Yellow Roses // Thomas Shelby

Chaptee Twelve

There's no point dwelling over the fact that I don't have a brother anymore. I might as well carry on with life as if nothing changed. Nothing changed. It's been like this all along.

Thomas was already out of bed and getting dressed. He was in the bathroom shaving while I was dressing myself in the pinstripe pants and the white shirt I wore over here.

My eyes felt like they had been stabbed over and over again, like needles going in and out of my eyes rapidly. My lungs felt as if they were exploding. I hadn't had anything to drink since yesterday morning.

I walked down the stairs, seeing Polly awake and brewing coffee. John and Arthur were still groggy, slurring around the house and mumbling their words. I felt like I was dead, but experiencing a different life.

"Did you stay the night here?" Polly asked as she poured a second cup of coffee. I would've answered her, but Thomas cut in front of me and whispered something about me in her ear. Something about my brother.

Her eyes softened and she pulled me towards her, wrapping her arms around my body. Just the feeling of her running her hand across my shoulders made tears sting my eyes. Nothing compared to how I felt now. I felt mad and frustrated.

"Stay here tonight, darling." She told me as she pulled me away. "I'm sure Thomas would let you stay with him," she looked over to the middle brother, her eyes saying 'let her stay you prick.'

"Yeah, I already planned on it." He leaned against the counter, looking me in the eyes.

"You don't need to do that, Pol." I told her, my voice breaking. She shook her head.

"Nonsense." She told me, handing me a coffee cup. "I don't want you around that."

-

I walked into my house, bracing myself to see the body of my brother. He was face down, sprawled out and bloody. My eyes couldn't leave him as I stepped over his back and went up to my room for clothes.

I changed out of my pants and put a silk dress over my body. It was light blue with lace patterns on it. It wasn't one of my favorites, but it suited my body almost perfectly.

Curiosity struck me as I walked out the door, turning to my brother's room. Piles and piles of paper scattered around his floor, numbers covered every inch of the papers. I picked one up, inspecting it.

2300 pounds - snow - 5000 - Lee Boys

My mouth dropped. Cocaine? Really Frankie? I walked down to the living room, seeing my brother face down and bloody. I turned him over to see his face.

There wasn't a face, just cuts. They weren't accidental. They were made to be there. They were curly and straight, making an L and B.

Lee Boys.

His wallet was gone, so was his passport and keys and everything valuable he had was missing. My brother didn't kill himself. The Lee Boys fucking killed him and framed him.

I looked at the revolver in his hand, seeing the wooden part engraved with 'D.L.' L as in Lee Boy's. I remember reading a mystery novel about a man who was murdered. They usually had engravings on their guns. What idiots.

I grabbed some of the papers and the revolver, putting it into the pocket of my overcoat. I didn't care that my brother was dead now. I cared about who put a fucking bullet in his head.

My heart was beating all over my body. I could feel it in my chest, my head, hell, even in my fucking legs. I was furious. I was mad at my brother for getting involved with such fucking peasents.

Arthur was sitting at his desk, working on whatever it was that was important. He saw me walk through the door and hang my coat up, grabbing the items out of my pocket.