Bancroft - Peaky Blinders Reverse Harem x Reader

Chapter 11

"Been out fucking celebrating, have you?" Tommy says as we enter the house.

John gives me a pointed glance, gesturing to the armchair at the furthest end of the lounge, away from the kitchen where Tommy's sat drinking whiskey. I can't help but feel my room would make for a less conspicuous escape, or a bath, but I'm in no position to argue as Arthur blocks the doorway, blocking me from view.

"Not exactly," Arthur tells Tommy. "McGuffin and his crew thought they'd have a drink in our pub."

I still can't see Tommy, but I feel the silence as it penetrates the entire walls of the house.

"Did they, now?" He finally responds, voice smooth as silk.

"We handled it," Michael says in a reassuring voice.

"Handled it, eh? No bodies to clean up?"

"They left," Arthur says.

I stare at a spot on the wall, focusing on the groove of the square panelling, the light outline of paint. John shifts his weight on the sofa beside my armchair, and to my surprise, reaches across and rests a hand on my leg, just above the knee. He gives a reassuring squeeze.

Like he's bracing me for something.

"And why would they do that?" Tommy asks in a cold voice. "Better yet, why would you fucking let them get away?"

My jaw clenches, my stomach winding up in knots as nobody answers, nobody wanting to be the one to break the news to him, or to lie.

Michael begins to speak, but I stand to my feet and call out across the rooms.

"Because he held a knife to my throat and used me as a human shield. Nobody could shoot him."

John holds his head in his hands, his shoulders twitching. As he glances back up at me, grinning, I realise he's trying to suppress laughter.

My own lips threaten to twitch in response, but the sensation dissipates quickly as Tommy's slow footsteps reach the room. I make out the shadows of Arthur and Michael behind him.

I should be cowering beneath the intimidating glare Thomas Shelby fixes upon me. I know he expects me to. Expects every man, woman or child to retreat in fear, stammer their apologies and never bother him again.

And maybe I would too, if I didn't know him. If he didn't piss me off the way he does.

"Have I got something on my face?" I deadpan.

I can feel the annoyance rippling from him as his eyebrows raise slightly, and he folds his arms across his chest. It's like I'm getting to know him. All these little movements, detailing his distaste for me. I relish them all, even more so when John snickers from where he's still sat on the sofa.

Tommy turns to Arthur, looking for an explanation.

"Dunno how it happened, Tom," Arthur says. "I left her with Michael while I went to sort the blokes out, and then..."

Tommy instantly rounds on Michael, who looks nonplussed as he leans against the wall, lighting a cigarette. "I didn't know who she was," he shrugs.

He turns to John last.

"I wasn't even there," John says, lifting his arms in surrender position.

"So, in short, none of you can attest to how it even happened?"

"It was an accident," I begin.

"No," Tommy interrupts. He walks slowly across the room towards me. "McGuffin doesn't do anything by accident. It's a miracle he didn't kill you then and there, to send a message."

I clench my teeth. "I need a gun. If I'd have been armed—"

"If you'd have been armed, you'd have gotten yourself killed," he says.

He's close enough now that I can smell the whiskey and tobacco.

"I think I deserve more credit than that," I respond quietly, refusing to flinch away from him.

His eyes probe my own but he's indecipherable.

"She handled it well, Tom. Honest," Arthur says.

"Not a word of complaint from her," John agrees.

"I think we could all use a nice, strong drink, a spot of dinner, and then off to bed," Arthur speaks again, clapping his hands and then rubbing them together.

"Where's the food?" Tommy asks quietly.

He's still looking at me, but there's no doubt he's speaking to Arthur.

"Come again, Tom?" The oldest Shelby brother asks innocently.

"The food you were to get from the butcher's."

"I left it at the Garrison," I realise.

Tommy's eyebrows raise. "So, you did get some? Then why is the cash still on the dining room table, where I left it last night?"

I lift my chin. "Because I'm not a cook, or a maid, and I'm not for hire."

There's a sudden pressure at my throat, and I'm knocked backwards, pinned against the wall. Tommy's not choking me hard enough I can't breathe, but the pressure is uncomfortable at the sides of my neck, and I can't fight the wince that sears across my face as I struggle against his grip.

"Let's get this right," he says, his breath hot against my cheek. "You're not for hire, but you'll pay to feed us all, eh? Take a knife's cut for us? Demand we supply you with a gun?" I struggle and claw against his grasp as he speaks, but it's futile. "You're ours, Bancroft. Not the other way round. Don't get yourself confused."

"Fuck you," I squeeze out, tears beginning to form in my eyes.

"Tom, let her go," Arthur says.

"So she can continue to mock me?" Tommy asks.

But his grasp slips, revealing the cut McGuffin left along my throat. I see his eyes widen slightly, his throat bob as he swallows. And when I elbow him sharply in the ribs, he finally releases me.

I slide to the floor, massaging my neck, but feeling no lingering tenderness. Had Thomas Shelby actually been gentle, while pinning me to the wall with force? For some reason it makes me detest him even more.

"Fine," I say. "I'll leave. I don't have to stay here, you said it yourself."

"You can't leave," Tommy says, turning away from me. "Not anymore."

My blood runs cold. "What?"

But it's Arthur who speaks. "You're on McGuffin's radar now. We need to protect you. Or..."

"Or he'll get to you," Michael finishes in a low voice.

I shake my head quickly. "I'll have a gun," I say. "I'll be fine. Just-just give me a gun, and I can leave. Alright?"

"We had guns," Arthur says. "Did it look like that was stopping him?"

The realisation slowly dawns on me. He'd told me if he saw me again, he'd put a bullet in me. And then he'd told me that would be a waste, that I only need to switch sides and he'll give me the life of dreams...

I glance at the men around the room. At the new and mysterious Michael, the steady and dependable Arthur, the happiness in human form that is John, and then at Tommy. Who can't even look me in the fucking eye after he pinned me against the wall, choosing to stare out the window and smoke a cigarette instead.

How loyal am I to the Peaky Blinders?