e·lite
/əˈlēt,āˈlēt/
noun
noun: elite; plural noun: elites
a group or class of people seen as having the greatest power and influence within a society, especially because of their wealth or privilege.
• in which the darkness-loathing heiress meets t...
"So now we're hangin' out with the royalties, eh?"
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Thomas Shelby woke up with a jolt. Beads of sweat the size of kernel rolling down his back and forehead. His eyes frantically looking for something to relieve his tight throat, the whisky on his bedside table being the only thing to do so.
With the warm liquid flowing down his throat, he glanced at the clock on the wall. 4.30 a.m. Thirty minutes earlier than his last nightmare. Tommy stood up, rubbing his temple as he walked to his tall windows overlooking acres of greenery. He lit up a cigarette while sitting down at a nearby chair.
Although he feels too exhausted, being he had to watch Charlie perform his violin practice - which was not getting better by any day -, he couldn't go back to bed. No. He couldn't have the same nightmare twice.
Tommy's dreams have always been a mix. Well, considering if he even falls asleep. Usually, before bed, after loads and loads of work, Tommy will find a woman to satisfy his needs. He needs someone for release.
After that's done, Tommy'll usher the woman out of his manor, with a more-than-generous pay, and go to his son's bedroom. Kissing him goodnight, he'll then retire to his own bedroom, slipping into his bed.
He would always stay awake for another hour or so, listening to the imaginary shovelling in his wall, the sound that went away when Grace was here. But now she isn't. If the day is gracious toward him, he'll fall asleep. Only to be rudely woken up by his nightmare.
His nightmare would always be mixed—a mix of war, Grace, and killed horses. And then Tommy would wake up with a jolt, sometimes a scream. And now, here he is. Looking out the window with his face looking exhausted and his body screaming for rest. Tommy never wanted to be like this, this man haunted by his own nightmares outside of hi slumber.
And for once, he had that with Grace. With Grace, his demons seemed to go away with ease. With Grace, everything was more manageable, like a burden being lifted off of him.
Grace Burgess was his lighthouse, guiding him with light in an otherwise dark world.
But then, the mother of his son died. Once again, Tommy's nights are filled with terrors and booze. Of course, he couldn't be in the state of loss and sadness forever; he's got empires to build.
Now, his latest chess pawn is a mighty aristocratic duke out south, a smart and influential aristocrat, at that. It might be a wee bit of a stretch to associate himself with some sort of royalty, but Tommy needs this relation.
With this man's help, he can both grasp the world of politics and business on his hands. With his help, Tommy can be among the most powerful men in all of the UK. Maybe this way, he'll finally find that man he can't defeat. Just maybe.
