The peaky blinders kidnap Billy Kimber's daughter for ransom. But Tommy gets more than he bargained for when he falls in love.
Will get spicy in the future. Enemies to lovers. Fake dating.
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Of course Thomas Shelby would enter a horse at the Cheltenham races.
Just the one. Just to piss me off.
"You've got balls, Shelby."
He turned around in the stands, straightened slightly. People were cheering and chatting all around us. Now we were in December, the air had grown bone-cold, staved off only by all the excitement in the air. It was just the two of us. Grubs lingered a couple rows back.
"As I recall, you're familiar with that part of my anatomy," Tommy answered.
Heat rose to my cheeks. "And as I recall, you make stupid decisions. This is one of them."
"You could have stopped us from entering," Tommy said. "But you didn't. Why?"
"I wanted to watch your defeat in person."
"Ah, come on, Kimber. Don't lie now. You wanted to see me again." Tommy put his hands in his pockets and turned around again to watch the race.
"I don't lie, Shelby. That was you. Remember?"
He didn't reply. We watched the horses line up before the gates.
"Which one's yours?" I asked.
"Your stallion." He pointed out the horse, the same one I'd chosen for him, all those months ago. "Yours?"
"Cobalt Greer." I pointed out the Arabian.
"May the best horse win." Tommy lit a cigarette. "You ride much yourself anymore?"
"I don't have the time," I answered flatly. "Horses are all business these days."
"Hmm." Tommy shook his head. "If I'd have known you'd steal my tricks of the trade, I might have been more careful."
God, I wanted to punch him. "As might I, if I'd have known you'd steal so much of my potential."
"That what you think I did?"
A bang. The horse gates opened. I leaned forward, gripping the bar of the stands, uncaring that my fingers turned numb even through my gloves. In the flurry of numbers and horse legs, I picked out Cobalt Greer in the clump of horses at the lead. We'd bought him for only a few pounds, the groom had told me, when he was an untrained foal. If he won today, coupled with our bets, he'd have made us a 5000% return on investment, after all expenses. Or so Michael had deducted. Strange that he wouldn't be here to watch, but I didn't have time to look for him, my heart thundering in my chest as Cobalt Greer thundered round the track.
But that stallion, that fucking horse of Tommy's, rippled with pure muscle and oiled coat, his legs longer, his build stronger. He passed just ahead of my horse. Neither were first, not yet. Clearly, Tommy and I both had the sense to tell our jockeys to save a bit of energy for the final push.
And when it came, they both glided to the front of the pack. Neck and neck. So close, even through my binoculars, their noses seemed to cross the finish line in the same second. I exhaled air from my lungs.
