallion in Romani. Chase looked at him with a bright brown eye.

"What language is that?" Tessa asked, brushing the horse's flank, not turning around.

"Gypsy," He said, then cleared his throat.

"Oh." The wind blew her hair against Chase's nose, and he snorted loudly, and she laughed quietly. Tommy looked at her, silent, for another moment.

"Come on. The boys'll take care of your horse. It's time to go." She let him help her back into the car.

"You should be taking me home," she told him. He didn't reply.

"You're not," she stated. The passing streets of the unfamiliar city were growing dark.

"Tessa" He parked the car outside of a line of townhouses, elegant and upper class. He reached into his pocket, drew out his cigarette case. When he looked at her, his eyes were serious. They were always varying levels of serious. She had never seen him smile except when she had handed him the gun. She thought of her father, and her heart ached. "You can't go home."

She broke her gaze with him and stared ahead, out the window of the car. That was what she was afraid he would say. "Tell me you're going to help me find my father."

"I will," Tommy sighed, ran a hand down his face, "but not tonight. I have my men gathering intelligence as we speak. We have coppers on our payroll, members of congress in our pocket. They'll report back to me tomorrow. But it isn't safe for you out there."

"And you expect me to believe you suddenly give a fuck about my safety?"

"Tessa, will you-,"

"Where's my horse, Thomas," she said, and his jaw worked back and forth.

"I can't tell you. You'd probably try to leave."

She didn't argue. "So I'm being kidnapped by the man who is supposed to help me find kidnappers." Tommy managed to convey a shrug with his eyes. She breathed in sharply and stared at the vines climbing up the perfect bricks of the houses.

"Takes one to know one. Consider yourself lucky."

She whipped around to glare at him again. Lucky?

"Jesus," he ran a hand down his face. "Just get inside, will you?"

She slammed the door of the expensive, black, shiny car behind her, and when she closed her eyes she saw Tommy standing in front of another black car, this one burning, his eyes crackling like blue flame. Gangster, soldier, predator. She opened her eyes again and hesitated before she followed him as he walked up to the houses' steps, because she really didn't have an alternative, thinking about how his pretty clothes just made it easier for him to carry a gun. Pretty and deadly, like a puma, like a falcon, like a shark. The entryway of the house was dark, and it smelled like smoke, but like smoke from a campfire in the woods, like pine and sap and cold air. She doubted he was here much. Or alone, when he was. The thought bothered her a little, and excited her a little too, and she repressed both reactions and wanted her snow. When he passed her to light a lamp in the hall she could smell him too, and instead of blood and petrol he smelled like cigarettes and clean cologne. Footsteps descended from stairs hidden in shadows and a maid appeared, an older white woman with brown hair. She reminded Tessa a bit of Missy.

"Hello, Mr. Shelby. We weren't sure if you would be returning this evening."

Where did he spend most of his nights, Tessa wondered. Bars? Alleys? Finding whatever he could that would "help"? Probably not at church.

"Ah, hello, Ellanor, this is Miss Reilly. She will be our guest for the evening, please see to it that she has everything she needs."

I am in a gangster's house. My father is missing. I was almost killed this week. I saw two men die.

Tommy's cheekbones were thrown into relief by the lamp on the wall, his sharp jaw shadowed. A cigarette occupied a permanent position between his open lips. Tessa pushed herself against his chest, forced him to look down and meet her eyes.

"Find me some vodka. And don't you dare make your maids fetch it for you."

His smoke followed her as she climbed up the shadowy stairs and turned at random into one of the many rooms. As she did, she heard Ellanor say in a quiet tone, "I see you've got yourself a little firecracker, haven't you, Mr. Shelby?"

And she heard Tommy's tired sigh.