#peaky blinder

“We did it,” you correct him with a smile. “It’s wonderful.”

“Just in time,” he chatters. “It’s bloody– er, cold out.”

You chuckle. “It is bloody cold,” you agree. “But there’s still much to do. Have you heard from the baker?”

“Ma’am, I just came from there. He weren’t happy ‘til I showed him the bank notes,” he scoffs. “Lotta rye.”

“Well, the kitchen is nice but low capacity. It’ll be enough to get the care parcels done. I’ll need you to go check in with the butcher as well. And there’s a cook at the manor; Frederick, you’ve met him.”

“Scary Russian fella,” he nods.

“He’s Ukranian. You better not get that wrong,” you point at him. “He’ll take care of the meat once you get it there.” You reach into your jacket and slip out your notebook. “Mitchell,” you look at him. “I told you to bring your mother. Where is she?”

“Da’s driving her. He finally coaxed her into getting into the new car. He loves it, by the way.” He grins. “She does too.”

“Ah, alright then. And the stove?”

“No fires yet,” he winks. “She don’t let me near it.”

“And the wagons? We’ll need a way to get this all to Brum.” You tap the pages of the book.

The front door opens and closes, interrupting you. You and Mitchell turn to watch Mr. Shelby emerge. He strides toward you and spins as he walks backwards to take in the full effect. He stops right between you and the young man.

“You should be proud, hen. It’s all come together.” He grins and stretches his arm over your shoulders.

“Well, it’s functional,” you say.

“I’ll get on the butcher,” Mitchell taps his hat then strolls away.

“Drive safe,” you call after him then turn to face the facade again. Mr. Shelby squeezes you.

“Time to lay back and rest, hen. You’ve done your hard work.” His leather glove squeaks as he grips your shoulder.

“Not yet, sir,” you pat his hand gently. “Harriet should be here shortly to assist me with the pastries.”

“Pastries?” He turns to you, his hand trailing down your sleeve.

“Yes, I told you. Christmas is soon. We’re holding a festive dinner in a chapel down in Brum for all the local families.” You explain. “Oh, dear, I have to be sure they deliver those toys!”

“Hen,” he grabs onto your hands before you can turn away, nearly crushing the note book in your grasp. “Hen,” he angles to look you in the eye, dipping his head slightly. “When are you going to stop?”

“Stop… what?”

“Just… stop.” He drawls. “You need rest too. It is the holidays for everyone. Including you. You cannot keep this up, you will run yourself to dust.”

“Mr. Shelby,” you tilt your head. “This is what makes me happy and that is what the holidays should mean, yes? To care for those who matter?”

“A bunch of strange children in the slums,” he clucks.

“Yes, especially them.” You frown. “Do you know, Mr. Shelby, when I was young, it was the kindness of neighbours that saw me fed some nights? It wasn’t for lack of effort on my parents’ part but sometimes misfortune is not earned. Nor fortune.”

He stares at you, searching your eyes. You look down at his hands. You wiggle free and softly press against his chest.

“If you like, you could help with the biscuits.” You offer.

He closes his eyes and exhales slowly. He nods and his eyes drift away. His lips thin in that way they do. He’s annoyed.

“Or you could get your brother and help setup at the chapel. Father Wort will need some spare hands.”

“Father Wort?” He snorts. “No, I think I prefer to be near my wife,” he sniffs. “Show me what you want from me, hen. These hands are yours.”

🚬

You sit in bed and flip through the small pages of your notebook. You yawn without a noise and shiver. The morning dims through the window, a white haze slowly crawling over the endless grey. You brush your finger over one of the small pages.

You kick back the blankets, regrettably as the cold creeps up your legs. You turn, wiggling your toes as you brace yourself for the frigid hardwood. Before you can get up, the floor creaks.

“It’s Christmas, hen.” Mr. Shelby stands in the doorframe.

You look up at him and close the notebook, clutching it tight.

“Happy Christmas, husband,” you say.

He tuts and crosses the room. You stand as he comes to meet you. He is half-dressed; a shirt and slacks, but no jacket or tie. He puts his hands around yours and takes the notebook. You tense. He sets it on the night table.

“No work on Christmas,” he commands.

“I wasn’t–”

“You were.” He insists. “It is my turn and you will not lift a finger. I’ve a plan and you will follow it. As I’ve followed yours the last weeks.”

You purse your lips and nod. “As you wish, husband.”

“Trust me. Please,” he holds your hands, thumbs brushing the backs. “Just today.”

“I will do whatever you like,” you assure him. “Shall I make breakfast before we open our gifts?”

“Breakfast is done. Waiting. The gifts are in the car.” He intones. “We’ve an itinerary.

“Oh… yes, Mr. Shelby.” You nod.

“One of your gifts I cannot bring to you, my love. Patience is all I ask in return,” he squeezes your hands and kisses your knuckles, one at a time. “Will you lend me some?”

“I can be patient, sir,” you assure him.

He hums and his throat clicks. He narrows his eyes at you and his chest rises and falls. His eyes are as icy as the temperature.

“I will dress first.”

“Dress warmly, hen… thought you might seek some warmth in me should it come to it,” he purrs.

“Yes, it is a rather blistery day,” you agree as you slip your hands from his. “I won’t be long.”

🚬

After a breakfast of sausage, rye, and eggs, Mr. Shelby sweeps you away from the manor. There is a sense of urgency to your departure. He checks his watch before he grips the steering wheel. You have a blanket over your knees as he sets off toward the city.

“We are off to Birmingham,” you wonder.

“We will make a brief stopover,” he reaches over without looking away from the road and rests his hand on your leg. “Hen, you will not worry today.”

“I do not worry, husband,” you tense at his touch.

He squeezes your knee then draws away. His fingers tap on the wheel before gripping it again. Another long exhale as he licks his lips. You’re trying to recall the last time he had a cigarette. Perhaps that it what makes him restless.

You know the street he drives down. He stops before the grey brick townhouse and bids you wait in the automobile. He crosses the cobbles and takes the steps two at a time. He knocks on the doors and once more, looks at his watch.

Your parents emerge. He shakes your father’s hand and your mother embraces him. He steps back and gestures to the car. Well, it is a pleasant thing to have your parents with you on Christmas but hardly a surprise.

He ushers them to the car. They climb into the backseat, their weight shifting in the axel. Your father harrumphs and drops down.

“It’s cold as sin out there,” he growls. “Bloody bitter as a crone's breath.”

“Harvey.” Your mother reprimands as Shelby closes the door and opens the driver’s.

“Eh, it’s true,” he rubs his hands together and bounces his shoulders. “Old lady’s used to it, suppose. She’s got the cold in her, eh?”

“Harvey!” Your mother repeats shrilly.

“Eh, you know I kid, wife,” he reaches and slides closer to her. “Come, keep me warm, you old bat.”

She drones but does not keep away. She takes your father’s hands and leans against him, rubbing his thick knuckles. 

“Happy Christmas,” you smile over the seat.

“Happy Christmas, my daughter. What better present than to see your lovely face.” He grins. “I’ve not seen it of late.”

“Mrs. Shelby is a very busy woman,” your husband cranks the stick into gear.

“Never could keep her in one place,” your father chides.

You turn straight as Mr. Shelby starts down the road. The last month or so, you’ve been so enmeshed in your work. One thing after another; the house, the dinners, the charity. You didn’t think it was so egregious; that it would be noted so personally by others. Perhaps in all your efforts, you neglected some other obligations.

You watch the city pass. “Where’re we off to?”

“I said, it’s a surprise.” Mr. Shelby replies. “Louise, I’ve left a blanket back there for you.

“How kind, Mr. Shelby,” your mother preens.

“Hope it’s not far. This seat makes my bones ache as much as this weather.”

“A couple hours,” Shelby answers. “The surprise is for all of you. My family.”

His words stun you alone. His family? He always treated your parents as another possession; another weapon to wield. And you, you are his property too. That is how he sees it. You suppose it is that all that is yours is truly his.

You ponder the road as he drives. Your mother asks you about the wedding house. She goes on about how she does not like the tile in the kitchen; she preferred the ivory. The white is not fitting for the setting; it will be stained so easily.

Your father snorts at her gripes as she goes on about their townhouse. The radiator ticks at night and there’s a window that rattles. Mr. Shelby promises to have that fixed. She thanks him sweetly.

As the journey stretches on, you grow quiet; pensive. Apprehensive even. Where could he be taking you?

Your answer is had on a sign announcing your arrival in the capital. London. You’ve never been. You’ve seen pictures in the newspapers and some books, but it was always some distant somewhere. So big and bright it was only a fantasy like Oz or Wonderland.

The city thrums and chuffs even on this day. Christmas does not stop the great metropolis and its fuming stacks. You stare out the window as your father mutters about the filth. Your mother is silent.

Mr. Shelby stops and pulls out a map. “Forgive me, I don’t often go round this way.”

He folds it up and continues down the road. The city is a maze that has him turning and twisting through its corridors. Finally, he stops before an immense building with scaffolding all around it. The stone is daunting and old, but sturdy still. It is a grand structure that makes you feel as small as a spec of soot.

Shelby brakes and quiets the engine. He clears his throat and fixes his cap. He takes a breath.

“Museum’s closed on holidays. Also under construction. Some artist threw money at the place.” He explains.

“Eh,” your father leans forward. “You didn’t think of that before?”

Mr. Shelby’s cheeks dimple. “We’re not going inside. What we seek is without. Please, follow me.”

He gets out and comes around to open your door. You take his hand as he helps you out. Your father untangles your mother from the blanket as she steps out. She clings to him, her face drawn. The city bears down on her.

Mr. Shelby hooks his arm through yours and leads you toward the museum. He curves around to a barren garden with the skeletons of hedges in a circle and stone benches. At the centre, there is a statue of a soldier in full gear; helmet, pack, bayonet at the ready. Your mother whimpers.

“Harvey, I don’t want to be here,” she quavers.

Mr. Shelby stops at the base of the statue. The square stone on which the brass soldier stands is engraved with deep blocky letters. Your husband squats and searches the list of names. He brushes his fingers over one and taps.

“Please, Louise, Harvey,” he beckons. 

Your mother clings to your father. His face is sober and raw as the cold threatens to dislodge his hat. He bends at the waist and groans. “Isn’t fair to make and old man move thus.”

Mr. Shelby points. You go near, standing behind him to peek over his head. Your mother covers her mouth and sobs. Your father wraps his arm around her and nods. He swallows and claps his hand on Mr. Shelby’s shoulder.

“Boy, that stone is freshly touched,” your father sniffs.

“The roster was updated last week, sir.” Shelby explains. “I did inform the War Secretary that there was a discrepancy.”

You squint as you hover over your husband to read the letters of your brother’s name etched into the stone. Beside it, his rank, date of death, and battle. You nearly tip over and grab onto Mr. Shelby to keep yourself steady. Your mother wipes her eyes.

“He sailed off from London,” she croaks as he rocks against your father.  “Took the train away from us, then they packed him onto the boat and sent him off to– to–” Her lip trembles and she buries her face in your father’s jacket.

“Thank you, Thomas,” your father squeezes his shoulder then lets go to comfort your mother. “This is… wonderful. That’s our boy.”

“A good man like the rest,” Mr. Shelby stands and gently nudges you around so you can see better. “Not a soldier over there I wouldn’t have given my blood for.”

You stare at your brother’s name. Your heart wrenches and your head spins, the cold added to the hollowness. You latch onto your husband’s sleeve and slowly look at him. You can’t see him, your eyes are awash with tears.

Feeling the warm sun rays, beaming in on your naked skin that peaked out from under the sheet that laid on most of your body. You body felt kind of sore, but also very relaxed. You felt a change in yourself. A whole new women was the true way you felt. You opened your eyes finally looking at the warmly dimly lit room. The only light was the beam of sun light that poured in on you. You turned over to see that Finn was no where to be found. In his spot replacing him was a piece of paper with writing on it.

'Good Morning Beautiful. You looked too relaxed to wake. Needed to run to the betting shop to handle some things. Be ready by 11 o'clock. Ada will be round to get you and bring you to hers. I can't wait to see your beautiful face.

-Love, Finn

PS there is some breakfast in the kitchen!'

You read the letter making you smile down at his words. You slid out of bed and stretched your limbs. Walking to the bathroom, and beginning your morning routine. Shower, hair, make up and get dressed. You opted for a dress today. Fitted well around your bust, and pulled your top half all together and going to a flow skirt at the bottom. It was just a plain black dress, and you paired it with a long coat and a pair of gold heels. Doing a look over in the mirror, and being satisfied, you walked away and out of your shared room. Walking downstairs and to the kitchen, there sat some fruits, eggs, bacon, pancakes, waffles. Your eyes widening at the sight.

"You don't have to eat it all, miss." You heard a women's voice from behind you.

"Thank you." You said with a smile as you saw the women in a black and white dress.

"I tend to cook for an army even when it was just Mr. Shelby here by himself. But, now that you are here, maybe I will have an army to feed soon enough." She said rounding the table and grabbing a plate for you.

"Well, I don't know how soon, but yes, soon! Miss?" You said trailing off not knowing the women's name.

"My name is Michelle, madam" She said smiling at you and putting some fruit on the plate.

"Thank you Michelle. I'll just have the fruit. I don't have much time to eat this morning unfortunately" You said with a smile at her, but slightly embarrassed because she cooked so much.

"No problem at all!" She said with a smile and handed you the plate. You took a seat and began eating your fruit. Once you finished you got up and put the plate in the sink.

"Thank you Michelle. I appreciate all your hard work." You said smiling at her as she began to wash the dishes. You heard a horn honk from outside. Knowing it was Ada, you grabbed your purse and headed out the front door.

"Good Morning, Y/N" Ada said as you got into the passenger seat of the car.

"Good morning Ada!" You said with a smile. You two chit chatted as you drove along. You learned a bit more about the family and let Ada learned a bit more about you.

"Here we are." Ada said stopping in front of a large building, in the middle of a bustling town.

"Welcome to London." She said getting out of her car. Sliding out of the front seat quickly after her.

"Slight resemblance to New York." You said looking around.

"Yeah, I guess so." She said as she walked up the stairs to a tall wooden door. She unlocked it and walked in. Following close behind, you walked in with her. You shimmied your jacket and hung it on the coat hanger that stood in the foyer. You heard loud talking come from down the hall. Sounded like Polly, and John, talking nonsense per usual. You walked into the kitchen where John, Luther, Polly and Karl all sat. Ada went over and gave Karl a hug and a kiss.

"Y/N!" John said loudly seeing you in the door way.

"Come on in, Sit down." He said coming over and giving you a big hug and offering you his seat. You gave Polly, Aurther and Karl a soft smile and sat down.

"Don't be nervous darling, we are family. Nothing to be afraid of." Polly said scooting next to you closer.

"I know, I appreciate all the hospitality that I've gotten since being here. I hope I didn't make a fool of myself the other night at the party." You said with a giggle. John handed you a a cup full of a dark liquid. You took a sip of it, whiskey.

"Not at all darling. You were the life of the party. Everyone had a great time." Polly reassured you.

"Where is Finn?" You asked starting to miss him slightly.

"Thomas and him should be here shortly. They were taking care of some business for the day. Must've ran longer than expected." John said popping an almond into his mouth and smirked at you.

'BUSINESS'

You sat and talked for what felt like a few hours. You went into the big room. Your let your anger start to boil more and more as every minute passed. Where the fuck is Finn? He said he'd be here? Taking the rest of your drink in one gulp and setting it on the side table.

"Another?" John asked walking into the silent room and over to you.

"Please." You said with a slight smirk and handing him the glass

"I'm sure he'll be here soon." John said in a low voice. You were sure that you were hiding your feelings well, but also, possibly not.

"Yeah. Thanks." You said with slight attitude, not towards John, but the situation. He handed you the glass and you sipped some and then took it all down at once.

"Finn is in for a yelling tonight." John said looking over at you, seeing the anger in your eyes.

"How do I get home?" You asked standing up.

"I can give you a ride. Are you sure though?" John asked looking over at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, I am sure. If I stay, I will bring down the whole mood with my anger." You explained nodding your head.

"Okay, let me bring the car around." John said standing up. You walked back tot he kitchen where everyone still was.

"Hey, I'm going to get going." You said in a low voice as you entered the room.

"Oh, are you sure? Is everything okay?" Polly asked.

"Oh, yeah I'm okay. Just tired. Big time change, trying to get used to it." You said with a forced smile.

"Okay, sweet heart, we have the Shelby ball tomorrow, we will see you tomorrow. Get some rests and have a good night." You hugged everyone goodbye and walked out the front door. John stood holding an umbrella so you wouldn't get wet from the thunder storm. Getting tot eh car, John opened the door and shut it. Racing around the car and getting into the drivers seat.

"Ready to go?" He asked looking over at you. You nodded your head and looked out the window.

What was he doing? Why didn't he call? That's the least her could do. To let you know he wasn't dead, or was just going to be late. The more you thought about it, the more you became pissed off.

"Listen, I know it's early in the marriage. I know it is early into being a Shelby, but to be honest, this wasn't to uncommon behavior. We are consistently out late hours, into the morning, even days." John broke you from your thoughts seeming to defend his little brother.

"I get it, believe me I do. I'm a Gott, I grew up around all of this. But, the one thing my father NEVER did was not let his family know where he was, and what was going on. Never left them in the dark to worry." You told him with anger in your voice.

"I understand, love. Just don't give him to bad of a betting tonight, alright?" He said with a smirk. Pulling up to your now, shared home. You gave John a hug, and slid out of the car.

"Thank you John." You said with a smile and shut the door. You walked to the door and unlocked it. You shut the door behind you and threw your purse and jacket on the couch. You slipped off your heels and left them at the front door. Going to the kitchen, you grabbed a piece of bread that sat on the counter. You stood in the dark house, eating bread and took a sip of water. Still simmering in anger, you tried to calm yourself, just waiting for the phone to ring. But, instead, you heard the front door open and close. Not turning around, you leaned over the counter still eating your bread and sipping your water. Hearing foot steps coming into the room.

"Y/N?" You heard a familiar voice say from behind you. You didn't say anything. Just stood up and looked at him.

"Listen." He started, but you quickly took over.

"Nope, you listen to me. There is only one way this is going to work, and it's not leaving me in the dark for hours or days. I understand the work you do, and I know my father doesn't want me involved, but if I cannot be involved and help, then you need to let me know you are fucking alive. This leaving me in the dark all fucking day will not work." You started to raise your voice at Finn, who stood leaning up against the opening into the kitchen. The only light in the room, was the moon that was shining through the kitchen window.

"You're cute when you're anger." He smirked walking over to you. You took a deep breathe trying not to get more angry. He cupped your cheek in one hand and laid his other on your hip.

"I promise I will call and make sure you know I'm alive." He said kissing your forehead.

"I promise, I won't leave you in the dark" He said kissing your cheek.

"I promise, I will take care of you forever." He spoke softly as his lips met yours. Looking down at you with his bright blue eyes now.

"Do you forgive me?" He asked staring deep into your eyes.

"Fine, just this once. Those blue eyes will be the death of me and you." You said with a smirk and attached your lips to his again. Quickly the kissing went from soft to, messy. Finn's hands wondered your body landing under your butt cheeks, and lifting you up and setting you on the counter. Not once did he break away from your lips as he did all that.

"Mr. Shelby" You said with a smile.

"Mrs. Shelby." He spoke back now attacking your neck with kisses, leaving little love marks. You breathed out heavily.

"Someone likes that huh? Had sex for the first, time and can't get enough huh?" He said in a low tone and he pushed the strap of your dress off so it hung on your arm.

"I had sex with YOU for the first time and now I can't get enough of YOU." You said fixing his statement. He smiled as he now was on his knees in front of you and lifted you dress up, exposing you naked lips to him. He could see your juices glistening ever so slightly.

"Ready for me huh?" He asked as he ran his finger through your wet folds. You moaned lowly to him and shook you head quickly. You felt a new sensation quickly as Finn dipped his head under your dress. You flinched as the sensation as new to your body, but quickly settled as you felt Finn's tongue exploring every part of your opening.

"Holy fuck, Finn. Yes, don't stop." You begged as he began sucking at your sensitive bud, and flicking his tongue back and forth.

"Finn, I'm going to cum. Don't stop," You breathe out grabbing ahold of his hair, making sure he doesn't move away. Before you knew it, you came all over his mouth. Panting for air, but quickly lips were on yours. The taste of sweetness on them, you smiled and pulled away to look at Finn. You tore his shirt open, ripping every button off and them going every where.

"Oh, being a rough little girl, huh?" He said with a devilish look on his face. He tore you dress off leaving you in all your nakedness.

"So, fucking sexy." Finn said looking you up and down.

"Fuck me Finn. Fuck your wife, right here on the counter." You spoke softly but seductively. He pulled his pants down instantly and line himself up with your entrance and pushed himself him. Not giving you a second to get used to his length, he began pumping into you quickly.

"Holy shit, Finn, yes, I love that." You cried out looking down and being able to see him sliding in and out of her. His long cock glistening with your juices.

"That pussy is mine." He said through clenched teeth, and leaving soft kisses down your chest.

"Forever and always, through sickness and in health." You panted out adding to his last comment, remembering the words you spoke to each other days before, promising yourself to him. A smiled spread across his face, he kept pumping himself into you roughly.

"You feel so fucking good, my love." He panted out, taking your boob in one hand.

"Give it all to me Finn, I want all of you inside of me. I want all your cum, deep inside of me." You cried out feeling another wave of pleasure start to come over your body.

"Oh, fuck, you dirty girl." He spoke with his hips beginning to become sloppy.

"I'm going to cum." You breathed out almost losing all motor functions.

"Me too, my love, Let go." He spoke as he took your lips to his. You both rode out each other highs together. Both panting, he slowly slid out of you, causing your to jolt slightly.

"Fuck, that was amazing." You said sliding off the counter and walking over to Finn. He engulfed your in his arms and kissed the top of your head.

"Y/N I promise I will never leave you in the dark again. Never was my intention to upset you." Finn said starting to get slightly emotional.

"It's oaky darling, you are alive and here. That's all that matter to me right now. But I WILL kill you if you of it again." You said with a slight smirk up at him. You pecked his lips and took his hand in yours.

"Let's go to bed." You said smiling at him.

The first time Arthur Shelby met you, you were handing back a pistol to one of his men with a roll of your eyes and a warning not to leave loaded things lying around when you had a bar full of idiots and alcohol sloshing in their veins.

He liked you immediately. Not in the way he liked most women with their soft edges and easy smiles and the kind of charm that folded beneath the weight of his voice.

No, you were made of sharper stuff. You looked at him like you were already bored, like he was just one more man in a long list of men who thought swagger could outshine substance. And instead of folding, you pushed. Hard.

“You lot think you’re kings,” you stated blatantly that first night, with a dry tilt to your mouth and a gaze that didn’t waver. “But half of you couldn’t rule a teacup.”

He should’ve been insulted. Instead, he grinned like you’d handed him a challenge wrapped in velvet.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone workin’ under our roof.” He bit back with a spark in his eyes as they darted all over you.

“I talk a lot of shit because no one’s told me not to yet.” You retorted, but it was true, if they had an issue you knew you wouldn't have gotten hired and you certainly knew they wouldn't have kept you around. He had laughed at that, really laughed.. like the kind that came from the belly, and was unpolished and loud.

Then he stepped forward, closer than he needed to, until the air between you crackled. “You always this mouthy, or is it just for me?” “Depends,” you said. “You always this full of yourself, or is it just Thursdays?” And like that -- match struck.

From then on, it became a game. A fire lit slow and deliberate, both of you tossing kindling into it whenever you shared a room. You said things just to get under his skin. He said things just to see how far he could push before you'd bite back. The others noticed, of course. Tommy gave a grunt and muttered something about "Jesus Christ, Arthur" every time he caught wind of it, but didn’t interfere. Polly watched you both like she was deciding whether to shoot you or pour you a drink.

But Arthur? He was fucking delighted.

You made him feel like he was fifteen again, fists swinging and blood in his mouth, heart hammering for something he didn’t quite understand. Whatever he was feeling wasn't clean, but it was alive.

And he hadn’t felt alive like this in years.

One night, however, it boiled over.

You were cleaning behind the bar, rag in hand, and lips pulled into a tight line because some dickhead punter had tried grabbing at your waist, and Arthur had "taken care of it" by punching the man so hard he chipped a tooth.

You knew better than to say thank you because it only encouraged him, but you weren’t exactly angry either. Just annoyed and a bit irritated by the way he was watching you now, half-proud, half-smug, leaning against the wall like he was waiting for your lecture and half-hoping for it.

“You can’t solve everything with your fists, you know,” you muttered, not looking at him as your jaw tightened.

Arthur tilted his head, “Worked just fine on him.”

You slammed the bottle of gin a little harder than necessary onto the shelf. “He was drunk. Harmless.”

“He touched you.” He growled through his teeth as he pushed himself off the wall

You turned then. “And I handled it. You think I need some big bad Shelby to rescue me, do you?”

He stepped forward. “No. But I think you like it when I do.”

Your breath caught.. not because you were shocked, but because the bastard wasn’t wrong. And he knew it. You hated how well he could read you when he wanted to.

“I like being respected. Which is more than I can say for most men in this place.” You bit back after gaining your composure again.

He didn’t flinch. “I respect you.

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you?”

“Yeah. I respect your mouth, even when it’s spitting fire at me. I respect the way you move like you’d gut someone who got too close.” He leaned in, voice dropping. “And I respect how you keep lookin’ at me like you want to push me into a wall and kiss me or kill me, and you haven’t quite decided which.”

The silence that followed was loud enough to swallow the whole fucking room. Your eyes locked. And then, just like that, you laughed sharply and amused like a knife dragged across silk.

“Jesus, Shelby,” you breathed out, shaking your head. “You’ve got one hell of an ego.”

Arthur grinned. “And you’ve got one hell of a mouth.”

“Bet you say that to all the girls who threaten to stab you.”

“Only the ones I like.”

The tension in the room was no longer simmering. It was boiling. Ripping at the seams and clawing against restraint.

You stepped closer, chin tilted up in mock defiance. “You always flirt like you’re starting a fight?”

“You always fight like you’re flirting?” His voice was a low growl now, and you hated the way it slid right down your spine. Hated it, because it didn’t scare you. It thrilled you.

“Careful,” you teased, cocking your head. “Keep talkin’ like that and I might actually kiss you.”

Arthur didn’t miss a beat. “Then stop talkin’ and fucking do it.”

The kiss was not soft. It was not gentle. It was the kind of kiss that stole breath, that left bruises, that tasted like whiskey and rage and months of unspoken things finally said without words. He backed you into the wall and you let him, fingers in his shirt, dragging him closer until there was nothing between you but fire.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathing like you’d run a mile, Arthur looked at you like he’d just won a war.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed. “You’re somethin’ else.”

You smirked, smoothing your thumb over your bottom lip where his stubble had left a scrape.

“Told you I talk a lot of shit.”