TOUGH LOVE • MICHAEL GRAY FANFIC

6

A car that drives smoothly, is a car that must have cost a fortune. Tommy looks over at me every so often as I attempt to enjoy the ride in quiet, but it all falls short when he speaks.

"I've never seen Michael emotional before. When I tried to ask you about your occupation he looked as though he was going to jump me." He shifts in his seat. "You two past lovers?"

"We were at the same orphanage." I turn my head, looking at him. He's got a perfectly structured face.

He nods. "You know Father Hughes then?"

"Yes." I pet Jojo slowly. "What about him?"

"He's trying to get in business with us." He says slowly. "I own an institution for kids who don't have parents, or family, and he asked to be apart of it-"

My blood boils. "I don't know what you men do, but involving him in your business is a very bad idea." I couldn't stress that enough. I wonder if he takes my statement and listens, or if he'll just throw the news away.

"No, I know. I know. Michael's told me."

The car grows thick with silence. Angst. I stare at the trees we pass, the sidewalk, the people who stare. Enchanted that such a beautiful car is in such a low income neighbourhood. As I try to focus my mind on the road, my mind races at the thought of Hughes hurting other kids. That's the thing, when I left the orphanage, I knew what I was running away from. I knew that man was not to be stopped unless someone stopped him, by ending his life. I shut my eyes and imagine the mass amounts of children who have to be subjected to that mans rage and wrath.

I shift, turning to look at Tommy. "You have to kill Hughes." My words deceive me, but my heart does not regret the words I say.

"Michael'll do the killings. He's already asked me." He smokes through his nonchalant voice.

"Has he-" I catch myself, wondering if I even want to know. "Has he murdered before?"

"No. Michael's innocent. He's good at what he does, which is accounting."

So he does do the legal side of their business. I stare at this man who drives me home and wonder how many kills he has done. I can't imagine pulling the trigger of a gun, I've never been able to understand how someone could be so sick. But I guess when you're in a gang, things like that come naturally. Like covering your mouth after you cough, easy, effortless, simple.

We spend the rest of the car ride in silence, again, until he speaks again. "The money you make at the hospital isn't good, especially if you live in such a bent up area."

Rain hits his car window, darkening the sky. "I'm not joining you lot." I say, looking forward. "So there is no point in convincing me."

"I can pay you more than triple of what they pay you, we just need a nurse on hand safety ensur-"

"I said, I'm not joining your gang." I snap, turning my head to him. "Michael is twenty-one, and he looks thirty-fucking-nine, the way you drained him of his adolescence it's ridiculous. You people all look so dead inside." I shake my head, looking away.

"Michael doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do." He combats cooly.

I laugh, "Do you think you leave him a bloody choice?"

He stops talking, grits his teeth before tossing his cigarette out the window. All in which is done before we reach a stop at my street. He turns off the car, it stops humming. All we can hear is the rain.

"Thank you for driving me." I say, popping open the door. "But if you ask me to join the Peaky's again, I'll tell Michael and he won't take that news well."