Read this book if you want to f-k Tommy Shelby.
You're Billy Kimber's daughter.
You've been accused of stealing the Peaky Blinders' shipment of guns.
And now you're forced to work with Tommy Shelby to solve the mystery of who's framing your father...
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Tommy
The bookie crashes through the door to my office, not even bothering to knock. He clutches a hand l to his chest as he pants and sucks in breath, his knees pointed inward, his hair streaked with sweat. I release a short sigh. If Arthur's been fighting again, I'll have no choice but to have a word with him.
"The... The Kimber girl..."
My attention immediately piques. "What's she done?"
"She left... on horseback..." His face reddens. "Saw me tailing her. Dismounted and kicked me in the groin, the little bitch."
The words sink in. Little bitch. Anger burns through me as I smile coldly. It's amusing, really — how fucking stupid this man is. I stand from my desk, slipping my jacket off rather than buttoning it. Slowly, I walk to the bookie, and clap my hands on the man's shoulders.
Then I shove him against the wall and grip him by the collar. Blue veins bulge visibly across my hands, skin tight at my jaw. There's a roaring in my ears, but I don't lose myself — I can never afford to lose myself.
"Talk about her like that again and I'll cut out your tongue," I threaten, my voice forming a thick oath. "Alright?"
"Okay!" He chokes out, straining beneath my grip. "Okay!"
I wait until he's really struggling for air, then I release him. Now the anger's dissipated, it's time for personal inventory — why the fuck had his words affected me so strongly? I don't even like the girl. In fact, I actively dislike her.
I learned long ago that it's a slippery slope to go poking around the depths of my own brain. Better to cast it aside, before I end up with an opium pipe between my lips just so I can sleep.
"Where was she headed?" I ask, heat evaporating from my skin as I light a cigarette.
"South of the city. By the time she saw me, she'd reached some shitty little town. Nothing there but a few high street shops."
I frown. "No residents?"
He shakes his head. "Not on the main strip, sir, no."
What is she up to?
"I need the name of the town."
***
Clever fucking girl.
I fix my gaze on the small shop sandwiched in the row of adjacent buildings. Peeling paint, hanging sign lopsided from one vandal or another. The weather's uncharacteristically bright, bright enough to warrant sunglasses that tint the world in a dark film. I bring a cigarette to my lips. Small clumps of people pass me, and a car trundles up the narrow street.
R.D. Spiegler's. A small, black-painted storefront with the name written in cursive. I've never even heard of it. Is Kimber here to meet someone? Are they in on the plot? Or, as I'd first suspected, is she simply clever enough to have tracked down the name from the diary page?
