THE FRENCH KISSERS ― Thomas Shelby

05. poor wayfaring stranger

Two packs, two wolves, one territory. Hers.

She stopped right in front of him, indifferent but not oblivious to the low whispers his men made when their hungry eyes fell down the ladies' dresses. But Thomas' impossibly blue eyes didn't budge from her, as if his own mind had no space for a presence other than hers.

"Ladies," Thomas cut the taut silence with a courteous nod of his head.

"Gentlemen," Rose saluted, allowing a smile to rest on her crimson lips, a smile that was as much a welcome as it was a warning, "welcome to La Vie En Rose. If you're looking for trouble, you can turn around, we don't have that on the menu."

Thomas took a step forward, hands on his pockets and dry chuckle escaping past his lips as some of the men behind him exchanged surprised glances at that strange, unfamiliar concept that was female audacity.

"No trouble tonight, love. My boys here are just looking for some fun. You serve that 'ere, don't ya?"

"Indeed we do," Rose declared as the Peaky men started to disperse to inside the café, some to the tables, most to the bar. Rose saw Nicolas' head turned in her direction, two question marks in the place where his eyes were. She took her fingers to her earlobe, a sign of 'everything's fine'.

"So this is your place, eh?" Thomas asked, looking around to evaluate the décor. His chiseled face was as readable as a stone, but still Rose tried to dig for some kind of emotion, some hint that would give her a glimpse into the intricate labyrinth he had for a brain.

"Impressed?" Rose tilted her head to the side. "Or is impressed not something you do?"

Thomas chuckled again, taking the cigarette out of his mouth, but before he could say anything Andrea had jumped of her stool at the counter, stomped on every social convention and ran to where they were, a grin on her face as she said one simple word.

"Finn!" She exclaimed, looking at the freckled boy on Thomas' side as the leader's quick eyes observed her, half annoyed, half intrigued. Surely he wasn't used to having a young woman interrupt his plans or approach his boys so easily. "I was starting to think we'd never see each other again!"

"Ah, now I see why you wanted to come 'ere, mate," a stylish guy with a cheeky grin and curly hair said from beside him before Finn had the chance to answer, "she's not pretty, she's bloody hot."

"Shut up, Isaiah," Finn muttered as his cheeks became a slight shade of pink and his eyes silently tried to apologize to Andrea.

"Well, you Brummie boys sure are blunt. I'm Andrea, by the way," she looked over her shoulder, nodding with her chin towards the counter. "That guy over there that's killing you both with his eyes is my brother, and I advise you two to stay away from him unless you want to end this night with less teeth and a few broken bones. Now come on then, you have to help me get my hands on some booze since Raphael is being his usual pain in the arse and refuses to serve me anything that has the slightest drop of alcohol in it."

"You've come to the right men, then," Isaiah smirked. "Finding booze's our specialty."

The three of them disappeared into the crowd in the blink of an eye, and then it was Nicolas heading towards them, standing beside Rose and extending a stern, studied hand to Thomas.

"Nicolas Bardin. You must be Thomas Shelby."

"I am," he nodded, taking his hand from his pocket to give him a quick but firm handshake, and Rose felt like there was something there, in that handshake, a silent tug of war none of them wanted to lose. They were measuring each other in stares, and Rose felt a sudden sense of pride when Nicolas didn't once flinch under Thomas' cold, demeaning glare.