Bancroft - Peaky Blinders Reverse Harem x Reader

Chapter 10

Arthur and Michael are at my side in what feels like a second with guns in their hands, but McGuffin's crew have gone. Michael runs down the street, but Arthur's movement to follow is halted by the appearance of John, sliding out from the backseat of a cab.

"Well fuck me, where the fuck have you been?" Says Arthur, grasping his brother by the collar.

"What?" John asks, his usual smile slipping from his face. He turns to me, as though hoping for a clue, and his jaw clenches at the sight.

"Bancroft, what happened?" He asks, tearing away from Arthur and coming over to me. His fingers are firm as he tilts my head, examining the slice running down my neck. "Arthur, get bandages."

"I'm fine," I try to insist, but it doesn't sound convincing. Maybe the world is slowly spinning in my vision, and maybe I am feeling a little weak holding myself up.

John rips his shirt off, revealing the plain white T-shirt he's wearing beneath. He bunches the cotton fabric and presses it against my neck, holding it firmly, his fingers linking through my hair on the other side.

"You're alright," he says softly. "Just in shock, yeah?"

"They're gone." Michael jogs back into my field of vision, panting slightly from the exertion of a street chase. "Arthur, what the fuck happened?"

"I told them to get lost is what fucking happened," Arthur replies.

"Let's just get her home," says John.

His touch leaves me and I see spots of blood across his shirt, though thankfully nothing too frightening. My neck stings like a cat has raked it's claws in a long arc, but I know it could have been so much worse.

Though, judging by the looks on the Shelby's faces, I get the sense they aren't taking it the same way.

"Oh, for god's sake," I burst, as John tries to lay me down in the backseat of the cab. "I don't know why you're all getting so worked up." I sit myself pointedly upright.

"Because they shouldn't even fucking touch you," Arthur growls. "And they drew blood."

"But this is only over a few races," I say, almost pleading. "Right?"

Nobody answers me. Michael clears his throat loudly from the passenger seat, and makes hasty small talk with the driver. I raise my eyebrows at Arthur and John, who both exchange glances but choose not to answer.

"Fuck," Arthur mutters as we pull into the driveway.

"What is it?"

"Tommy's home." He gulps as we get out, eyes raking across my throat.

His fingers are soft, yet firm in their movements, as he pulls my hair across my neck to hide the wound. His touch sends a wave of goosebumps across my skin, and I have a strange feeling it's got little to do with my injury.

"Don't say anything," Michael tells me. "Let us do the talking."