Bancroft - Peaky Blinders Reverse Harem x Reader

Chapter 6

"Surprised you haven't given me your professional opinion," Tommy comments, leaning against the doorway of the stables as he smokes yet another cigarette.

I peel the borrowed riding gloves from my fingers. "I'm not here on business. Am I?"

He shrugs. "I'd be curious to know what you think."

I glance around the stalls for a moment, taking in the eager horse faces staring back at me. "I haven't seen them race," I say. "But I've noticed you don't have any juveniles."

"We don't race in the starters," he replies.

"Why not?" I ask, walking to the nearest horse and patting him, subtly checking him as I do. "The five furlong is usually the first race of a day. People are excited, and their pockets are still full of money."

"They're also smart enough to wait for the real races before placing serious bets," Tommy says.

I close my eyes in annoyance for a second. It's like he's determined to fight me on everything, for no apparent reason. "You asked for my opinion," I say. "I recommend juveniles for the five furlong. And give your older horses the six, before retiring them. You're lacking diversification."

Tommy gives a non-committal nod as he drops his cigarette to the ground. He folds his arms across his chest. I turn back to him, ready to leave, but he doesn't move.

"Who taught you to shoot a gun?" He asks lightly, conversationally.

My bones freeze. My blood chills.

"You said your father didn't keep them round the house," he continues in that low, Birmingham drawl. "Where, then?"

How can I tell him that I simply pulled the trigger, sent bullets racketeering through the wooden walls, until I hit the men that wanted to kill me? That if I'd been a bullet short, I'd be dead instead? My hands clench into fists at my sides, and my mouth is too dry to speak. Tommy frowns slightly, his eyes raking me over.

Moments pass before I clear my throat, steeling myself. "I taught myself."

He continues to silently appraise me. My shoulders tense as I compose myself, and I head for the doorway he's blocking, determined to simply shove past him until he moves.

But he doesn't move, and I lose my nerve before I can collide with him.

"Are we done here?" I ask, and find myself unexpectedly breathless so close to him.

"The Princess not used to so much dirt and muck?" He asks, his u soft in his accent, his tone mocking. "Ready to go back to her palace?"

Now I'm angry enough to shove past him. But he clutches a hand round my upper arm before I can get any further, whirling me back to face him. And then, with a surprisingly tender touch, he unfolds my clenched fist, revealing crimson crescent moons across my palm where my nails have dug in. I'm all too aware of how his skin feels against my own, and all too aware of how embarrassed I suddenly become.

"I tried to ignore the Will," he says quietly. "I told my brothers to ignore you, just like I ignored you."

"Don't stop now," I say lowly.

He scoffs gently, eyebrows raised as he drops my hand and releases my arm. A muscle clenches in my jaw as his eyes drop to my mouth, and everything inside of me gets warm.

"I tried to ignore you too," I say. "When Arthur called."

"I don't blame you, the way he fucked that up," he murmurs, rolling his eyes. But he loses his sarcasm as quickly as he gained it, and his eyebrows raise. "Do you regret coming?"

His voice is soft — lethal and serious. And yet for some inextricable reason, I suppose that's why my guard lowers, and I allow myself to be truthful rather than retorting.

"I'm not sure yet." I swallow all the other words that get trapped in my throat. "Do you regret me coming?" I ask.

I feel an entirely different meaning in the words when he echoes them back to me. "I'm not sure yet."