Calloway // Michael Gray x Reader - Peaky Blinders Fanfic

Chapter 49

Calloway

"Do you think he'll be cross?" I whisper anxiously to Polly, as we move through the grounds.

"He'll get over it," she mutters. "We'll let him take all the glory when Tommy finds out. Should soothe the blow."

Privately, I'm not so sure. Michael can be unpredictable when it comes to matters of pride. Guilt broils in my stomach as a strange wave of apprehension overtakes me. I try to reassure myself — I'm here with Polly. I feel safe with her.

But still, I can't rid myself of the nagging sensation. The way every hair on my body seems to raise, waiting, expecting. But, we press on, determination fuelling my every step. I just need to find some evidence, then we can leave. This will be over. Finally, Michael will be safe.

The night air is heavy with tension as Polly and I stealthily make our way towards the grand doors granting entrance to the looming mansion. The moon casts an eerie glow, faint and cloudy. Polly and I exchange glances. She nods silently to the other side of the building, where our blueprints and research have said there will be an ivy trellis running all the way to the balconied roof.

I test my weight on the trellis, tugging on the latticed wood before I begin to climb. The ivy scratches and irritates through my black clothes. Every step I climb sends another jolt of adrenaline through me, ending in relief only when we've both clambered over the railing and onto the roof.

I take a moment here to glance out across the grounds. The trees, rustling in a soft breeze. The quiet hooting of an owl.

Polly stoops low over the trap door and begins to deftly pick the lock. Her hands are steady, and soon there's a soft click.

"You're better at that than Michael," I mutter as we swing the door open.

She smirks. "Bloody right I am."

We slip inside and descend the staircase, careful not to make a sound. The house is eerily quiet. I find myself suddenly wishing for the outdoor moonlight once more — there's no light in here.

There's a rattling sound, a spark, and Polly lights a match. We glance around the hallway. I try to gain my bearings, to relate the surroundings to the blueprints we pored over for so long. To reconcile the lines and measurements across blue sheets of paper with the opulence before me, the panelling and wallpaper and rugs. Polly gives a determined nod.

We descend the grand staircase, our hearts pounding in sync with each step. Polly lights a new match to keep our path lit. Down the hall. Past three sets of doors. First on the left...

"Fucking hell," Polly mutters, pulling her lock picking tools out once more. "Calloway, hold the match."

She sets to work on this lock. It's large and brass in the door. I wait, gut churning, match burning.

And then a bird swoops between us.

I drop the match in surprise. "Shit," I mutter, stooping to pick it up.

The bird continues to swoop overhead, tweeting and flying through the hallway. The match flickers, ready to go out. The last thing I see is Polly's eyes fixed on mine, her face grim.

"Fuck. We need to get out of here."

The match goes out with a sting at my fingertips, and darkness enshrouds us.

"Why?" I whisper.

"That bird... it's a sign. An omen. Somebody will die tonight."

My blood chills in my body. "You go," I tell her. "Find Michael. I'll get what we need, and get out."

"No. If Michael loses you..."

"One of us will lose the other if Mosley isn't stopped," I point out, my whispers frantic in the darkness. "Polly, we're so close..."

My head spins. But I can't give up now. Can't let everything so far go to waste. More than anything, Michael will be losing face with Tommy for this. For my plan. I need to at least have gotten the job done. I can't let Michael down.

"Light me another bloody match," Polly finally says.

She quickly breaks us in through the door. We push through to Mosley's office, all dark bookcases and brown leather. It smells of old books, aged leather, and the fresh-cut flowers in a vase beside the window.

"Don't suppose you can pick smaller locks, Pol?" I mutter, glancing at the locked drawers beside Mosley's desk.

Polly closes the door and flicks on a lamp. "You think they're in there?"

"Just a hunch." The same instinct inside of me that's screaming something is wrong, is screaming that the drawers have what we need.

Polly tilts her head at me as she begins to try her hand at the locks. "You don't have gypsy blood in you, do you Calloway?"

"Afraid not. Maybe I've been around Michael too long."

She smiles. "When your souls form a connection, strange things can happen." But her expression quickly darkens, until she's shaking the drawers angrily, unable to break into them. "It's no use. The pins are too small."

I'm not giving up. Not after everything.

"We have drawers like this in the bank," I tell Polly, searching Mosley's desk for something to use as a pry tool. "Peters didn't return the keys when he... well fuck, at this rate I'm thinking Mosley had him killed." My hands clasp victoriously around a letter opener. "George showed me a trick. Said we couldn't afford to be mucking around when there's clients waiting on us in the meeting room."

I insert the slender, pointed tip of the letter opener into the seams of the drawer. And though I'm tempted to pull and pry with all my force, Michael's voice rings through my mind. The words he'd told me years ago, when he was still Henry. Showing me how to pry mussels free from the rocks. Reminding me to be gentle.

I angle the letter opener, using the same, swooping motion. As I gently pry through the lock, the bird swoops into the room. It twitters madly. Polly's face drains of colour.

"A warning," she tells me.

The drawer comes free. I drop the letter opener and pull out the sole contents — a Manila folder, with thick wads of paper stashed inside.

My heart hammers in my chest as I lay them across the desk, examining them. And then I say a prayer of thanks to the bird or the gypsies or whatever instinct it is that's guiding me.

It's all here. Names. Identities. Dates. Copies of financial transactions, cheques to offshore accounts. Blackmail material. Photographs of politicians. Some of Mosley himself.

"Oh my god," Polly whispers. "We found it."

My heart soars in elation. I gather everything back together and stuff it into the folder once more, scrambling to my feet. Polly pulls me up. We're ready to get out of here.

But just as we prepare to burst out of the room and find Michael, a sudden noise startles us. The heavy sigh of a voice we know all too well.

Michael walks slowly through the doorway of the room. His face is unreadable at first. His gaze heavy. Full of what looks like guilt of his own. Regret.

And then Mosley enters behind him. Smiles nastily. "Oh, good. Michael, you can hand in your resignation in person. Ladies... let's have a drink and celebrate. Michael here's agreed to be the new head of my illegal affairs. A position of true power."