million dollar man. peaky blinders

ᴅɪx-ʜᴜɪᴛ

꧁꧂

ᴛʜᴇ sᴏᴜɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴀ ɢᴜɴ ᴀʀᴇ sɪɴɪsᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜɪɴɢs; ɪɴᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴜɴɪǫᴜᴇ.

There is nothing comparable to the sound of the safety clicking, or the bullets being reloaded, or the metallic hum as it's placed against trembling skin, thrumming like vibrations. Once heard once, it's unforgettable, impossible to shake from the mind.

That's why Valentine stopped dead as she heard the shuffling of something being switched toward her head.

The sharp, hollow sound brought her back to reality, a one in which she would most likely end up dead, without ever seeing the face of the threat behind. The cold metal of the gun placed itself harshly onto her temple, digging into her tender skin. She risked a glance, eyes flicking to the side with unmatched swiftness.

A woman...

Blonde hair...

Brown eyes...

Caroline.

Valentine swallowed, unable to shake the image of the day in which she'd last seen the woman: with tear-streaked cheeks and hateful, red-rimmed eyes. She would have scared anyone.

She'd never felt bulletproof. Or, at least, not in the way Michael, or his family, or even Lucas and her father had. There was never the sense that she could walk through the war zone, no matter how close to home, as if she was invisible, or more than man itself. Perhaps she hadn't gained enough arrogance to feel that way.

"What a pleasant surprise Caroline," she said, attempting to put something more jovial into her voice. But she only ended up sounding scared, each note trembling and wavering through the air. Like a child playing grown up, in a way.

"Quit the lies, Valentine," the woman hissed, venom behind her lips. "We know you're not letting onto what you know."

Her accent was such a mournful tune, a familiar enunciation yet something that seemed so foreign, something that Valentine wished to leave at the borders. The gun pressed harder into the side of her head, burning a ring into her skin, a deep, angry red. Valentine's breath caught in her throat as she flinched away, only to feel the pressing again, this time more forced.

Caroline held the gun like it would burn her- nothing like the sure way the mob men would carry them, the same way both of their brothers had, like an extension to the arm, merging into one poisonous aim. There was enough fear there to believe that Caroline found herself victim to the gun just as much as Valentine did. And yet Valentine couldn't trust it.

"And you will tell us," Caroline finished, biting back a bark.

"I don't know what you mean," she said, lifting her chin. "Why don't we speak about this properly?"

"You know exactly what I mean. My brother. You know something," she cried, hands beginning to wobble violently, gun twitching in her hands. Valentine held a breath.

"I don't-"

"You bitch!"

Caroline shrieked, her voice a hug-pitched yelp, almost indiscernible. She shrieked again, gasping back as a tear streamed down her cheek, tipping at her nose that was red and gleaming.

"I told you all I know. I described the man exactly how I saw him. What reason do I have to lie?" Valentine breathed, pushing out her words

"You hated him," she spat. "You hated him with every ounce of your being. With all will you could give!"

"You're kidding yourself if you think I was the only one. How many people despised him? Do you blame them?" Valentine responded, forcing her eyes to reach as far as they could see, wonky glimpsing the edge of the woman's blazing eyes, no longer hazel but a muddy red. "They hated you too."

She still couldn't trust that Caroline wouldn't shoot. Valentine had too much confidence in the fact that she most definitely could. By the look on her face, so remorseful and grief stricken- she knew that she would be able to.

"But you know something?" Valentine trembled. "He was my husband, in the end."

She turned, eyes bow tearful, until the gun was pointed straight toward her head. Caroline gasped, tightening her tremble, feeling the gun suddenly feel heavy in her hand.

"Are you going to shoot me Caroline?" She asked, biting her lip as her head pressed against the gun.

"The truth will come out, Valentine," Caroline said, all at once still. "The truth will come out."

Her lack of moving unnerved Valentine, sending a chill down her body. With the blanked eyes, the paled, frowning face and dried skin, she looked rather like a corpse. Killed by the death of another, Valentine thought. Her stomach dropped.

"Now let me tell you something," she barked, her teeth baring. "Let me tell you something. When it does- when it does come out, my husband nor I will spare you or your family."

The gun pressed one last time toward her head, the warmth of it spreading across her skin. Caroline stared at the spot where it met, like a bullseye on a a target. But then it was dropped to her side, hanging loosely as if it would drop from her fingers at any moment, as if the ice had spread to her finger tips. She continued to stare, eyes narrowed until she turned abruptly, only once faltering as she walked away.

Valentine's shoulders deflated, her lips finally dripping from the thin line that etched her face, sagging with a constant stress. She hadn't thought of her since leaving France. Hadn't needed to. And never had she felt so cornered. Never had she been so scared. It wasn't until Caroline's disheveled blonde locks disappeared into the hazy, smoke filled air of Small Heath, did Valentine finally turn away, leaving the threats behind her, but walking like a woman burdened with the world.

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