Kimber's Daughter - Tommy Shelby x Reader Fan Fic

Chapter 54

I avoided Michael until I could put it off no longer. Until my stitches had been removed, and I could move my arms and turn around without searing pain. I ran my fingers across the scar, two inches long on the side of my navel.

I'd needed this time to calm myself before dealing with Michael, with my father, with any of it. And I still had to honour my promise to Tommy that I wouldn't kill Michael. Until now, I knew if I so much as looked at him, I'd have been unable to help myself.

It hadn't stopped him from trying. He'd knock at my door, sometimes just the once, sometimes insistently until my new bodyguard escorted him away. He slipped handwritten notes and apologies in with my letters each morning, waiting for me when I finally entered the sitting room, finally certain he'd gone.

But I couldn't avoid him forever. And so, one evening while I was sat on the chesterfield sofa beside the crackling fire, and his knocking came, I released a small sigh.

"Enter," I called out, loud enough for my bodyguard to hear.

The door swung open. I did not rise from my seat, choosing instead to swill my wine as Michael walked in slowly.

Neither of us spoke. I raised my eyebrows expectantly. The muscles of his throat contracted as he swallowed, but to his credit, he took a seat opposite me. I had the smallest measure of respect for him for doing so, rather than leaving in fear.

"How are you?" He asked.

"Recovered enough to press a blade to your throat." I finished my drink and smiled coldly before pouring another. "I would offer you one, but I feel you've already taken enough from me."

Michael nodded. "Polly... Mum... wanted to pull me out. Tommy had to talk her round."

"And why would he do that?" I asked icily.

"Says you like making your own decisions. And you'll do what you think's right. Even if that means blowing my head off."

A small swell of pride rose in me at the words. "You're not scared?" I asked. "You've watched me kill men for less. Firsthand."

"I didn't want to leave you. Not with things left unresolved. I knew what I was risking. And I wouldn't regret it, even if you did kill me for it."

I listened to the crackling fire for a moment before speaking. "You see, Michael, there's the problem. Those are words. And you seem to speak them so eloquently on this side of things. But where were they when you were lying to me?" And without warning, I stood to my feet and my arm shot out, throwing the wine glass at the hearth. It shattered into shards, sending a dust of red wine mist across us both. Michael's eyes widened. "When you were deceiving me so easily?" I continued, my voice rising. "Don't pretend I mean something to you. I thought you were the only man in this building I could trust. The only one loyal to me, and not my father. And you were spying on me the whole time."

"I didn't," he said. He stood to his own feet. "For a few weeks, yes. Tommy wanted to know you were safe. But... but once I got to know you, it felt all wrong. They've not been happy with me for months now. Because I haven't been telling them shit. That was Grubs."

"Yes, I know all about Grubs. Convenient, don't you think? Almost as though you hoped I'd forget your betrayal in the midst of his."

"I'll find him," Michael promised. "I'll track him down. Just like the piece of shit that stabbed you."

Anger ripped through me and I lashed out, pushing Michael against the wall and pinning him there with my forearm across his chest. I could feel the heat from his skin, could see the creases of his lips as he bit down in response.

"You think I want you doing anything for me?" I hissed. "What, do you want a thank you? Appreciation? Because you're not quite as shitty as the other person I trusted who fucked me over?"

"Not at all—"

"I made a promise that I wouldn't kill you. But I'm sure Tommy would eventually forgive me for breaking it."

We stayed locked against the wall. I pictured strangling him, pulling my gun and shooting him, smashing his head into the hearth. I pictured him bleeding out across the room.

And my stomach lurched.

I pulled quickly away from him, as though he was red hot and branding my skin. I turned away, shaking my hands, trying to shake what I'd just felt. Compassion. Empathy. And, though it wasn't romantic, a form of love.

I'd grown to care about Michael. Almost like a brother. And it would hurt me if he died.

For fuck's sake.

"Get out," I whispered, still turned away. "And don't come back."

His footsteps went across the room, to the door, before pausing. "Your letters," he said. A flurry of parchment onto mahogany. The door opened, shut. The room suddenly felt cold.

I groaned. The last thing I needed was to go soft. But no matter. I wouldn't be seeing Michael again, not unless I ever returned to Small Heath with Tommy. And he of all people would understand if I needed to be kept away from Michael.

But thoughts of either Peaky Blinder were too painful for me tonight. I crossed the room and picked up my pile of letters, sifting through them, looking for distraction. And then I saw Tommy's handwriting.

Inviting me over.

Tonight.