Bloodsport ; tommy shelby

𝒔𝒊𝒙 - shelby ltd.

Finally, a proper job. Iris hadn't worked doing anything she might actually be stimulated by for a long time. While the solidity of a proper job was a little risky considering Iris had been known to up and leave every few months, she was excited to finally do something useful with her life, even if it wasn't entirely legal.

"Have you spoken to Margie?" Iris asked Betty as they made their way to Watery Lane.

Betty sighed, furrowing her brows. She looked so tortured that Iris almost felt bad about asking her in the first place.

"I don't think she wants to talk to me," Betty sighed.

"She'll forgive you, you know?" Iris said reassuringly. "Blood is thicker than water."

"I never meant to hurt her," Betty murmured.

"I know, and she does too," Iris said. They arrived outside one of the doors, and Iris looked up at the house. "We're here."

"Fuck, we're really working for the Peaky Blinders," Betty gulped.

"We really are," Iris gave Betty a smile, before knocking on the door twice. Moments later, it was opened by a girl about Iris' age wearing a nightgown and eating a slice of toast. Iris remembered seeing her one of her first nights in Small Heath in the Garrison's private booth.

"Hello?" she said after a moment of silence.

"Is this the Shelbys' house?" Iris asked.

The girl gave them the once over and took a bite of her toast. "Who's asking?"

"Arthur offered us jobs," Iris said. "I'm Iris, this is Betty."

The girl's face lit up. "Oh! I'm Ada," she said, then turned back into the house. "Tom! Your secretaries are here!" She laughed a little as she spoke.

Tommy walked up to the doorway and gave the girls a nod, no smile, gesturing for them to come in. The house and the betting shop were separated by double doors, and the other side was a bustling room of business. Iris liked how the Shelby's kept business and family close, both literally and figuratively.

"Right," Tommy said, leading them over to two desks in the main room. "Your job is simple. Going through the books and taking note of the profits made each month, and sorting any files that are left loose."

Iris sighed inwardly. Maybe this job was going to be slightly less fulfilling than she had expected.

"May we smoke?" She asked.

"You may."

♞

The winter days were short, so by the time Iris had finished working it was already dark outside. Betty slipped off without saying goodbye, eager to get home after a day of working with men that she was terrified of. Iris felt a little guilty for dragging her along, but Betty needed money, and if she was going to live in a town like small heath, she needed to grow up.

Iris, on the other hand, felt like a spare part. She'd spent the day doing useless tasks when all she wanted to do was help with the real stuff. She'd always been good with numbers, and felt wasted on doing simple adding. She was packing up her desk in a bit of a huff when Tommy came over, smoking a cigarette.

"You're free to go now," he said.

"I know," she said coldly, packing up her stuff. She wondered if Tommy had thought anything of their recent encounter with the woman who had recognised her. Maybe he hadn't bought her excuse and that was why he didn't trust her to do any proper work.

"How are you finding it?" He asked after a moment of watching her as she buttoned up her coat.

"How am I finding what?" She asked, looking up at him for a moment. He paused, scanning her face.

"The work."

Iris pursed her lips. "I know I can do more. Mr Shelby, I'm smarter than you think, I could be a real asset if you gave me a chance."

Tommy stayed still and silent, before letting out a slow sigh. "This was a mistake," he decided.

Iris blinked, feeling the cruellest sinking feeling of disappointment. It felt for a moment as if she'd got it all wrong, that maybe Thomas didn't see her. Maybe he didn't respect her intelligence. Maybe he wasn't who she thought he was.

"Arthur asked you," he said. "He was drunk, too. I would never have allowed him to offer you a job. I told him—"

"I suppose it was a mistake," she interrupted, gritting her teeth in an attempt to mask the hurt in her voice. "I understand," she pushed past him as tears welled in her eyes, through the empty house and out onto the dark street.

He followed, shutting the door behind him. It had begun to snow, and flakes of white floated slowly down, illuminated by the street lamps.

"I told him he had no right to bring an innocent woman into this life." Tommy finished his sentence and Iris turned around, her eyes meeting his. A few lone snowflakes had found their way onto his eyelashes.

"I'm not innocent, Tommy," she replied, quietly. They were close, now, and neither one of them broke their gaze. "I thought you would know that by now."

"I know you carry a gun in your pocket, but that doesn't mean you're not innocent," Tommy said. "Everybody acts like they can take the world for a while, 'till they realise they can't."

Her eyes glossed over but she stayed still, not allowing a tear to fall. In some ways he was so wrong, so painfully, painfully wrong, and yet she felt so seen.

She couldn't deny that there was some truth to what he said. Deep down she wasn't as tough as she'd been forced to be. It was a survival technique, and he knew that because he used it too.

She didn't speak for a long, drawn out moment. There were an abundance of things she could say, facts she could state that might disprove his theory but she didn't. A part of it was right. Iris hadn't chosen her life.

"I don't like being told what to do," she almost whispered.

A single tear escaped from her eye, glistening down her cheek. She didn't even notice it until his thumb was brushing it away, and his hand lingered on her face. Iris stared up at him with wide eyes as his hand remained on her jaw, his thumb on her cheek. She leaned in, planting a soft but slow kiss on his lips.

He said nothing as she pulled back, only stared intently at her face.

"Goodnight, Thomas." She said, and turned away but his hand gripped her wrist and pulled her back.

He kissed her this time, and properly.

Their lips collided with such a force that Iris felt bolts of electricity sizzling through her veins. She lifted her arms up so they hung around his neck, the close-shaven hair on the back of his head bristling against her fingertips.

She allowed him to lead her back into the house and up the stairs, straight to his bedroom. She fell into his arms, her skin against his skin, feeling his hot breath against her neck.

Every time they touched was like electricity. Iris had never felt so alive.