THE FRENCH KISSERS ― Thomas Shelby

23. blood in the water

"Andrea!" Raphael rushed to her, kneeling down beside her. She whimpered and backed away, tangled knots of golden hair falling over her delicate face. Carefully, with a tenderness he only ever had with her, he wrapped his arms around her, the tears he had been holding in sliding down his chiseled face. "Je suis désolé... je suis désolé..."

She sobbed again, buried her face in his chest. Then she looked over his shoulder, blue eyes finding Finn's. He stood there, helpless, fingers itching for a cap he wasn't clutching.

"Finn..." she muttered. He took a step towards her, and she turned her head away. The sinking feeling on Rose's stomach hardened. Then Raphael leaned back, and Andrea's pink blouse shifted, exposing her cleavage.

"What the—"

Finn gasped, and Rose clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, threatening to tear her skin. Nicolas reached for her wrist, firm fingers uncurling hers.

Rose couldn't stop looking. An S burned on Andrea's chest, the skin around it red and blotched.

"Bloody bastards!" Finn dropped down in front of her, hand hovering over the living flesh, before he straightened her blouse to hide it. He grasped her hand, entwining their fingers as he kissed her head with lips too gentle for a gangster. "They..."

"Did they do anything else to you?" Raphael cut, the gelid tones of his voice sending wintry shivers up Rose's spine.

"N-non..." Andrea mumbled, shimmering tears welling in the dark circles below her eyes. "Élodie... if that's even her name... she forbade them. I don't... I don't know how I'll explain this to maman."

"We'll tell her it's a thing in London. A new trend or something." Raphael sneaked a hand around her arm. His jaw was set ever since seeing the S. "Come on. We need to go."

With the two boys' help, Andrea stood up. Rose stepped towards her, scrambling for the right words, if there even were any, but Andrea passed by her without so much as a glance.

Her heart sank as she watched her go down the stairs. She knew Raphael would take her to safety. But the skin on her chest would never be completely healed, completely hers again. Rose could not give back what Andrea had lost.

"She'll get through this." With a start, Rose realized Nicolas was still there, holding her hand, his voice softening the jagged edges of her heart that promised to cut her from inside. "She needs time."

"They branded her, Nicolas. Like some fucking animal. And it's my fault. The workers, Evelyn, this... everything... it's my fault. It's my fault and I—" A cry broke out from her throat, and then another, until she couldn't stop them. Nicolas' grip on her wrist tightened as he pulled her into a hug. He smelled of sun rays over cornfields, ripe oranges and the very best of France. He let her wet his shirt with her tears. She let him keep the parts of his heart that were still hers, even if she knew sooner or later she would break them.

They were still locked in an embrace when the first shots rang out.

***

Outside, the sky gave birth to the night when the Kissers aligned on the edge of the bridge. Tavish and the other Saurets stood on the other side, the sound of hammers being cocked rising in the air like a deadly symphony.

"Found her?" Tavish asked through half-closed eyes, his mouth curved into the same crescent moon that lit the sky. Not even the swollen eyelids and the bruised lips were enough to wipe the sneer from his face. Élodie stood beside him, head held high. "I must say I'm rather proud of the work I did on her. Her skin was too... flawless."