A Gangster With Roses • Tommy Shelby

final hour

Rose smiles faintly to herself for one second, but that smile is soon stripped as a sharp pain in her body starts throbbing. It hurt more than any bullet or stab wound. In agony, Rose clutches her belly, panting for dear life.

"Rose??" Polly stands up immediately alarmed, checking her body for any signs of abnormal danger.

Polly knew that this was when things got bad, the moment that shifted everything.

Rose was growing pale, sweating, letting out small cries that would soon turn into echoing screams. She watched as Aunt Polly tried to call for help but the cheers of the crowd outside drowned her.

It was useless.

"Polly." There was panic in her voice.

"I think something is wrong.. really wrong."

•••

Lizzie closes the satin curtains of the small dressing room before turning to the soldier in front of her. This was it, the hour in which all womanhood and shame would be taken from her and she'd feel disgusting. Too disgusting to look at herself in the mirror for a couple weeks or brush her hair.

Her eyes, those sapphire eyes had betrayed her. They once looked at her reflection as a little girl and dreamt of achievements. Nurse, teacher or even a journalist. Now she was here, not selling stories but a body that felt like it belonged more to a man than herself.

Lizzie still had no idea why Tommy was making her do this with Marshal Russell, but she trusted his word that he'd intervene before anything major happened.

She didn't want to go back to that dark place again. It was like walking into your old house. Everything's empty, the furnitures gone but the walls scream a past you've tried to wash out your mind.

"This lace... it's so thin." The soldier runs his cold fingers on the short sleeve of her dress, then her bare skin.

All of a sudden, her expensive dress felt cheap.

"It's lace from India, so delicate." Lizzie breathes seductively.

He inched closer, ignoring any means of personal space. He was rather pale, disturbingly pale. You couldn't miss his fiery auburn hair or the blue veins pulsating on his forehead. There was something off about his smile— it seemed so roguish, so entitled.

They lock eyes.

Lizzie was playing an act. It was all an act. No emotions behind those words. No real meanings.

Deep down she was scared; scared shitless of men like him.

Unexpectedly he shreds her gloves off her hands and starts kissing her neck. It wasn't gentle or loving, but in a manner of utter control and thirst.

"Lift up your dress." He orders.

"No need to rush, we've got all the time to get there." Lizzie puts on a smile to hide her fear. "How about you take off that uniform first?"

"How do I know you're clean?" He insults, getting more aggressive. "You could have the fucking clap for all I know!"

"I don't have the—"