VIOLENT DELIGHTS | TOMMY SHELBY

CHAPTER ONE

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SMALL HEATH WAS A DIRTY TOWN. Your boots were constantly coated in coal dust, the smell of soot lingered on your body and your lungs always felt a little tight when you inhaled. It was difficult to see how so many had called it home. Especially so, when you saw the glory of the woman that was Birdie Brooks.

Birdie Brooks was a spectacle. She dressed with elegance and carried herself with eloquence, yet she was known to withhold her whiskey with ultimate skill. Birdie could have become an actress if she wanted, but she was far too proper for the pictures and far too dirty for Hollywood glamour. Instead, she had her sights firmly set on becoming a ballerina, then a surgeon. Or a scientist. Or a novelist. Birdie Brooks was a broken woman that messed with gangs, but she was the princess of Birmingham with every opportunity in her reach.

Birdie held the white cigarette to her lips as she strode down Garrison Lane, glancing up at the ever-grey sky. Her red skirt hung dangerously above the sooty puddles, each splash threatening to ruin the silken material. Shirtless men milled around her, hard at work as shadows of the coal industry. Golden embers flickered around her towering figure, dancing close enough to threaten the scorching heat of a burn against her exposed skin. But Birdie walked fearless, her dark eyes set on the building at the end of the lane.

The Garrison Pub was one of many in Birmingham, but there was something about its brick walls and warm yellow lamps that drew everyone in Small Heath to its warmth. It was a beacon of hope, especially to a town whose heartbeats felt the impact of the greatest human tragedy. Birdie included.

Her fingers had barely grasped the doorknob before it flung open, revealing the seventh drunk man she had laid her eyes upon today. A smile crossed her lips as she shifted aside for the stumbling creature. It was Lenny Green from two doors down and he staggered onto the gravel and into the busy workday.

He probably needed to be at work right now, Birdie thought to herself as she watched his figure disappear. Shrugging in dismissal, she jumped into the building before the door closed and basked in its instant blast of heat.

She slid her coat off her shoulders, revealing more skin with little cares as to who saw. Every customer in the Garrison was more than accustomed to the presence of the rambunctious female. She was the only woman in Small Heath who dared to enter unaccompanied, and every drunkard knew she was untouchable. Leaning against the bar, she grinned welcomingly at Harry, who smiled in return.

"Birdie Brooks, I thought you were supposed to be working today." The deep, thick accent interrupted her order, and Birdie turned her head with one eyebrow raised in annoyance.

"Tommy, would you let a woman order a drink?" She snapped, before shifting back to Harry with the same simpering grin. "A pint of your finest beer, Harry. And mild this time, please m'love."

Once the glass had been slapped on the bench and the coin had been shifted over to the bartender's safe hands, Birdie shifted her body to face the infamous Thomas Shelby. Frankly, she was surprised to still see him there.

"What do you want, Shelby?" Birdie was the only human that could be rude to Thomas Shelby and walk away without a single bone out of place.

"Just wondering what you're doing." Tommy replied, his face blank. Birdie rolled her eyes almost immediately, stubbing her cigarette in the nearest ashtray.

"Having a pint. Isn't it obvious?" Birdie drew the words out with little care, her Birmingham drawl even more prominent. She could sound like the most loyal Brummie when she didn't give a fuck.

"Brilliant. Follow me." Tommy straightened up, grabbing the wrist not propping up the glass of beer and tugging her to follow behind him. Birdie knew not to fight back; the man's grip had grown tighter since he returned from the war.