Rosella Kimber is the daughter of Billy Kimber, one of the biggest crime bosses in 1919 England. Tommy Shelby is the leader of the peaky blinders, a gang on the rise, threatening Kimber's rule.
When Tommy and Billy put their differences away and dec...
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SARAH WALKS INTO her living room where Michael was sat in a wooden chair, cleaning the cuts on his knuckles.
She frowns. "So are you and Isiah not going to tell me what exactly happened?"
Michael looks up at her and she gets a full view of his bruised and wounded face. It made her feel uneasy inside.
"There's nothing to say Sarah, you should go back to bed." He shrugs, bandaging his hand.
Deep down, Sarah had an idea what had happened. It wasn't hard to connect the dots, one minute they were happy to go out for drinks and the next minute they were home with wounds all over them.
"Isiah is telling me one story and you're saying another. I'm not a baby and I'm not fragile, you don't need to sugarcoat things for me." Sarah makes clear, annoyed.
"Sarah..." Michael starts slowly, looking at her. "Go and get some rest."
He takes off the rings on his fingers and takes off the pocket watch Tommy had given him.
"No, you have to tell me w—"
Micheal gets up, shaking his head angrily. "I did what you wanted, okay?! Your brother is barely drunk and he's home in one piece, what more do you want from me?"
"Why are you pissed off now? All of a sudden you're angry."
"I'm not angry!" Michael responds loudly, pacing up and down.
"You're shouting and you're all flustered, that's the literal definition of angry—"
"Okay! Maybe I am angry!" Michael stops and faces her. "I'm fucking pissed off that people get to treat you and your family like that! You should be able to eat where you want, drink where you want, go where you want, without it ending in a fucking fist fight. I'm bloody sick of it."
Michael plops himself down on the chair, breathing heavily. Sarah was staring at him in silence, he cared. People don't get angry about things they don't care about.
Slowly, she walks over to him and picks up the damp cloth on the table. Her hand holds his face up and gently she presses it onto the cut on his forehead.
Michael hadn't taken his eyes off her as she concentrated.
She traces her finger along a cut. "Does it hurt?" Her voice was gentle and quiet.
"Nah." Michael smiles a little at her. "I'm a big boy, I can handle it."
"You sure?" Sarah chuckles.
"Used to scrap all the time in school."
"You don't look like the fighting type Michael Gray." Sarah tuts, dabbing the cloth on his cheek.
