smoke storm. peaky blinders

𝗙𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The blood settled on the floor like a river, it's metallic glean glinting in the dulled light of the room like the grey sheen of a gun. The man's own gun lay strewn a metre from his limp, outstretched arm, unused. It was a mercy their eyes were closed. The shock of it had left Adelaide weak and shaken, not like her usual self.

In a flourish, Harry had left the Garrison as swiftly and discretely as he'd came, leaving the dead in his wake. Tommy only watched him go, breathing ragged as he leaned over her, raising from a protective stance only as the silence stretched over the room again, stuffy and suffocating. Adelaide almost couldn't breathe.

He was quiet, awfully so, as he helped her to her feet again. She fit into his side easily, her eyes baring deep into the corpses on the ground. Her brother had done that, had taken charge and altered the course of their plan. She should have been mad, rage filling her at the idea that he'd overridden her word. But in this, she could not complain. By the word of Emilio Smith, Tommy Shelby had been saved.

Small footsteps shook Adelaide from her tremor. Glancing to the corner of the room, to the door that lead further into the back rooms, Grace was standing, eyes lingering over the sight in front of her. As she looked down at the bodies on the floor, her face was pale but resolute. In her hand, was a gun, her finger on the trigger.

"What happened?"

Tommy closed his eyes, leaning forward so far that Adelaide could feel the pressure of his hips against her stomach. His breath was hot, frustrated, quick.

"It's done," he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Months ago, the thought have stepping into Tommy Shelby's home would have brought to mind the image of a mouse stepping onto a drap, an angel walking into the devil's lair. But that night, the small terrace house was much like a refuge.

Polly Gray was waiting in the kitchen, a teapot sitting fresh off the stove. It was as if she'd known they were coming. She stood to her feet, when she saw them lingering by the door, Adelaide's face as white as the moon.

"What's going on?" Pol asked, eyes wide. "What happened?"

"Can you fix her a bandage?"

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding."

"Come, there's some whiskey in the cupboard," Polly said, shuffling her into the house, not before shooting Tommy a pointed glare.

Adelaide let the woman move her, sitting in the living room by the fire. The flames were so hot that they made her skin glow a crimson shade, but she liked the heat. It kept her awake when her drooping eyes grew too heavy.

Polly's work was brisk but efficient, patching over the cut that decorated her arm. The sleeve of her blouse had been stained and ripped open, easy for access. She didn't ask about what happened, only worked on her arm as Tommy lingered in the corner, watching, his face illuminated by the tall fire.

She was in between sleeping and waking, when Polly finally finished, smoothing her fingers across her skin in a movement that was almost motherly. Tommy remained even as his Aunt left. As she fell into a deep sleep, she thought of her brother, of the corpses on the Garrison floor, of his words. Mr Smith sends his regards. They were quiet words against her lips as Tommy passed by.