❝If you want me. EARN ME!❞
❝Alright. I'll earn you, I'll do it.❞
in which amara singh, a former employee to the shelby's is ready to move on with her life beyond their gang empire and open her own business. if only thomas shelby was ready to let her...
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AMARA STARED BLANKLYat it. The door in front, knowing where the nearby door led to. Who it led to. She craned her neck at the Small Heath bell, waiting for the deep chime from the church tower. It hadn't rung yet, she still had time to think this through and make way to the police station. It was a journey she doubted anyone had taken The Shelby Betting shop to Birmingham Police Station? She heaved, trying to push back the uneasiness at being back here. She avoided this place for six months, taking dangerous alleyways, long ways to different parts of China Town and Lee's territory just to avoid what laid behind those two double doors, a barrier from what was normal and safe to wiped away blood, razor blades and caps. Her fingers grazed the carved wood, feeling the sloppy graze of a knife cut her skin and she pulled back. She knew this place like the back of her hand but now it was foreign land, a consequence of exiling herself out for him.
Did he even want her here?
Six months and not a word.
Then, the bell rang and she forgo the doubts in her mind, pushing forward against the doors and she was back in it.
Loud clattering filled the space as men banged coins on small tables, scattered around the room with whiskey mixed with tea, smoke stretched far from the cigarettes of blinders, the candle-lit lamps that barely let you see through a phone book were barely seen from her view. The gloomy light from outside casts a transcendent glow on the walls and acts as it's own lamp before it's wipe out in the evening. She watched as men wrote down names in books, bets in the other from the large chalkboard at the back, Amara remembered when it first arrived, most men was sceptical of using it and now, it became like second nature. The floor still had that grainy feel, even in heels, she could feel the tip of it rub like it was sand as moist as ever. Her eyes darted at the way men hovered in huddles at the newest issue of the local paper, probably the murder catching the front page then she snapped to the ringing of a miniature printing press as a loud Birmingham accent rang through the room.
