Bancroft - Peaky Blinders Reverse Harem x Reader

Chapter 51

I pick up the condom on my nightstand the next morning, turning it carelessly in my fingers before I freeze.

Lizzie has been crossed out.

In its place, Tommy's written Webley .455 .

The name of his gun model.

My breath hitches in my chest... and then I can't help a small smile. There's no iced water, and no buttercups. But that's okay.

He left me something.

And the thought of what that something could entail is enough to bring heat to my cheeks and a small ripple of butterflies through my abdomen.

I take a very long and very cold bath before I head downstairs and start making breakfast. The sausages are in one pan, the eggs are in another, and I've set a place at the table for everyone. I'm humming happily as I butter slices of toast, when Arthur clears his throat behind me.

"So," he says. "You came back."

I turn around to face him. I nod.

After a pause, I open my mouth to speak again. To apologise and explain. But he crosses the room to me, and takes my face in his hands.

"You fucking came back," he says, voice thick with emotion.

"You're not mad?" I ask in a whisper.

"Not with you," he says. "It's not your fault you have shit parents. I know how it can feel when they come back into your life. Even when you know what they're like, a part of you still hopes..." he trails off, then clears his throat. "John told me what you did. You're a Peaky Blinder through and fucking through. You know that?"

And he kisses me — not romantically. He kisses me like we're celebrating a victory, and then he claps a hand on my back.

"I'm going to be better," I tell him, needing him to understand this.

He nods. "I know you are."

"How?" I ask.

"Something similar happened with me and my father once," he says. "I nearly took my own life afterwards."

I bring a hand to my mouth in shock. "Arthur..."

"So don't feel you need to prove yourself to me," he says. "I'm just glad you're back safe with us, and you're not hurt."

I try not to wince in response. My ass is still tender, especially now I'm out of the cold bath that had numbed the bruising momentarily.

"So," John says as he enters, taking a seat at the table. "You're still here."

"Told you I would be," I reply, plating up the food. "I hope you didn't clear your day to track me down."

"Fucking wish I had," he sighs as he runs a hand through his hair. "Day's bloody packed. Tommy's already gone into the office."

My heart sinks a little, and my hand stills. Oh. But I recompose myself, forcing a smile across my face. "More for us, then."

"Don't fucking count on it."

My heart flips at the sound of Tommy's voice. I turn around, and we lock eyes. He looks breathtaking in the morning light — fresh and clear. He smells like fresh cologne. I can smell him halfway across the kitchen.

I suddenly ache and yearn for him.

"You never eat breakfast," Arthur says, taking his seat at the table.

"I do today," he replies, unbuttoning his jacket as he sits down. "Bancroft's made it."

My hands are shaking too hard to hold the weight of the food plate any longer than I have to. So I set it on the table and tell them to dig in.

I pour myself tea, all too aware of every movement of Tommy's as he slices into his food, gathers it on his fork, takes a bite and chews.

John groans appreciatively. "Fucking delicious."

Arthur's wolfing his back too quickly for words, but he gives me a thumbs up. I glance at Tommy, awaiting his verdict.

"I agree," he says. "Fucking delicious." And then, while I'm still breathless, "It's a shame Michael and Ada aren't here to enjoy it. Any ideas where they are?"

My eyes narrow. "Arthur and John are here. What about them?"

"My brothers and I fought together in France. We've shared experiences together you couldn't even fathom. It's only logical we would share a breakfast." He chews once more. "Michael, on the other hand, left marks on his plate last time he ate. I'd like to have words with him about that."

I sip my tea guiltily as Arthur and John exchange glances.

"And Ada?" I ask.

"I'd trust Ada with my life," he says. "If she wants to eat from the table, and the table is consenting, I have no issue with it." He drives his fork into his food  once more. "So long as she remembers who's table it is."

"So it's only Michael you'd exclude from the meal, then?"

"I'll exclude anyone who doesn't show respect for what belongs to me."

I no longer care about Arthur and John's weary looks. "What if the plate needed the marks? What if it was the only way any of us could receive a meal at all?"

Tommy finishes and sets down his cutlery. His voice is perfectly even. "It was still my plate."

"Bloody hell, is that the time," Arthur mutters.

"You were eating from a different piece of dining ware at the time," I argue back. "What was the plate supposed to do? Sit in the cupboard until it gathered dust, waiting for you to use it once more?"

"We've got that meeting," John says, standing and buttoning his jacket as fast as he can.

"I wasn't eating a thing," Tommy says.

"You'd plated up food."

"And still," he says loudly, before composing himself once more. "Still, he left marks on my plate, knowing full well I'd be displeased."

"The plate apologises," I say quietly. "She didn't mean to upset you."

"I'd bend that plate over and teach her a lesson," Tommy says, also standing. "But I refuse to hurt her further."

I pause. I'll put the plate debate to rest — for now. "What's the meeting for?"

"Running the bookies through our bloodstock for the next races," Arthur says, freezing and glancing guiltily at Tommy afterwards.

"Can I come?" I ask, unable to help myself.

They're all silent. Arthur and John look at Tommy. I take a breath. The last thing I want is to be a nuisance.

"Never mind," I say lightly. "I have lots to do here today, actually. I'll see you later."

I stand and clear the table, running the sink full of hot, soapy water. The front door goes, and I assume they've all gone.

But as I fetch a tea towel from the drawer, someone warm presses against my back. I gasp softly, turning around, my face inches from Tommy's.

He's holding my coat and gloves. "Come on," he says to me. "Get in the car."