smoke storm. peaky blinders

𝗘𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁

CHAPTER EIGHT

Emilio Smith had never painted a picture of ease. His reign of terror had been built with blood from the foundations of loyalty. His reign of power had been fashioned with knives and guns, decorated with the northern sneers of hard work. Perhaps that was why she'd found it so hard to revert back to that cold sense of being that came with her more well known persona. Adelaide's own time in Birmingham had been paired with a softness that was unfamiliar to her. Even her brother had noticed it.

Their plan with Kimber was due to be set into motion at any moment and yet Adelaide's head thought of anything but the war that was threatening to brew. It was what she'd wanted though, after all. Wasn't it?

It was no surprise she found herself in the Garrison again. The feminine company of Grace Burgess was a relief in the face of the stress the men had been placing her under. Harry's nerves had only been heightened, Roberts need to question and check everything tripled. There was something more to the Irish woman than what she let on. It was that sense of duplicity, in a twisted way, that made Adelaide think that had the situations been different, she would have made a good partner in business.

The pub was unusually quiet as she made her way up to the bar, sitting in her favoured seat by the private room. Harry, the bartender, smiled her way, his thick eyebrows raising in a way that made her aware of the fact that he was judging her in some way, but she ignored him, instead allowing her eyes to fall on the blur of brown that stood behind the glass of the near windows.

"Take these to the private room, will you?" Harry asked her, head motioning to the empty glasses and full decanter of whiskey that stood on the bench.

"I thought you denied me the job of a barmaid," she said, watching as he rolled his eyes, turning away, already expecting her to do it.

And she did, her hands clasped around the neck of the bottle, collecting the small glasses between the fingers of her other, and took the collection into the boxy room, pushing the door open with a foot. Tommy Shelby stood on the other side. His presence in a place was always obvious, even without looking at him. She could sense him, even, before she'd even stepped into a room. When his lazy gaze fell upon her, he stood slowly, stepping around the table to take the glasses from her hand. For a moment he was close- too close, dangerously close- and then he moved away again, his absence known as he left her to place the bottle of whiskey on the table.

"Sorry to interrupt. Apparently Harry can't deliver these himself," she said, waiting for his response as he smirked at her slight dig, shaking his head so softly that it was almost undetectable.

"It's alright. I'd appreciate the company," Tommy said, and he poured two drinks without giving her a chance to object.

"How's your horse?" Adelaide asked, bringing the glass to her lips.

"I put a bullet in his head," he said, voice too serious. Adelaide had to pull the drink away from her face, the surprise not allowing her to swallow. When she didn't say anything, he continued, "He looked at me the wrong way."

His eyes bore down into her, so sharp that his gaze felt like pinpricks in her skin.

"No one looks at Tommy Shelby the wrong way."

His words were almost joking. Almost.

It was not often, that she was left speechless, but this time, Adelaide did not know what to say. She feared it would become a common occurrence with Tommy.

"You're a lot like Grace."

The words startled her. She had not known that Grace was close enough to the man for him to know what she was like. Perhaps it would be something to worry about. But then again, she has not realised that she was close enough to Tommy either, to be able to make a comparison. She stayed quiet, letting him finish his thoughts as he stared at her with that still, level gaze.