❝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 WALKED INTO the Shelby betting shop the next day, not having to search for John and Arthur Shelby in fact, they were sitting on the side counter with a bottle of whiskey and some glasses they had stolen from the kitchen. The urge to roll her eyes at the Shelby men and their addiction to whiskey was wrong, Amara thought it tasted worse than coffee. She made her way towards them, her gaze low ─ disappointed, they looked up from their drunken conversation and onto the fixer.
"AMMIE!" They cheered, raising their glasses before meeting her revolted gaze and then quietened.
Arthur gestured for her to speak.
She nodded, placing herself down on the stool next to her, "I'm going to give you a profile ━ it's a relatively new concept of law enforcement, barely used but it helps to identify killers, kidnappers─" her words ceased, realising the pair of them weren't listening. Their expressions were weary and bored. Amara send both of them a distasteful look. "Hey!" she snapped her fingers in their faces "─listening is how you'll help me find the bastard."
John raised his brow, chugging on the whiskey. "Tommy's your work husband not, Ams─not us, eh?"
Laughs chorused throughout the room and Amara quickly reached out, grabbing the bottle that sat between them. She ignored the yells of protest that followed, placing it on the table behind her. It wasn't too far beyond their reach but they had to go through her to get it and they'd known her long enough to know answering the questions was easier. Way easier.
Amara met Arthur's gaze, a sheepish grin on her face. "You get whisky when you give me a name."
"What if I don't have a name?" asked John.
"Then I'll kick you with my new heels," was her answer and Arthur and John gave an identical, fearsome glance.
"Profile?" Arthur played with the words, thinking to himself. "Alright."
"It's five sentences long Arthur, surely you can survive without whiskey for five bloody sentences."
