Kimber's Daughter - Tommy Shelby x Reader Fan Fic

Chapter 60

I spent the rest of the week in bed. I figured I'd enjoy the thick mattress, the silk sheets, for what little time I had left. Once the house had gone, I had few options beyond bales of hay in some abandoned barn. It was a constant anxiety gnawing at the back of my mind. Homeless. Penniless. It was ironic — I'd been safer and more provided for as a hostage of the Peaky Blinders, than as my father's daughter.

And he'd left. Left me here with not even a goodbye. Left me with a stab wound. And he hadn't even cared. He'd promised to make me partner in the business — more lies. More betrayal.

And so I'd sink beneath the bedcovers once more and sleep. When I could sleep no longer, I'd drink half a bottle of whiskey until I could once more. Briefly in among the hazy, sleep-filled memories, I was aware of a phone call, a smashed glass, crying. I wasn't sure if it was real or just a dream.

Finally, the day came. Rain fell from the sky. Good, I thought. Let it be unpleasant for them.

I washed slowly, rubbing every bit of dirt from between my fingers. I packed up all the clothes Tommy had bought me — they were mine. They belonged to me, not my father. A teddy bear from my childhood. A few earrings. My favourite books.

All my possessions in the world, in just one trunk.

I said a silent goodbye to the horses. Avoided Toby. I'd not told anybody what was happening, though most of the men had realised something was afoot. They'd turn on me like a pack of wolves. I needed to be gone before that happened.

But where would I go? I mused on the question as I walked across the grounds. I'd have to stay in Birmingham. Travelling anywhere else would eat into too much of the cash I had, cash I'd need for accomodation. I'd need to find work. There was no chance of going back to the Peaky Blinders — I would rather die than face the embarrassment of asking them for work. And I still hadn't spoken to Tommy.

I missed him more than breathing. I missed him so much it was a permanent ache in my chest. But what could I say to him, now all this had transpired? I'd lost everything. And I'd likely lost him too. Better to get it all done in one swoop, I supposed.

Maybe I could start over. Find a position doing the books for a small company, no gang involvement. No racing or horses. No excitement. I could find a husband like Roberts suggested. A nice enough man, if I was lucky. He'd never set my nerve endings alight, never remind me I'm truly alive.

He'd never be Tommy.

The rolling nausea built until it was too much to bear, and I ended up crouched in the grounds, throwing up the last traces of whiskey and bile. I frowned, wondering if something had been wrong with the last bottle — it had tasted off, too. Fitting, I supposed. The last of nice things had been ruined.

I stood upright, but my stomach still ached with nausea. I needed to stop drinking. It would be easier now I was penniless.

But I'd lose the way he smelled. I'd lose the last loose thread I had of Tommy. With each sip, each glass of whiskey, it felt like I was still a part of him. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend he was close by.

But when I opened them again, I was alone.

A row of black cars snaked up the driveway.

The debt collectors were here. I needed to leave, avoid the explosion once my father's men realised everything had fallen apart.

Michael's voice came at my ear, quiet. "Ready to go, miss?" He asked.

I wondered how much he'd seen, before deciding it didn't matter. Vomiting was the least of my worries with regards to dignity.

"Let's go," I said.