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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MERCEDES ALWAYS BELIEVED IN HER INSTINCTS, and most of them were correct as intuition does not lie—the voices inside her head had never mastered the art of deception. The first time she trusted her gut instinct was when she found out her father was having an affair with Emilia, her mother's sister. Their hidden glances and touch, Emilia was his secret—his beautiful little secret. She knew the truth by the way it feels.
It had been hours since Thomas succumbed to slumber. Mercy was sleeping with one eye open on the chair next to the bed, watching over Thomas—afraid that his fever might worsen. Not until the creaking of the bed woke her light sleep up, however, her eyes remained closed. She can hear the faint movement of Thomas, careful of the squeaking old floorboards. By the time Thomas had left his room, she gently opened her eyes. Her back was aching because of the uncomfortable position she was in when sleeping.
The front door shut closed and from the window, she watched his shadow became one with the darkness, "Where are you going Thomas?" without any hesitation, she ran down the stairs and head outside the house, eager to follow him. She didn't know what pushed her to tail behind him but she just trusted her gut instincts like she always did. Her hands wrapped around her cold body, creating friction with her skin as the wind flung to her.
The entire lane was illuminated by the yellow light coming from the lamp posts, she squinted her eyes as she followed Thomas to wherever he was going. Initially, she assumed that he was going to The Garrison, but he was walking in the opposite direction. His paces were quick, and he never bothered to look back. It's been ten minutes of walking when Thomas came to a halt in front of a house, the light on the second floor was open—casting a silhouette of a petite woman against the dim window.
She ducked behind a car, watching Thomas head inside the building. Her mouth turned dry, heart began to pound hard against its ribcage—suddenly her heart was in a constant state of dropping. Her legs grew wobbly and feeble, and the stabbing pain in her stomach made her nauseated; it felt like a hundred knives were stabbing her at once.
For the first time in her life, she didn't want to trust her instincts. She didn't want to believe that Thomas went to see her, and she prayed that her judgment would turn out wrong to whatever entity that was listening to her right now.
It wasn't that long until Thomas finally opened the door, behind him stood the blonde barmaid—the woman she loathed, the woman she envied, the woman that will always have his heart. Mercy can almost hear her heart ripping apart into million fragments. Not shattered, not crushed, but torn. Her world began to crumble around the edges, with darkness seeping in through the gaps. She desperately wanted to brush aside what she was seeing, to believe that her mind was playing tricks on her. She was in excruciating pain, the kind she wouldn't wish on anyone.
