e·lite
/əˈlēt,āˈlēt/
noun
noun: elite; plural noun: elites
a group or class of people seen as having the greatest power and influence within a society, especially because of their wealth or privilege.
• in which the darkness-loathing heiress meets t...
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Tommy realized he had made no less than three visits to the hospital in the last month.
It was Arthur's turn to get chained up to the hospital bed. Neck full of gashes and wounds inflicted upon him in an unfair battle. That brother of his looked very much pale against the screaming blue and yellow walls of the hospital room. He looked out of place. Like he didn't belong there at all.
Arthur was unconscious for quite some time. Thomas decided it would be best if Arthur's 'aliveness' be hidden from the rest of the world. He brought him home discreetly, making sure there were no witnesses when his boys moved him. At the hands of his kin, Arthur would recover much faster than those of the nurses and doctors at the hospital. At least that's what Tommy thinks.
"Come again?" Thomas Shelby felt like he misheard Robert Grosvenor.
The eldest of the Grosvenor children sighed, "My sisters. One of them, being your Head of Legal, had gone missing. Now, papa has turned our home into a base for all the private detectives looking for them. He'd gone mad for his daughters, and he's petrified for them. The girls are calling everyone they know in London."
Tommy white-knuckled, the crystal in his hand, filled with the whiskey Irene would pour for him during their late office hours. God, now he can't even do anything by himself. This was news to him, and Thomas Shelby doesn't like it when he's the last to know about something, especially when it's about an asset under his company.
His eyes darted to Arthur, now fully awake, just a wee bit groggy from all his treatments. Tommy darted toward his bed, "Brother, I need you to answer me this."
Arthur turned his head weakly as he rasped, "Tom?"
"Where are the girls, Arthur? Did you hear anything, man?"
Arthur swallowed slowly, eyes still far away, "They were taken, Tom. That's all I saw before closing my eyes meself."
Tommy pressed, clutching his brother's cheeks, "Taken by who?"
"Them, Tom. The Changrettas."
Fuck. He knew it. Thomas Shelby fucking knew it.
Of course, they would use the girls as leverage. Just like he thought and predicted they would. Though when the war was closing to an end, by the decreasing number of their troops, thanks to him, Tommy thought the heiresses were not worth it anymore. How wrong Tommy was.
Fuck, what if something happens to her? Shit, Tom. Is that what you're thinking about, eh?
You better get your fucking head back in the game and win the fucking war and then get those two little tarts out.
The leader of the Peaky Blinders pinched his own flesh when he heard Grace's voice chiming in, But you still can't get that tart out of your head, can you Tommy? My little opium warrior.
