WOUNDS THAT NEVER HEAL || tommy shelby x reader

chapter eight

You felt like nothing more than a coward—a weakling—someone who was merely an illusion of someone strong.

His little hands—

His sparkling eyes—

His mother's nose—

It was all too much suddenly. But that didn't stop you from feeling like a failure.

You'd survived this long in Thomas Shelby's mansion, only to be taken out by a fucking baby. All those sentimental feelings, the longing, the memories, the nostalgia, had caught up with you as soon as father and son had peered at you together; two sets of dark blue eyes, staring into your soul.

You stared at Tommy's portrait, trying not to burst into tears again. You were mentally kicking yourself, telling yourself to stop being a child, to grow up, to remember who the fuck you were; but your usual tactic of keeping poised and emotionless just wasn't working this time round. You were stranded on your depressing island. You were stuck.

And what made it worse was that the rational part of yourself, inside, was snickering at the emotional part of you that was displayed outside. It stuck its heel into your stomach and laughed as you winced, whined, cried. It chuckled as you writhed in pain on the ground, as you stared at the painting of the man who'd both destroyed and built who you were today.

Martin. You thought. I need to speak to Martin.

Without checking what you looked like, you raced out your room, headed for the phone in the kitchen. You needed one simple thing; his voice; to get you back down to Earth; to remind you of who you were; what you did; how you operated. You needed a friend.

You paced it down the corridor to the kitchen, almost crashing into the wall as you collided with the phone.

You dialled quickly and quietly, trying not to alert Paula or Mary, or even Tommy. You wanted to be alone. You wanted to talk to your friend.

The phone dialled twice, before it was picked up.

"Martin, you picked up," You breathed down the line, and as you did so, your shoulders relaxed. You perked up. "Sorry for the impromptu call. I just wanted... to check up on things," You smiled, letting out a few more pent up breaths.

"Well, Miss L/N, things are about to change."

Time slowed; your heart stopped.

You knew that voice, that slimy, grotesque drone—

Joseph Kinsmen.

You swallowed your fear back. You straightened yourself. You breathed in deeply.

"Mr Kinsmen." Your voice was controlled as it left your mouth. You were used to this kind of bullshit. "I apologise if this comes off as rude, but what the fuck are you doing using my phone?"

"Ha, you are a good little actress, you know. Always strong, always in charge," He purred. "But you forgot one crucial detail, Miss L/N."

"Oh? And what might that be?" Sweat began to dot upon your brow.

"You don't piss off a Kinsmen and get away with it." You didn't reply. Words would have failed you if you'd tried. "You're also a good bluff. All that shit about protection. Very well done, L/N. So, here's what I suggest you do—,"

"Cut your little holiday short. Get your stupid, whore arse back to London. And we can finally have that drink."

Whore. God, men love that word, don't they?

You bit back your nerves.

"And if I don't?" Your legs began to shake. Joseph laughed on the other end of the line— a horrible cackle. You listened as sounds trickled through the phone; struggling; fighting; beating.

"Then your pal Martin isn't going to fare well,"

You had to go. You had to. There was no other option.

"I'll be back in five hours." You thought about hanging up the phone immediately. But you also thought about how you'd managed to sway him for this long. You'd scared him—no matter how miniscule or for what time span, you'd managed to scare Joseph Kinsmen with your words; your aura; your behaviour. "I'll have a gin. With cucumber, not lemon."

You could practically feel Joseph's grin down the phone.

"Of course,"

You hung up the phone, your entire body buzzing with adrenaline—

That fucking buzz; that feeling of danger; one that you'd never felt until you'd followed Tommy that day.

It was all his fucking fault; how much you craved this feeling now. How much you wanted to go up against danger, face to face, eye to eye, the barrel of your father's gun pressed firmly at its temple.

You tried to compose yourself as you walked back to your room and pack your belongings. But what you didn't comprehend—

Was Tommy.

"You going somewhere?" He stopped you on the stair well, headed downstairs, suitcase in your hand. He stood on the landing, his eyes baring into you.

"Something's come up at work," You let out. You didn't want to explain. You didn't have to. It was none of his business.

But you also didn't want his help. It would create more damage than good if the Kinsmen ever found out that you were associated with the Shelby's. It would make you more of a target. For yourself, you needed to do this on your own. You'd grown, you'd changed; you didn't have any desire for Tommy's help anymore.

You turned your back to the Blinder and continued down the stairs to the lobby.

He followed you, but was always a few steps behind.

"What sort of thing?" The curiosity in his voice was overrun by something else; something that you didn't want to admit was there—

Concern.

After all this time—these two years of no contact—only to fight horrendously the first time you see each other again—only to have him ask if you were working for another gang, against him—

He had concern for you.

"Nothing that you're entitled to know about," You said sternly. Tommy let out a chuckle and your body tensed.

"You know, for a moment there..." He began, stepping towards you slowly. He approached you calmly, gently, until you faced him directly. He was close enough that you could feel his warmth, smell his cologne. It made your fingers twitch. "I could see through you again."

You stomach dropped.

You forced yourself to scowl at him.

"It doesn't concern you," You whispered, almost threateningly. "So, drop it."

He shot you a frown, but didn't press you. You saw his eyes flash with something, but didn't stick around to figure out what it was. You paced it to the front door, opening it with a creak. You stopped, your back still turned to him.

"Tell Polly and the boys I'm sorry," You swung the door closed before Tommy could answer, and began the long journey back to London—

You were going to save Martin.