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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THE SUN NEVER SEEMS TO FIND ITS WAY through the gloomy and murky city of Birmingham, yet that day, it miraculously shone upon them. It was the perfect weather fit for the perfect occasion. Thomas, however, was drenched in blood—not just anyone else's blood but Mercedes'.
He was holding her tight as if trying to pick up broken pieces that shattered within, and in his right hand was a gun, the very same gun that he pointed at the raven-haired woman, and he pulled it. Thomas never knew the reason why, but he just did it—killing the woman he loves. Her exquisite white bridal gown was permanently stained by the blood that flowed from her chest.
His eyes snapped open while his entire face was covered in a cold sweat, Thomas blinked twice and said nothing as he stared at the empty ceiling of Mercy's room. The light of dawn was already seeping into the room, yet she was still unconscious and the eerie quietness that surrounded him was unsettling.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, inhaling sharply through the nose. Thomas' gaze fell to the woman next to him and he immediately felt the piercing pain in his chest as he examined her devastating state. A loud, quick knock on the wooden door took his attention away from the woman, with a scrunched forehead, he stood up and slipped his coat back on. There was a slight hope in him that the loud noise would wake Mercy up as he shot one last glance at her, much to his disappointment, her eyes were still shut.
As if there was a switch in him, Thomas returned to his formal self—composed and collected like everything was just under his control, but deep down he knew that it wasn't. Behind the door was Peter, a blinder that was stationed outside the hospital, "Mr. Shelby! Yer brother's on ta line, said there's somethin ye need ta know," the man exclaimed, trying to keep his breath steady like he just raced.
And at that moment, Thomas Shelby's gut instinct knew that things took a sharp turn for the worse.
"Hey!" he yelled across the empty church, echoing through nooks and crannies, "We had a fucking deal!" Thomas added as he stormed in the Irish copper's direction, footsteps thundered down the aisle. Thomas pressed his lips together, forming a tight line as his breath grew thin and ragged.
"I'd think you would moderate your language in a place of worship," Campbell said, unfazed by the outraged fellow, as he continued to read the papers until the blinder yanked it from him and hurled it to the ground with such force.
Thomas leaned closer towards him, pointing his finger at the copper, "We had a fucking deal," he repeated his words. Tommy's eyes glowed with vicious fire, and he resembled a raging bull ready to attack anyone who crossed his path.
And that is when Campbell looked at his eyes, "Mr. Shelby," he began, "If you read the papers, you might have seen that the Home Secretary has got himself into a bit of fizz about certain moral issues. Prostitution, protection, racketeering, drinking, cocaine, and of course...gambling, and he has demanded me results."
