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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I can't help but sneak a glance at Tommy's face.
He's pulled the car over on the side of the road, nothing but moorland and quiet roads before us. Spangles is tied to the fence shortly past the trees, a spot where my sneaking around can't be discovered.
I pass Tommy the list of Spiegler's clients and he reads it intently, brow slightly furrowed in concentration.
I take in his side profile. The curve of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw, the trenches below his cheekbones. His eyelashes as he blinks. The way his neck perfectly meets the base of his jaw —
I haul myself back to my senses. "Anything interesting?" I ask, suddenly finding myself very absorbed in literally anything that isn't inside the car.
"They're all fake," he says.
My mouth drops in surprise. "What?" If we went through all that to get a list that isn't even real...
"The businesses. None of them exist. Except," he points at a line near the bottom of the page, "for one. Horton's Pleasure House."
"Of course you'd know that," I mutter.
He doesn't look at me as he replies evenly. "I'm not a patron, Kimber, I'm using common sense. The worker in the shop referred to special services, and there's no way Spiegler's a legitimate business. It's a money laundering front for a brothel."
I turn this information over in my mind. I can't imagine Tommy's lying. It seems an oddly specific, and colourful, way to go about it. "You're certain?"
"No." He looks directly at me with those blazing eyes. "But I've given you enough to be getting on with."
It takes me a moment to take the hint. "You're breaking up the partnership?" I ask, scowling. Again, he'll use me to get what he wants, then cast me aside.
Though it hasn't been an entirely uneven transaction. I doubt I would have survived the ordeal at Spiegler's house without him.
"You helped me at the store. I'm helping you now. Consider us even." He tries to pocket the list.
"Give me that." I snatch it from him, scanning it myself. But it makes sense. Most of the addresses aren't real — at least I've never heard of them. Nor have I heard of a single business.
"May the best man win," Tommy says curtly, drawing from a cigarette. A cue for me to leave.
But then a thought occurs to me, and I release a quiet laugh. "Our next lead means infiltrating a strip club and brothel, and you think you have the advantage?" I don't miss the way his jaw tightens as my words sink in. "Oh no, Thomas Shelby. May the best woman win this one."
And I leave the car, climbing over the fence to Spangles. Toby will be mad I took her — I assume it interfered with her strict training schedule while he readies her for the races — but there's no other horse to ride, and my father would rather live as a pauper than allow me my own transport.
