March // John Shelby x Reader - Peaky Blinders

Chapter 51

We make it no more than a mile up the road before seeing a police blockade ahead.

"They're ours aren't they, Tom?" John asks quietly.

Tommy's voice is thin. "Apparently not."

They exchange a glance. Tommy pulls over, beside rows of industrial buildings with a steady stream of coal ejecting from every chimney. There's the sound of clanging metal, working men.

John wraps me in his arms, pressing me to him, kissing me fiercely. Realisation dawns on me.

"No," I tell him.

"You're not going to a women's prison," he says. His voice is thick. "You've done nothing fucking wrong. Go back to Pol, tell her—"

"I'm not leaving you," I insist, but he continues speaking.

"— Tell her to call Ada, she'll come help with the kids. You just fucking hang tight until we've sorted this out, alright? We'll be back before you know it. Don't walk anywhere alone—"

"John," I whisper, eyes wide.

"— You fucking understand me? Don't walk anywhere alone. The other Peaky Blinders will keep watch over you."

"Speak for yourselves," Arthur grumbles, loading a bullet into the chamber of his gun. "I'm not going down without taking a few bloody coppers with me."

"No fucking shooting," Tommy says. "We'll be pleading ignorance to all charges. In fact..." He trails off, with a pointed glance at John.

Sirens sound from behind us.

"What is it?" I ask.

"No," John says.

"If we're found with guns on us, it'll make our lawyer's job ten times more difficult," Tommy says.

I swallow. "Hand them here," I say. "I'll take them."

John looks as though he wants to argue further, but the sound of sirens affords him no such luxury. "Unload every fucking bullet," he tells his brothers, doing the same and handing them all to me along with his pistol.

I shove them all into my coat pockets. We all move quickly, the sirens getting louder.

"John," I say, my voice trembling. "You'll come back, won't you?"

"Of course I fucking will." He presses his lips to mine, and despite his words, I can't help but feel the farewell as we kiss. I only pray it won't be final. I inhale him, wishing I could savour this moment, wishing everything wasn't moving so frantically.

"I'll go to Handsworth," I promise him. "I'll find that cheque."

His face darkens. "Don't you fucking—"

"Go," Tommy suddenly orders, as police cars appear at the end of the road in both directions. "Fucking go now, before they see."

I run from the car, crossing the short distance of only a metre or two and slipping into the building before the police cars have drawn any closer. I hear Tommy pull the car away and drive off.

I'm in the entrance to a factory, a large hollow room. I press my back to the wall and I wait. Tears form in my eyes and I squeeze them shut, allowing the tears to fall as I hear the sirens shut off, hear the shouting of men, and the slamming of car doors — all in a cacophony against the sounds of machinery and factory work coming from deeper inside the walls of the building. There's a hollow ache in my gut.

I feel, rather than hear, when the police have all cleared off. When John's gone. The door creaks softly as I step back outside, glancing in both directions for any sign of them. The cobbled brick is uneven beneath my feet. Rain comes down heavy and tormenting, soaking my hair and my face.

I feel completely lost. Completely empty without John. My mind refuses to go there, refuses to think about all the horrors that could occur.

But without him, I feel alone. Navigating a world I'm clueless about.

Not completely, I remind myself.

I rummage through my pocket, past the bullets and guns, and find the crumpled piece of paper on which we'd written the Handsworth address.

I pull it free and read it again, staring at the letters, committing it to memory before the rain has smudged the ink and soaked the paper to disintegration.

I made John a promise. To find the cheque.

With him, Tommy, and Arthur gone, I'm the only one who can.

Something takes over me. It's the same force that kicks in when the children are in danger — a strange, familial force. It dulls my fear, instilling me with a confidence that cannot be shaken.

I blame this wave for the fact I rattle on the car door of a Ford, slide into the driver's seat, and twist the key in the ignition.

"Oi!" A man calls out, ripping himself away from a conversation with another man on the pavement.

My father had taught me to drive a car just the once, but I had seen Tommy operate his enough times to work out the basics. Or so I thought, before the car stalls with a lurch before I can even pull out onto the road. The man slams his hands on the passenger door, looking ready to rip my head right off if he gets any closer.

"Shit," I whisper, frenzied as I turn the key once more.

The engine roars back to life, and though it moves at no great speed, I manage to angle the car against the one parked in front as I take off, so the man is forced to let go or be crushed.

I accelerate and change to the top gear, eager to be out of his sight, and on my way to Handsworth.