Bancroft - Peaky Blinders Reverse Harem x Reader

Chapter 17

I walk into the Garrison. I'm not here of my own will — but the Shelby's decided I couldn't be left alone without protection. Not after what happened with McGuffin.

I had fought and protested, angrily stomping about while I got dressed in a silk gown, but privately, knew I would hate being alone in the house. Nothing but my own thoughts for company, imagining another break in, more men who wanted to kill me for my father's money. Or his crime empire.

And so I cut through the cheers and shoulder claps between men on the Peaky Blinders payroll, and I head straight to the bar for a drink, with John close behind me.

"Not in the mood to celebrate?" I ask, pressing my fingers against the cool glass of whiskey I've been served.

"It's not a celebration while you're sober," he winks. He tips back his drink in one.

I roll my eyes. "As if you're ever sober."

John pretends to be affronted. "Are you saying I drink too much?"

"Would you call a fifth every two hours too much?"

He grins, gives a quick shake of his head as he pulls out a cigar. "Rookie numbers. May be a shock to you. Don't think I've seen you handle anything stronger than a cup of tea since you've been here."

I try to be outraged, though it's hard with John. "I just finished two shots worth of neat whiskey."

"Another two, and you might actually relax." He takes my jaw in his hand. "You've been clenching your teeth. No wonder you got a migraine." He addresses the barman. "Proper drink this time, yeah? Bancroft here's one of ours."

The barman nods and pulls a larger bottle of whiskey from the shelf. I pull away from John's grasp.

"You can't force alcohol into me," I say.

"You don't have to drink it." He stands to his feet. "But, what are you afraid of?"

A raging hangover. Making a fool of myself.

And, if I'm completely honest... losing control. Unravelling the tight thread I keep wrapped around myself.

Finally letting one of these men under my skin.

I sip the next whiskey that arrives, trying not to flinch as it burns a trail to my stomach, leaving my mouth feeling as though I've swilled acid. I refuse to let John Shelby think he's got the better of me.

A Bookie engages John in conversation about the last races, while I take my drink and walk slowly through the Garrison. I see Arthur coming out from the bathroom, and I'm ready to make my way over to him, when another man speaks to me.

"You look about as thrilled to be here as I am."

I turn to glance at him. He's unfamiliar — I haven't seen him before, and I'm sure I would remember his glossy skin, the cheekbones that could cut glass.

"I'm very thrilled to be here," I reply, though I'm aware neither my facial expression nor my tone of voice is very convincing.

It doesn't help I've been drinking the whiskey too quickly just for something to do. I force myself to hold the glass — with only an inch of liquid left — in my hands. Probably a good thing to let my insides recover, anyway. Meanwhile, I become aware that my face is numb, and the colours in the room look more vivid than they did when I arrived.

"Alright, then." He humours me, brown eyes shining. "What do you like about it so much?"

It takes me a little longer than usual to find an answer. "The music," I say. "I like this song."