It's the roaring twenties in Birmingham, the Peaky Blinders exist alongside God but they were much, much closer at hand than Him. Mercedes de Silva, thornless withered rose, petals filled with sorrow. Thomas Shelby, ruthlessly ambitious, conflicted...
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TIME SEEMS TO PASS AT A SNAIL'S PACE FOR MERCEDES. Breaking her hand over some daft felt like centuries ago, but it's been only a month since it happened. She was dramatic. If she could go back in time, she'd gladly do the same thing, if possible, smash his testicles to smithereens too.
She often wondered where that man is now, maybe he decided not to show his face after the pursuit of the blinders, or the worst-case scenario—he's buried six feet under the ground. No, his body is definitely rotting in the canal with a rock tied to its feet.
Stories about the brutality of the Peaky Blinders are no common among the people of Small Heath. They feared them, they were their gods after all and what have we all learned from the mythologies we've read as a child? That is to never offend the gods or else you'd face their wrath.
"Your hand is good as new, love," Polly examined her right hand as she removed the splint and bandages. She was a trained nurse, but there is no better way than the gypsy healing as John said.
"Thank you, Pol. I've been dying to go back to work! I was getting sick of staying in the same place, one more day, and I might go insane," Mercy joked, stretching her hand out. For the past month, she's either at her house or at the Shelby's. That's what Thomas wanted, she tried to argue about that but Lord, he was a tough nut to crack.
One time, she tried to go to work but instead, they threatened to burn the shop down. She was so mad she wanted to punch Thomas with her busted hand. Mercy knew they were true to their word and she certainly wouldn't risk jeopardizing the business.
Mercy cannot ignore the fact that she's now involved with the Peaky Blinders. She is entangled with all of their mess, meaning she has a big red mark on her forehead. Though, they promised her the privilege of their protection. They have many enemies, bullets from any of them could pierce through her skull.
She can't die. Not yet.
"Say, are you good with numbers?" asked Polly while washing her hands, she tilted her head and tried to think. Was she good at math? That subject is not really her forte, she did not need to be good at math to become a nurse.
I hate numbers, I'd rather blind my eyes than see them, is what she would say but she didn't want to sound a snotty brat, "I hate numbers, but I can manage. Why'd you ask?"
"Do you want to work here, be my assistant?" the matriarch Shelby raised her eyebrow, waiting for Mercy's answer to her proposition. "What's the catch, Pol?"
"I just want you to work here, you're a lot safer when you're around us now," she leaned on the sink, not breaking her eye contact with Mercy.
She mentally scoffed, that' some bullshit, safer my ass. Frankly speaking, I'm a walking bullseye target.
"Thomas asked you to do this?" she guessed, sipping on her earl gray tea. She noticed that everyone always follow what Thomas wanted. Mercy didn't know whether it was a good leadership skill or they are just simply afraid of him.
