Forbidden Alliances // Alfie Solomons Peaky Blinders

(97) Not Anymore

*edited 03/26/23*

In the morning, Freya took her meds and went straight to work with the sole purpose of talking to her brother. She arrived at the main building, expecting to find him there or at least someone who had seen him there but nobody had.

So, she left.

"I swear if those Soviet bastards got to him before I could... For the love of God may He have mercy on all those who cross my path..." she growled under her breath, marching back out and driving to the den.

When she got in, life seemed to have a funny hold on her because everything was eerily silent. Instead of being met with the casual bustle of an eight a.m. crowd placing their bets, the building was almost empty.

"Esme?!" Freya called out, looking around curiously with a knot in her belly that would have turned into a ball of anxiety if it weren't for the medication she was on. "Esme?!" she kept calling, hearing her voice bounce off the walls of the empty facility, worrying something really bad happened while she was away.

"Freya?!" It was a boisterous combination of two voices calling her back, sounding both bored and bothered, as well as worried and disbelieving.

"Esme?!" she called out once more, following the sound deeper into the back of the building, finding her and John sitting at the table in the supply area. They were just passed her and John's old offices which were now filing rooms filled with documents, storage, and new bathroom renovations.

"Es- John..." she sighed. "For fucksake. What's happened now?" Her voice went up slightly in pitch as she put her hand over her heart to try and ease it with pressure.

She wasn't going to admit it but seeing their faces was comforting because if it was the Italians or even the Soviets, they would have gone for her entire family and not just Tommy. So to see them without a bullet hole in each of their heads was relieving.

"Scotland Yard just stormed in here and took Tommy..."

"What? Like arrested him?!"

"No... Yes... Maybe. Freya, I don't have a bloody clue what's going on," John spoke quickly as he could.

"Whuh- and what? You just let it happen?" she asked curiously, not understanding how and why it happened.

"You think I'd just let somethin' like that 'appen?!" John thundered, shaking the window frame on the front wall as he angrily set his glass of gin on the table between him and his wife. "All he said as he was being dragged out was to tell you this is Russian business."

"Oh!" She widened her eyes as she got louder. "That's reassuring. Thank you!" She rolled her eyes and abandoned her satire. "Give me that." She waved her hand for his empty glass.

Was it a good idea to mix alcohol with a medication that wasn't up to date with legal protocol? Probably not. Did she care? Not really.

"Don't shoot the messenger." He slid her a glass full of clear liquid, spilling some on the table as he did so. "And don't hit me either," he instructed harshly, taking a seat and kicking her one as he settle down beside his wife.

"Mhm," she hummed, cringing as she swallowed the warm liquid, not up for debate when her brother was missing and most likely being held in a holding cell by Scotland Yard. "No promises. Unless you decide to cut another Italian for no good reason then I'd say you're safe, mate," she grumbled.

"I cut that eyetie for poking 'is cock on the wrong side of the tracks," John defended.

"Sure," she grumbled. "Is that all he said? Russian business? Nothing else?" she wondered, feeling as her mind resorted back to that rapid and painfully hyperactive mindset. The only difference was in her biological response to the stress. She wasn't as ill as she was the night before but that didn't stop her mind from continuing to kill itself.