Angel of Death // TommyShelbyX[O/C]

Chapter 2 - Familiar faces.

After gaining vague directions from the boys who, strangely, I am now responsible for (having had to take over from Curtis) I storm out of the door, my feet making hard contact with the dirty ground. Francis insists that two of the larger runners accompany me, since we are in the shit hole of Small Heath after all, and they do, all the way until we reach the doors I remember well. The doors of the Garrison.

"Well go on then." A thick scouse accent says behind me. I had not realised I had paused for quite that long.

"This year maybe, yeah?" I turn and glare at the young lad behind me, raising my hand to strike him across the face., but just before my hand can make contact with his tired-looking face I hear a thick Brummie accent behind me.

"Miss Warren. My god, what a shock it is to see you here, has someone died?" They say sarcastically, laughing, their gruff voice allowing me to deduce whom the voice originated from. Harry.

My head snaps around and my eyes meet his. I give him an unsteady look, my non-responsiveness and gloomy emotion indicating to him that, yes, in fact, someone had died.

"Oh. God. S-sorry." He spills out. "Um, who-,"

"Curtis." His whole face changes instantly as his name leaves my mouth, clearly trying to appear sympathetic, but hiding a wisp of curiousness.

"I'm sorry Miss Warren. You must be devist-,"

"Mrs Brooks." I interrupt him, again.

"Pardon?" He questions, growing more confused as each syllable slips from my mouth.

"I am married," I say confidently, before swiftly correcting myself. " I- I was ... married." I manage to squeeze out the last few syllables without screaming or crying, in fact, my face remained quite steady, progress. And yet the unsteadiness of my chest, as shaky breaths escape my mouth and evaporate in the cold autumn breeze, portrays a different emotion, one of unspoken, hidden pain.

Harry takes my hand gently and ushers me swiftly through the creaking glass doors.

"Why don't you come in for a drink, love, on the house." He guides me through, gently placing his hand on my back, gesturing behind me for the men accompanying me to leave. I nod and they retreat back to Frankie, back to Curtis. I listen as their footsteps grow quieter.

I take a seat at a table in the dead centre of the bar, as the doors swing closed behind me, which seems to have frozen in time, it looking identical to the image I have retained from five years ago. Harry gently carries over two glasses and pours us both a glass of whiskey, Irish, of course.

After a few minutes sat in dead silence, clearly Harry didn't know what to say, I clear my throat and come clean as to why I have appeared back at the Garrison.

"I am here to see Mr Shelby."

He almost chokes as he swallows the brown liquid.

"Why on earth would you do that?" He questions. Not seeming eager to know the answer.

"Business. Let's just say I need some help." I look to him, cracking a slight smile.

"Help?" He laughs. "From the Shelby's? Good look darlin'." He laughs and swigs, again.

"More business than help. I am not a charity case, darlin'." I retort quickly. Not realising how harsh my tone might appear. Harry seems uneasy.

"N-no, I didn't mean to suggest..." He stammers and I stand up.

"Thank you for the drink, Harry. It was great to catch up." I take the last gulp of the liquid remaining in the glass and brush down my skirt.

"Now would you be so kind as to point me in the direction of Mr Shelby?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. But before he could reply a door behind me creaks open and my heart jumps. My spine shivers as I feel a warm breath behind me.

And I know exactly who it belongs to.

"Looking for someone, love?"