"Fuck me, he's massive."
Bonnie cracked a smile at Florence's whisper, his hand—rough from years of handling guns and knives—still curled loosely in hers, soft and warm. They'd both silently elected not to make comment on their current situation, lest they make it horribly, terribly awkward, and instead elected to keep where they were, holding hands and pretending like it felt anything less than exhilerating and dangerous.
"It matters not of the size of your opponent, but the skill," Bonnie whispered back, watching as Tommy handed Billy Mills a wad of money, the man looking suspicious as he accepted the cash. "I can take him, easy."
Florence scoffed, her interest piqued by his confidence. "Easy?" Bonnie nodded, so sure of himself. "You're confidence is astounding, Bonnie."
Shrugging, Bonnie slipped his hand out of hers as his father beckoned him over, mourning the loss of her warmth as he strolled up to Billy Mills, who eyed him up and down in disbelief.
"I'm a heavyweight," Billy stated, jerking his chin at Bonnie, who stood there easily, hands behind his back. "He's a welterweight at best."
Tommy shrugged. "Nevertheless, he wants to fight you."
"Yeah, and when I damage him, the Blinders will take my eyes."
It was a fair defence. The Peaky Blinders took care of their own, and Billy Mills knew that. His hesitancy was predicted. Any sane man would decline, for fear of their eyes being cut out of their head with sharp blades sewn into the brim of a cap. Many man valued their sight over their pride. Many smart men, anyways.
"No comeback, Billy," Tommy promised. "Just a regular fight."
"Queensbury rules!" Florence perked up from behind Bonnie, giving Billy a sweet smile. She was curious to see Bonnie in action, eager to see his confidence put to the test. "The only way you'll lose your sight is if you get knocked with a good'un."
Billy managed to return the smile, even if he still looked slightly weary, taking the gloves from Arthur's hands and slinging them over his shoulder. As Tommy walked away, confusion muddled Billy's features.
"Where?"
"Here!" Tommy called back, not turning around.
"When?"
"Now!" Florence cheered back, giddy with excitement. She turned to Bonnie, taking the hat off her head and putting it on her own head. "You ready, Bonnie?"
Bonnie looked at her in her eyes, looking like he wanted to burst into laughter. He managed to smother the temptation, nodding his head. "As ready as I'll ever be, dove."
"All right, you lot, come on and make this interesting, place a wager with me!" Arthur bellowed, walking around the makeshift ring. Florence made her way next to her father, who gave her a strange look as he saw the hat on his daughter's head. "I'll give you good odds on the boy, even better on the big lad!"
Bonnie shrugged out of his coat, handing it off absentmindedly to Florence, who took it without question. Aberama couldn't hold back his amusement, and Florence pointedly ignored him for fear of going red.
"Bonnie, come here son."
As Aberama and Bonnie huddled together, Florence turned to her father, who was already staring at her. They held each other's eyes for a long moment, neither of them blinking.
"If you end up pregnant in the next few weeks, I'm murdering you in your sleep."
Florence gasped, stomping her foot onto Tommy's as hard as she possibly could with no hesitation. He didn't make a noise of pain, but his eyes twitched with a wince and he narrowed his eyes at her. That was enough satisfaction for her.
"You're foul," she spat venomously, grinding her teeth as she watched Bonnie tie up his gloves. "I can't make friends?"
"Do you look at all your friends the way you look at him?"
Florence stayed quiet as one of the factory workers rang the bell, signalling the first round. She held Bonnie's coat to her chest, his hat now in her hands. She couldn't stop thinking about what her father had said; pregnant seemed a bit too fucking extreme, if you asked Florence.
Bonnie Gold was a fun flirt, a good friend; nothing more.
But as the fight started, Florence found that that might not have been exactly all true. Every time Billy's lumbering fist swung at Bonnie's head, Florence swore her heart fell into her stomach. And then Bonnie, quick as a mouse, would duck out of the way, narrowly avoiding a solid jab to the head.
The fight continued, Florence watching with baited breaths as the two circled each other. Bonnie had a careful, calculated way of moving in which he would predict where Billy's fist would land and moving out the way before it could touch his cheek. It was fascinating, the way they moved. If Florence looked past the gloves and the cheering men around them, she could see two dancers in the ring instead of fighters.
"Your boy knows he can hit back, right?" Arthur asked Aberama, his arm thrown over Florence's shoulders, curling her into his side. Florence took the opportunity and leaned in, letting her uncle support her weight as she watched the fight with barely-concealed anxiety.
Aberama smirked. "I told him that in the professional game, people want their money's worth; don't win too fast," he explained, hands tucked snugly in his pockets. "But if you've seen enough...finish him Bonnie!"
And just like that, a switch flipped. Suddenly, there was more assurance in Bonnie's stance, more power behind his fist as he swung at Billy, jabbing him in the sides to weaken his defence. It was all too clear who was going to win this fight, and it would not be the heavyweight champion.
With one last solid punch to the jaw, Bonnie had knocked Billy down onto the ground.
"Fuck me," Arthur breathed in awe, looking at Billy's unconscious body at their feet. "That was a punch."
Triumphant, Bonnie stood above Billy's body, an expression of pure satisfaction sitting on his face. He met Florence's eyes and dropped a discreet wink, making something warm pool in the pit of her stomach.
"What's he got, horseshoes in those gloves or what?" Arthur asked, eyeing Bonnie as he approached. Aberama ducked beneath the rope and began untying the gloves off his son's fists.
"Nope, just his father's strength and his mother's temper," he said, clapping his son on the shoulder. "He's a fighter, Tommy."
"Does he have fits?" Tommy asked, and Bonnie shook his head adamantly. "Asthma?"
Bonnie shook his head again. "Nope—I'm healthy as a horse, Mr. Shelby."
"How's he cut?" Arthur asked suddenly, eyeing Bonnie's skin for any scars.
Aberama grinned. "No one's cut him yet, but his skin's thick."
"Does he drink?" Florence suddenly asked, but she wasn't looking at Aberama, whose brows were now raised. Her eyes were on Bonnie only, holding the dark irises and refusing to let them go. "Just wondering."
"Water, sometimes."
Tommy nodded, looking as though he were contemplating for real. "How many fights?"
"Twenty-five, bare-knuckle, all knockouts," Aberama said proudly, chin up. "Five with gloves in pastures, all knock-outs."
Florence raised her brows. "Against Romani fighters?" She asked incredulously, making Aberama grin, touching his fingers to her chin in a teasing motion.
"That's why they won't let us into the fairs anymore," he said, wrapping an arm around Bonnie's strong shoulders. He was practically glowing with pride. "He keeps winning."
That impressed Florence. She had seen Romani boys fighting at the fairs her father and uncles used to take her to—they were brutal matches, usually lasting hours and ending bloody. To hear that Bonnie had never lost was an impressive feat indeed.
"I could fight a fucking tree and knock it out, Mr. Shelby."
Fuck. Florence felt her heart swell as she laughed alongside her uncle, Bonnie's eyes flickering over to meet hers, his lips curling up into a sort of half-grin that made her want to crawl onto his lap and stay there forever.
She bit her tongue at the thought—perhaps she was going fucking insane.
