Astor // Arthur Shelby x Reader - Peaky Blinders

Chapter 44

"Do you think it's strange?" I ask Arthur as he drives us into Birmingham. "Luca must have reached New York weeks ago now. And he hasn't called once."

"I don't like any of it," Arthur mutters. He takes my hand in his as he drives and squeezes gently. "I'll sleep much fucking better when he's six feet under."

"I think we have enough to approach Audrey," I say quietly. "He listens to his mother, if nobody else. And if Pauline will speak to her, she'll have no choice but to believe us."

"I hope so." Arthur brings my knuckles to his lips and kisses softly. "I bloody hope so. And then we can go on our honeymoon."

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"Thought we'd agreed years ago," he tells me, his eyes shining. "Every seaside in Britain."

I let out a soft laugh. "Every single one?"

"Every single one," he says in agreement. "We can rank them. Who had the best Ferris wheel. Who made the best fish and chips."

"Who had the prettiest sea shells," I add.

"We'll have to collect one from every beach and hang them up somewhere."

I smile, but the first knots of unease begin to form in my stomach. I hold Arthur's hand tightly. A source of comfort.

The morning sun casts its rays across the city as we walk the streets, but the brightness does little to alleviate the knot of anticipation continuing to twist in my abdomen. I put it down to nerves — or maybe a hangover from all the whiskey the night prior — and continue to cling to Arthur's hand, our fingers entwined. Seeking solace.

As we approach the lawyer's office, I can't help but notice the unusual stillness hanging in the air. The bustling city streets suddenly seem muted, like they're holding a breath, mirroring my own growing unease.

I glance at Arthur, expecting to find calm in his demeanour, but a flicker of concern crosses his ever-vigilant gaze as he tightens his grip on my hand.

"We're not turning around, are we?" I ask quietly.

"We will if you say the word."

But I push onward. "I intend to be your wife, Arthur Shelby. I'm not backing down at the last hurdle."

The office looms before us. The shutters are all drawn, the sign displaying 'closed,' the door locked when we try to enter.

"Fuck this," Arthur mutters, and he punches his gloved fist through the glass, shattering a large enough hole to unlock the door from the inside.

I stare at him in amazement. "Are you hurt?"

"It'll take more than a bit of glass to do me in, love."

We walk through the unlit reception area. The air smells of aged parchment, anticipation, and something putrid... some scent I do not recognise.

"Hello?" I call out, my voice quivering and betraying my growing anticipation. "Is anybody here?"

A deafening silence greets my words.

Arthur's eyes narrow. His hand moves instinctively to the pistol hidden beneath his coat, ready to unleash a storm of violence should the need arise. My heart pounds in my chest, mingling with a strange comfort and familiarity — I'm with Arthur. I am safe. I've seen this look in his eyes before. Where it once may have terrified me, it now fills me with ease.

We enter the office room. Papers are strewn all across the floor, filing cabinets tipped over and bursting, the scattered belongings bearing witness to what was presumably a violent struggle.

Within the half-second it takes me to take it all in, my gaze has slid across to the lifeless body sprawled across the desk.

The lawyer.

His face bears the marks of a fierce struggle — it is barely recognisable still as a face. Crimson stains have soaked through his pristine white shirt.

My hands instinctively fly to cover my mouth, stifling my gasp. My knees weaken as a tremble overtakes me, but Arthur's strong arms wrap around me, encircling me, preventing me from collapsing to the floor in shock.

His jaw is clenched. His gaze fixed on the scene before us. "Fuck Polly's plan," he says quietly. "The time for caution has fucking passed."

"There's nothing we can do," I whisper. My mind racks through possibilities. "Unless... Unless..."

I can feel Arthur tense, sense his disapproval before I've even said the words.

"Unless I go to New York."

"Not fucking happening."

"He'll hide forever, Arthur. You know he will." I lift a shaking arm to point at the scene before us. "He will do this to us all. Send one man or another to slash us all to pieces like this—"

"Let him fucking try," Arthur snarls. "We'll hang every last one of them, and then we'll hang him."

"You heard what Polly said." I clutch at the front of his shirt, imploring him to see reason. "He isn't playing by our rules. He's playing an elaborate game of fucking chess, and the only way to beat him is to play his game. If I go to New York, if I draw him out, we might end this."

"And what makes you think you won't end up like that?" He jabs a thumb in the direction of the corpse. "Eh?"

"I'll have you with me," I say quietly. I reach for the necklace around my neck. "I always have you with me. Remember?"

But Arthur shakes his head. "You're in shock. We'll talk about this later. Alright?" He presses his lips to my forehead. "Let's fucking get out of here. Something doesn't feel right."

My mind is still reeling as we leave the office, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible — no easy feat between the signs of forced entry and my still shaking legs. But the streets seem eerily quiet and desolate.

Arthur's hand at my back, we walk briskly down the street, heading for where we parked the car. Our steps echo against the empty buildings.

A few things happen all at once.

A dark figure emerges from an alleyway ahead.

There's a sharp thud, and Arthur cries out in pain beside me, reaching for his pistol before he's knocked down to the ground.

I open my mouth to scream, and a cloth soaked in a noxious substance is pressed to my mouth, suffocating me, thickset arms restraining me in a vice grip as I thrash about.

The putrid smell of chloroform fills my nostrils. My eyes burn, and I try to call out for Arthur, I fight and kick and scratch and try desperately to get to him.

In an ethereal moment of clarity, I bring my hand to the necklace I wear. I snap it free, and then I slip my wedding ring from my finger. Both drop unnoticed to the pavement in the struggle. There's no guarantee Arthur or his brothers will find them here — in fact, the chances are slim to none — but it's something. A piece of me to begin the trail.

But within moments, the world fades to black, and I slip away.