Flowers of Glass

A Godless Man

Thomas Shelby was not a man to pray.
He was a Godless man. To him- God was dead...
God had died in France. The Great War had turned his beliefs into disbeliefs. To him, religion was propaganda, a difference, at the end of the day it was simply another business to run.

Church was not a place Tommy frequented. Not even on Sundays, not even with family. Strangely enough, lately he had been finding himself strolling the corridors of Birmingham's Catholic church.
He only attended at dusk, under the dark veil of the night which protected his infamous identity from any prying eyes.
He lit a cancer stick in a mindless matter as he walked inside of the gothic structure. As always, his strides were long and direct; he wasn't the kind of man to halt for anyone, and much less when he had a target in mind.
His eyes were narrowed in focus as he approached his target.
He paid no regard to the beautiful tall, crimson, marble arches that decorated the church or to any of the other architectural details of the building. As far as he was concerned, the only thing that existed was the woman kneeling across the room. The many candles in the room dimly illuminated the intricately stained glass windows of the temple. His shoes sounded his step announcing his arrival. Then again, Thomas Shelby wasn't a man who needed to announce his arrival. His terrifying presence was automatically acknowledged and respected upon entering a room.

At the very front of the church, to the side, past the many pews knelt a conservative woman in sweet devotion. She prayed piously on her knees. Small mumbling could be heard, her hands clasped together as she meditated in devoted praying to her deity. Her hidden face was bowed down. A white lace veil covered her modesty in the House of God.

Tommy walked past the pews down the aisle of the church, he stopped, his presence hovering over her. His hands were hidden deep in the pockets of his suit as he observed her figure before the small altar with his head tilted to the side. His icy eyes buried like daggers into her back. The intensity of his eyes was enough to send an unpleasant chill down her spine.
Snapping out of her trance she lit a new candle before slowly turning her head. From her profile, with narrowed eyes, she eyed to see the sharp-dressed man, the leader of the Peaky Blinders, stood behind her. She noted the lack of respect this man held for her God. He was inside a temple and still wore his hat. A cigarette dangled off his lips without much care.

"A gentleman would take off his hat, put off his cigarette," she said quietly to him. Her tone wasn't welcoming.

Despite her words, he stood still, not breaking eye contact.

"Out of respect..." she scolded in a low hiss.
"I think you're the one who should be thanking me (Name)- out of respect," he said tossing his cigarette and putting it off with the back of his heel.
There was something about the way he said her name that sat uneasily with the woman. She hadn't even told him her name. He had been watching her.
The pious woman finished with the sign of the cross and retired from her prayers. She turned to look at the man before her with wary eyes.

She pursued her lips and slightly bowed her head. If a thank you was all he wanted... It was well deserved when she considered the circumstances of the night when they met.

"Thank you, sir," she said curtly.

With that, she sidestepped him and made way towards the exit. She flinched when his cold hand reached for her arm. Freezing on the spot, once again, she turned to face him. Both individuals eyed the other with caution.
She had said thanks. Now, just what was it was that this man could possibly want from her?
His looks didn't go amiss to her. (Name) noted his sharp eyes. Those cold eyes appeared to be able to see through her soul. Just like most British people, his skin was pale. His freckles dusted his face and gave him a more youthful appearance. She had no words for the and the elegant clothes he wore. They were stunning.

Thomas Shelby was the most powerful man in all of Birmingham. What could he possibly want with her?

He saw the intrigue in her (eye/colored) eyes. The way her brows furrowed. Not unnoticed by most she was a pretty little thing. With (Hair/color) colored hair which suited her. Her clothes were humble and modest and reflected her conservative character. (Name) was, in a nutshell, every mother-in-law's wet dream.

"Do you know who I am?" He asked, his lips pulled into a thin line. His hand did not release her arm. However, his grip softened.

"Yes...." she answered softly, her eyes never left his.

You'd have to be dead or be living under a rock if you didn't know who Thomas Shelby was.

"But you're not afraid," he said looking at her oddly.
"No," she responded sternly.

Her free hand reached for her chest as she held the golden cross that hung around her neck nicely.

"My God will always protect me," she said wholeheartedly. Thomas made the mistake of doubting if she was being sincere. Yet the woman's faith weighted heavily on her confident expression.

Tommy couldn't help but crack the slightest smile at her comment. He let out what sounded like a humorous huff. He would never pray to a god. Not even if the threat of a bullet hovered above his temple.

"Is that so?" His grip tightened as the edge of his lips turned upwards. He couldn't help it. He snaked his arms around her body and pulled her close to him. Their noses brushed when he performed the rough motion. There was not an inch of space between their bodies. He thought to himself how pleasant it was to have a woman whose body fit perfectly against his own.

"And where was your God the night that I saved you?"

Her breath caught. She could feel his steady hands holding her in place. His human scent, the smell of whiskey and cigars were part of his essence. She had no answer for him. After all, she had been taught that God works in mysterious ways...
A reflex kicked in. It was after she realized just what she had done that made her stomach sink. The shock was reflected in her face. She had just about signed her death sentence.
She smacked him across the face and pushed his body off hers.

Before (Name) stood a man who in the snap of his fingers could have her head laying on his lap.

Tommy reached for his stinging cheek and held it for a moment. His expression was unreadable. His eyes slowly turned towards her and he eyed her with an expression that was unfamiliar to her.

Raw scorching desire.

He looked at the flustered woman. She could feel the heat rise to the back of her neck. (Name)'s heart had leaped to her throat. She opened her mouth and instead a small yelp escaped her frowning lips. With that, she scurried away from the opposite way. He had never been hit like that by a woman.
No woman- no person would ever dare lay a finger on him. And then- this woman - had the audacity and boldness strike him.

(Name) left in such a rush. His eyes followed her as she exited the temple. He could still feel the imprint of her hand on his face. It was too bad that she missed the sight of his lips stretching across his face into a devilish grin.