Forbidden Alliances // Alfie Solomons Peaky Blinders

(62) Loyalty and Liquor

*edited 03/14/23*

When Alfie left, Freya laid in bed for a total of twenty seconds before the silence and hollowness he left in his wake made her want to be anywhere but there: sitting in the sheets they shared, filled with his fill and barely able to stand on her legs.

The sight made Freya hum with a soft smile. It was laughable how he managed to fuck her senselessly and leave like it was just another day. But that humor didn't last long when the lack of his presence made the emptiness of her home that much more empty.

She never realized how lonely and void her home was until he introduced the walls to the sound of his voice and her floors to the soles of his shoes. Now, the silence made her skin crawl and her chest ached for his breath.

After the wild few hours they had together, she couldn't stay at home for very long. She would wake up and race out the door and training stopped when he was gone because her hollow home had become painfully silent and empty without him.

She only went home to sleep and even though she would get off of work around seven, she would stay out until she was drowsy.

Life continued like that for a few days until Tommy came back home for Arthur's birthday. When Freya walked into work that day, she expected to be faced with retribution and ridicule but what she expected and what she received were very different things.

"Have you got everything in order for Arthur's party tonight?"

Freya looked up from the work on her desk with surprise, stifling her worry with pure curiosity.

"Arthur's party," Tommy took a drag from his cigarette. "Have you managed that at least?"

"Yes, of course I did. Is... Is everything alright with you, mate?" She furrowed her brows and turned in her chair to face him.

"Fine," he said nonchalantly before swiftly walking down the hall and leaving her to her work.

"Dreary much?" Freya whispered under her breath, finishing her work and taking the afternoon to organize everything in the Garrison before the men got off work.

When she walked inside, the tenders were sweeping the floor and wiping down the tables. It smelled less like piss and spit and more like lemon detergent and spilled whiskey. "Why aren't the tables pulled out yet?" she immediately questioned the older bartender who turned to her with wide eyes.

"Nightshift lift without cleanin' up. Chris an I 'uh bin cleanin' awl mornin', Lassie," he admitted, continuing to wipe down the tables with a quick but careful hand, whipping pieces of food and cigarette butts onto the floor in the process.

"What do you mean night shift? Who worked last night?"

"Look," the Scottish lad stopped working and stood at his tallest, "I don't wunt to be the reason someone gits on your bad side," he chuckled, swiftly moving for another table. "Just don't blame us win it's ban them Cockney's who bin slackin'."

"Right," she scoffed. "Well, how do you lot propose we make sure this doesn't happen again then, eh?"

Freya moved for the chairs near the front, catching Christopher's eye and nodding before handing them off to him and watching him disappear into the storage room, just passed the restock behind the bar.

"Who was it?" Freya was adamant and the Scotsman had to stop again to consider the outcome of disobeying a Shelby.

"I'm no snitch, Lassie," he grumbled, speaking in an almost-warning tone, dipping his toe into refusal.

"Working for us," Freya pressed her palms to the surface of the table the man was looking down at and lowered herself to meet his eyes dauntingly, "you better not be," she glared at him from the darkness underneath him. "Now tell me who worked shifts last night so I make sure they know not to leave any crumbs next time." Her voice was dark and haunting as she threatened the man.