☆ ᴡᴀᴛᴛʏꜱ 2024 SHORTLISTER!! ☆
A tragic misunderstanding. A murder. A secret. An unlikely partnership. A spirited countess and an enterprising racketeer.
~~~
Manchester, England. May 1925.
The Roarin' 20s. An era of glamor, decadent parties, jazz mus...
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Multiple humanoid shapes emerged from the dark corners of the room and converged around Rose and Jimmy.
An arm encircled Rose's waist from behind, and her alarmed gasp was cut short as a hand covered her mouth. She knew from the skin tone of the hand and the scent of herbs that it was Elijah who now held her fast, but that didn't make the sudden assault any less startling.
Two large men in gray dock-worker's coveralls that Rose did not recognize restrained Jimmy, pinning his arms behind his back and forcing him down onto a heavy wooden chair.
Around them, Ransom, Jackson, Archie, Crispin, and Mickey Sullivan came into focus, fedoras on and expressions smug.
William watched in muted apathy from his chair by the window. Behind him, the plum-colored drapes were shut against the night sky, isolating the hotel room from the rest of the city.
Jimmy struggled in vain against his burly captors, a series of panicked curses spewing from his mouth. “Fuck you, Liam Mercer! Fuck you, and your sodding Deansgate Streeters!”
Ransom let out a blithe chortle. “Got a mouth on him, don't he, Liam?”
With a slight incline of his head, William said, “He does. And it's not gonna be of service to him tonight.”
Another string of obscene words burst from Jimmy's lips, as loud as they were lacking in eloquence.
Jackson stepped forward and smacked Jimmy across the back of the head. The action was meant to serve as an insult more than a cause of pain, and Jackson smirked down at the younger Gallagher, his lips quirked in amusement. “You'd do well to shut the hole in yo' face until Liam asks you a question. Y'hear me?”
Jimmy glared up at him. “Fuck you!”
Jackson chuckled and nodded. “Fuck me, eh? Heh, no thanks.” He turned his head and gave Rose a lazy once-over. “Your lady-friend, maybe. I'd let her fuck me.”
Rose made a little agonized sound of protest behind Elijah's palm.
“Keep yer hands off her, ya bloody tinker!” Jimmy barked. “Oi! Oi, help! We need help in here!”
For his outburst, he received another smack across the back of his head, courtesy of a gleeful Jackson. Rose watched on, her eyes wide and frightened, but beneath her fearful façade she was cheering.
William held up a hand and got to his feet. “Enough,” he said, his volume low. “There's no point in causin' a ruckus, Jimmy. No one's comin' for ya.”
Jimmy sneered at William, hatred in his eyes. “Got the staff of the Mitre Hotel on your payroll, d'ya?”
William sniffed. “I've got Manchester on my payroll.”
The sneer on Jimmy's face intensified. “I ain't me father,” he spat at William. “Ain't done nothin' to you! What d'ya want with me?”
“Straight to the point,” William observed. “Good. Let's get right to it, then.” From a leather bag that sat atop the desk, he pulled a stack of burgundy legal folders. Rose immediately recognized them from Gallagher's safe. “I want your father's businesses and properties. And I want the influence of the Gallagher family eradicated from Manchester.”
