IN BAD FAITH | peaky blinders | T.S

TWELVE

SMALL HEATH, BIRMINGHAM, ENGLAND

MARTHA

12.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Tommy said, raising his voice slightly. He turned away quickly and slammed his pistol on the desk, hiding the way his hands shook as he fully prepared himself to fire at the intruder. The possibility of hurting his brother made him sick.

And yet all you bring to this family is pain.

He looked up at Martha, who stood back slightly and stared at him, knocking the voice from his head. Her eyes were blue, he thought, but not like his. They were odd, almost dark, or were they green? He couldn't decide, didn't care either way. Didn't need to be thinking about her fucking eyes.

"I could've asked you the same thing," John spoke. It looked like he'd dressed in a rush, pulled from sleep by Tommy and Martha's noise. He eyed the girl suspiciously, recognising her. "I can see you're busy, though. Don't let me interrupt." He said with a smirk.

"You're not interrupting anything," Tommy muttered, taking a seat back in his office chair. Many a time had John walked in on Tommy's romantic encounters, except there was hardly ever anything romantic involved at all. He lit another cigarette, sighing loudly.

"A pretty face always comes at a price. How much did she cost ya'?"

Martha's mouth dropped in disbelief, once again astounded by John Shelby's disrespect. Was this just the way men spoke to women, as if she wasn't even there? Did she look like a girl who sold herself for money?

She remembered her argument with Josephine the night before she was taken. Martha had accused her of selling herself for the money, something that both of them had promised each other to never stoop to. Martha had instilled it in her sisters since they were young, never to let themselves be taken advantage of, passed around for pleasure like a piece of property. They'd seen too many girls degraded to nothing. They'd rather starve then ever stoop so low.

She remembered how angry Josephine had been for her older sister to assume such a thing; to mock everything they'd promised.

"I'm not a whore," she spat, her face crumpling in disgust.

John smiled again. "Really," he said. "That's why you were with Miss Brokewater's best girl when we bumped into each other the other day? You're living there now, aren't ya'?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Martha assured, shaking her head. Miss Brokewater? Was that Helen's mother?

"That's what they all say," John laughed again, Thomas smirking into his glass. He took a long swig of whiskey to stop the swirl of disappointment in his chest at the mention of Martha being a Brokewater girl.

She felt hot under the collar, hated being laughed at, couldn't stand the man in front of her who judged and humiliated her on a bed of false assumptions. And Thomas thought it was funny, too? As if they both knew something she didn't.

Martha didn't even realise what was happening until she saw it, the end of her pistol aimed straight at John like it had been moments ago, except this time Tommy was not stood beside her.

"I'm not a fucking whore," she seethed.

John paused for a moment, widened his eyes comically, and then doubled-over in laughter at the threat of her weapon.

It rang in her ears so loudly that she thought Sabini had joined in too, and his men, all of them who'd underestimated her, who looked down upon her, who ripped her family to pieces. They were all laughing at her failure.